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diff --git a/10496-0.txt b/10496-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..09747c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/10496-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8817 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10496 *** + +[Illustration: “_Prince Victor gave a gesture of pain and reluctance. +‘Must I tell you?_’”] + + + + +RED MASQUERADE + +_Being the Story of_ +THE LONE WOLF’S DAUGHTER + +BY LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE + +1921 + + +TO +J. PARKER READ, JR., ESQ. +THE CINEMA THAT WAS HIS + + + + +APOLOGY + + +This tale quite brazenly derives from the author’s invention for motion +pictures which Mr. J. Parker Read, Jr., produced in the autumn of 1919 +under the title of “The Lone Wolf’s Daughter.” + +It is only fair to state, however, that the author has in this version +taken as many high-handed liberties with the version used by the +photoplay director as the latter took with the original. + +The chance to get even for once was too tempting.... + +Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Company in the first instance, and then Mr. +Arthur T. Vance, editor of _The Pictorial Review_, in which the story +was published as a serial, were equally guilty of the encouragement +which results in its appearance in its present guise. + +L.J.V. + + +Westport—31 December, 1920. + + + + +Books by Louis Joseph Vance + +CYNTHIA-OF-THE-MINUTE +JOAN THURSDAY +NOBODY +NO MAN’S LAND +POOL OF FLAME +PRIVATE WAR +SHEEP’S CLOTHING +THE BANDBOX +THE BLACK BAG +THE BRASS BOWL +THE BRONZE BELL +THE DARK MIRROR +THE DAY OF DAYS +THE DESTROYING ANGEL +THE FORTUNE HUNTER +THE ROMANCE OF TERENCE O’ROURKE +TREY O’ HEARTS + +_Stories About “The Lone Wolf”_ + +THE LONE WOLF +THE FALSE FACES +RED MASQUERADE +ALIAS THE LONE WOLF + + + + +CONTENTS + + BOOK ONE: A CHAPTER FROM THE YOUTH OF MONSIEUR MICHAEL LANYARD + CHAPTER I. PLEBEIAN AND PRINCE + CHAPTER II. THE PRINCESS SOFIA + CHAPTER III. MONSIEUR QUIXOTE + CHAPTER IV. THE FOOL AND HIS MONEY + CHAPTER V. IMPOSTOR + CHAPTER VI. THÉRÈSE + CHAPTER VII. FAMILY REUNION + CHAPTER VIII. GREEK VS. GREEK + CHAPTER IX. PAID IN FULL + + BOOK TWO: THE LONE WOLF’S DAUGHTER + CHAPTER I. THE GIRL SOFIA + CHAPTER II. MASKS AND FACES + CHAPTER III. THE AGONY COLUMN + CHAPTER IV. MUTINY + CHAPTER V. HOUSE OF THE WOLF + CHAPTER VI. THE MUMMER + CHAPTER VII. THE FANTASTICS + CHAPTER VIII. COUNCIL OF THE GODLESS + CHAPTER IX. MRS. WARING + CHAPTER X. VICTOR ET AL + CHAPTER XI. HEARTBREAK + CHAPTER XII. SUSPECT + CHAPTER XIII. THE TURNIP + CHAPTER XIV. CONFERENCE OF THE DAMNED + CHAPTER XV. INTUITION + CHAPTER XVI. THE CRYSTAL + CHAPTER XVII. THE RAISED CHEQUE + CHAPTER XVIII. ORDEAL + CHAPTER XIX. UNMASKING + CHAPTER XX. THE DEVIL TO PAY + CHAPTER XXI. VENTRE À TERRE + CHAPTER XXII. THE SEVEN BRASS HINGES + + +BOOK I +A CHAPTER FROM THE YOUTH OF MONSIEUR MICHAEL LANYARD + + + + +RED MASQUERADE + + + + +I +PLEBEIAN AND PRINCE + + +The gentleman was not in the least bored who might have been and was +seen on that wintry afternoon in Nineteen hundred, lounging with one +shoulder to a wall of the dingy salesroom and idly thumbing a catalogue +of effects about to be put up at auction; but his insouciance was so +unaffected that the inevitable innocent bystander might have been +pardoned for perceiving in him a pitiable victim of the utterest ennui. + +In point of fact, he was privately relishing life with enviable gusto. +In those days he could and did: being alive was the most satisfying +pastime he could imagine, or cared to, who was a thundering success in +his own conceit and in fact as well; since all the world for whose +regard he cared a twopenny-bit admired, respected, and esteemed him in +his public status, and admired, respected, and feared him in his +private capacity, and paid him heavy tribute to boot. + +More than that, he was young, still very young indeed, barely beyond +the threshold of his chosen career. To his eagerly exploring eye the +future unrolled itself in the likeness of an endless scroll illuminated +with adventures all piquant, picturesque, and profitable. With the +happy assurance of lucky young impudence he figured the world to +himself as his oyster; and if his method of helping himself to the +succulent contents of its stubborn shell might have been thought +questionable (as unquestionably it was) he was no more conscious of a +conscience to give him qualms than he was of pangs of indigestion. +Whereas his digestive powers were superb.... + +This way of killing an empty afternoon, too, was much to his taste. The +man adored auctions. To his mind a most delectable flavour of discreet +scandal inhered in such collections of shabby properties from anonymous +homes. Nothing so piqued his imagination as some well-worn piece of +furniture—say an ancient escritoire with ink stains on its green baize +writing-bed (dried life-blood of love letters long since dead!) and all +its pigeon-holes and little drawers empty of everything but dust and +the seductive smell of secrets; or a dressing-table whose bewildered +mirror, to-day reflecting surroundings cold and strange, had once been +quick and warm to the beauty of eyes brilliant with delight or blurred +with tears; or perchance a bed.... + +And even aside from such stimuli to a lively and ingenious fancy, there +was always the chance that one might pick up some priceless treasure at +an auction sale, some rare work of art dim with desuetude and the +disrespect of ignorance: jewellery of quaintest old-time artistry; a +misprized bit of bronze; a book, it might be an overlooked copy of a +first edition inscribed by some immortal author to a forgotten love; or +even—if one were in rare luck—a picture, its pristine brilliance faded, +the signature of the artist illegible beneath the grime of years, +evidence of its origin perceptible only to the discerning eye—to such +an eye, for instance, as Michael Lanyard boasted. For paintings were +his passion. + +Already, indeed, at this early age, he was by way of being something of +a celebrity, in England and on the Continent, as a collector of the +nicest discrimination. + +And then he found unfailing human interest in the attendance attracted +by auction sales; in the dealers, gentlemen generally of pronounced +idiosyncrasies; in the auctioneers themselves, robust fellows, wielding +a sort of rugged wit singular to their calling, masters of deep guile, +endowed with intuitions which enabled them at a glance or from the mere +intonation of a voice to discriminate between the serious-minded and +those frivolous souls who bid without meaning to buy, but as a rule for +nothing more than the curious satisfaction of being able to brag that +they had been outbid. + +But it was in the ranks of the general public that one found most +amusement; seldom did a sale pass off undistinguished by at least one +incident uniquely revealing or provocative. And for such moments +Lanyard was always on the qui vive, but quietly, who knew that nothing +so quickly stifles spontaneity as self-consciousness. So, if he studied +his company closely, he was studious to do it covertly; as now, when he +seemed altogether engrossed in the catalogue, whereas his gaze was +freely roving. + +Thus far to-day a mere handful of people other than dealers had drifted +in to wait for the sale to begin—something for which the weather was +largely to blame, for the day was dismal with a clammy drizzle settling +from a low and leaden sky—and with a solitary exception these few were +commonplace folk. + +This one Lanyard had marked down midway across the room, in the +foremost row of chairs beneath the salesman’s pulpit: by his attire a +person of fashion (though his taste might have been thought a trace +florid) who carried himself with an air difficult of definition but +distinctive enough in its way. + +Whoever he was and what his quality, he was unmistakably somebody of +consequence in his own reckoning, and sufficiently well-to-do to dress +the part he chose to play in life. Certainly he had a conscientious +tailor and a busy valet, both saturate with British tradition. Yet the +man they served was no Englishman. + +Aside from his clothing, everything about him had an exotic tang, +though what precisely his racial antecedents might have been was rather +a riddle; a habit so thoroughly European went oddly with the hints of +Asiatic strain which one thought to detect in his lineaments. +Nevertheless, it were difficult otherwise to account for the faintly +indicated slant of those little black eyes, the blurred modelling of +the nose, the high cheekbones, and the thin thatch of coarse black hair +which was plastered down with abundant brilliantine above that mask of +pallid features. + +The grayish pallor of the man, indeed, was startling, so that Lanyard +for some time sought an adjective to suit it, and was content only when +he hit on the word _evil_. Indeed, evil seemed the inevitable and only +word; none other could possibly so well fit that strange personality. + +His interest thus fixed, he awaited confidently what could hardly fail +to come, a moment of self-betrayal. + +That fell more quickly than he had hoped. Of a sudden the decent quiet +of King Street, thus far accentuated rather than disturbed by the +routine grind of hansoms and four-wheelers, was enlivened by spirited +hoofs whose clatter stilled abruptly in front of the auction room. + +Turning a speciously languid eye toward the weeping window, Lanyard had +a partial view of a handsomely appointed private equipage, a pair of +spanking bays, a liveried coachman on the box. + +The carriage door slammed with a hollow clap; a footman furled an +umbrella and climbed to his place beside the driver. As the vehicle +drew away, one caught a glimpse of a crest upon the panel. + +Two women entered the auction room. + + + + +II +THE PRINCESS SOFIA + + +These ladies were young, neither much older than Lanyard, both were +very much alive, openly betraying an infatuation with existence very +like his own, and both were lovely enough to excuse the exquisite +insolence of their young vitality. + +As is frequently the case in such associations, since a pretty woman +seldom courts comparison with another of her own colouring, one was +dark, the other fair. + +With the first, Lanyard was, like all London, on terms of visual +acquaintance. The reigning beauty of the hour, her portrait was +enjoying a vogue of its own in the public prints. Furthermore, Lady +Diantha Mainwaring was moderately the talk of the town, in those prim, +remotely ante-bellum days—thanks to high spirits and a whimsical +tendency to flout the late Victorian proprieties; something which, +however, had yet to lead her into any prank perilous to her good +repute. + +The other, a girl whose hair of golden bronze was well set off by +Russian sables, Lanyard did not know at all; but he knew at sight that +she was far too charming a creature to be neglected if ever opportunity +offered to be presented to her. And though the first article of his +creed proscribed women of such disastrous attractions as deadly +dangerous to his kind, he chose without hesitation to forget all that, +and at once began to cudgel his wits for a way to scrape acquaintance +with the companion of Lady Diantha. + +Their arrival created an interesting bustle, a buzz of comment, a +craning of necks—flattery accepted by the young women with ostensible +unconcern, a cliché of their caste. As they had entered in a humour +keyed to the highest pitch of gaiety consistent with good breeding, so +with more half-stifled laughter they settled into chairs well apart +from all others but, as it happened, in a direct line between Lanyard +and the man whose repellent cast of countenance had first taken his +interest. + +Thus it was that Lanyard, after eyeing the young women unobserved as +long as he liked, lifted his glance to discover upon that face a look +that amazed him. + +It wasn’t too much to say (he thought) that the man was transfigured by +malevolence, so that he blazed with it, so that hatred fairly flowed, +an invisible yet manifest current of poisoned fire, between him and the +girl with the hair of burnished bronze. + +All the evil in him seemed to be concentrated in that glare. And yet +its object remained unconscious of it or, if at all sensitive, +dissembled superbly. The man was apparently no more present to her +perceptions than any other person there, except her companion. + +Presently, becoming sensible of Lanyard’s intrigued regard, the man +looked up, caught him in a stare and, mortally affronted, rewarded him +with a look of virulent enmity. + +Not to be outdone, Lanyard gave a fleeting smile, a bare curving of +lips together with an almost imperceptible narrowing of amused +eyes—goading the other to the last stage of exasperation—then calmly +ignored the fellow, returning indifferent attention to the progress of +the sale. + +Since nothing was being offered at the moment to draw a bid from him, +he maintained a semblance of interest solely to cover his thoughts, +meanwhile lending a civil ear to the garrulous tongue of a dealer of +his acquaintance who, having edged nearer to indulge a failing for +gossip, found a ready auditor. For when Lanyard began to heed the sense +of the other’s words, their subject was the companion of Lady Diantha +Mainwaring. + +“... Princess Sofia Vassilyevski, you know, the Russian beauty.” + +Lanyard lifted his eyebrows the fraction of an inch, meaning to say he +didn’t know but at the same time didn’t object to enlightenment. + +“But you must have heard of her! For weeks all London has been talking +about her jewels, her escapades, her unhappy marriage.” + +“Married?” Lanyard made a sympathetic mouth. “And so young! Quel +dommage!” + +“But separated from her husband.” + +“Ah!” Lanyard brightened up. “And who, may one ask, is the husband?” + +“Why, he’s here, too—over there in the front row—chap with the waxed +moustache and putty-coloured face, staring at her now.” + +“Oh, that animal! And what right has he got to look like that?” + +The buzz of the scandalmonger grew more confidential: “They say he’s +never forgiven her for leaving him—though the Lord knows she had every +reason, if half they tell is true. They say he’s mad about her still, +gives her no rest, follows her everywhere, is all the time begging her +to return to him—” + +“But who the deuce is the beast?” Lanyard interrupted, impatiently. +“You know, I don’t like his face.” + +“Prince Victor,” the whisper pursued with relish—“by-blow, they say, of +a Russian grand duke and a Manchu princess—half Russian, half Chinese, +all devil!” + +Without looking, Lanyard felt that Prince Victor’s stare had again +shifted from the women, and that the mongrel son of the alleged grand +duke was aware he had become a subject of comment. So the eminent +collector of works of art elected to dismiss the subject with a +negligent lift of one shoulder. + +“Ah, well! Daresay he can’t help his ugly make-up. All the same, he’s +spoiling my afternoon. Be a good fellow, do, and put him out.” + +The Briton chuckled a deprecating chuckle; meaning to say, he hoped +Lanyard was spoofing; but since one couldn’t be sure, one’s only wise +course was to play safe. + +“Really, Monsieur Lanyard! I’m afraid one couldn’t quite do _that_, you +know!” + + + + +III +MONSIEUR QUIXOTE + + +The sale dragged monotonously. The paintings offered were mostly of +mediocre value. The gathering was apathetic. + +Lanyard bid in two or three sketches, more out of idleness than because +he wanted them, and succeeded admirably in seeming ignorant of the +existence of the Princess Sofia and the husband whose surface of a +blackguard was so harmonious with his reputation. + +In time, however, a change was presaged by an abrupt muting of that +murmured conversation between the beautiful Russian and the almost +equally beautiful Englishwoman. An inquisitive look discovered the +princess sitting slightly forward and intently watching the auctioneer. + +The pose of an animated, delightful child, hanging breathlessly upon +the progress of some fascinating game: one’s gaze lingered approvingly +upon a bewitching profile with half-parted lips, saw that excitement +was faintly colouring the cheeks beneath shadowy and enigmatic eyes, +remarked the sweet spirit that poised that lovely head. + +And then one looked farther, and saw the prince, like the princess, +absorbed in the business at the auction block, his slack elegance of +the raffish aristocrat forgotten, all his being tense with purpose, +strung taut—as taut at least as that soft body, only half-masculine in +mould and enervated by loose living, could ever be. One thought of a +rather elderly and unfit snake, stirred by the sting of some +long-buried passion out of the lassitude of years of slothful +self-indulgence, poising to strike.... + +At the elbow of the auctioneer an attendant was placing on exhibition a +landscape that was either an excellent example of the work of Corot or +an imitation no less excellent. At that distance Lanyard felt inclined +to dub it genuine, though he knew well that Europe was sown thick with +spurious Corots, and would never have risked his judgment without +closer inspection. + +He was accordingly perplexed when, after a brief exhortation by the +auctioneer, discreetly noncommittal as to the antecedents of the +canvas—“attributed to Corot”—Prince Victor, who had been straining +forward like a hound in leash, half rose in his eagerness to offer: + +“One thousand guineas!” + +The entire company stirred as one and sat up sharply. Even the +auctioneer was momentarily stricken dumb. And for the first time the +Princess Sofia acknowledged the presence of her husband, and got from +him that look of white hatred with a sneer of triumph thrown in for +good measure. + +Though she affected indifference, Lanyard saw her slender body +transiently shaken by a shudder, it might have been of dread. But she +was quick to pull herself together, and the auctioneer had scarcely +found his tongue—“One thousand guineas for this magnificent canvas +attributed to Corot”—when her clear and youthful voice cut in: + +“Two thousand guineas!” + +This the prince capped with a monosyllable: + +“Three!” + +Stupefaction settled upon the audience. The auctioneer hesitated, +blinked astonished eyes, framed unspoken phrases with halting lips. +Prince Victor, again gave his wife the full value of his vindictive +snarl. She would not see, but it was plain that she was cruelly +dismayed, that it cost her an effort to rise to the topping bid: + +“Thirty-five hundred guineas!” + +“Four thousand!” + +“Four thousand I am offered ...” + +The auctioneer faltered, a spasm of honesty shook him, he proceeded: + +“It is only fair, ladies and gentlemen, that I should state that this +canvas is not put up as an authentic Corot. It very possibly is such, +in fact”—the seizure was passing swiftly—“it bears every evidence of +having come from the brush of the master. But we cannot guarantee it. +There is, however, a gentleman present who is amply qualified to pass +upon the merits of this work. With his permission”—his eye sought +Lanyard’s—“I venture to request the opinion of Monsieur Michael +Lanyard, the noted connoisseur!” + +Lanyard detached a deprecating smile from the pages of his catalogue, +but his contemplated response was cut short by Prince Victor. + +“I am not aware,” that one said, icily, “that the authenticity of this +painting is a material question. Nor have I any need of the opinion of +this gentleman, whatever his qualifications. I have bid four thousand +guineas, and insist that the sale proceed. If there are no further +bids, the canvas is mine.” + +The auctioneer shrugged, and offered Lanyard an apologetic bow. “I am +sorry—” he began. + +“Four thousand guineas!” snapped the prince. + +Resigned, the auctioneer resumed: + +“Four thousand guineas offered. Are there any more bids? Going—” + +“Forty-five hundred!” + +Beyond reasonable doubt the princess had spurred herself mercilessly to +find sufficient courage to make this latest bid. Lanyard saw her in a +rigour of despair, hoping against hope. Only too surely something in +the picture, some association—heaven knew what!—was more precious to +her, almost, than life, though she had gone already to the limit of her +means and perhaps a bit beyond. If this bid failed, she was lost. Her +anxiety was pitiful. + +“Five thousand!” + +In the princess something snapped: she recoiled upon herself, sat +crushed, head drooping, white-gloved hands working in her lap. One +detected an appealing quiver on her lips, and noted, or imagined, a +suspicious brightness beneath the long dark lashes that swiftly +screened her eyes. Her young bosom moved convulsively. She was beaten, +near to tears. + +“Five thousand guineas ... going ... going ...” + +The face of the prince was a mocking devil-mask in gray and black. +Lanyard found himself loathing it. Impossible to stand idle and see the +creature get the better of an unhappy girl ... + +“Five thousand one hundred guineas!” + +With his wits in a blur of amaze, Lanyard knew the echo of his own +voice. + + + + +IV +THE FOOL AND HIS MONEY + + +One reflected rather bitterly on the many and obvious oversights of a +putatively all-wise Providence, in especial on its failure so to +fashion the body of man as to enable him on occasion to discipline his +own flesh in the most ignominious manner imaginable. + +Lanyard could have kicked himself; that is to say, he wanted to, and +thought it rather a pity he couldn’t, and publicly, at that. For the +freak he had just indulged was rank quixotism, something which had as +much place in the code of a man of his calling as milk of human +kindness in the management of a pawnshop. + +On second thought, he wasn’t so sure. It might have been that quixotism +had inspired his infatuate gesture, but it might quite as conceivably +have been everyday vanity or plain cussedness: a noble impulse to serve +a pretty lady in distress, a spontaneous device to engage her interest, +or a low desire to plague a personality as antipathetic to his own as +that of a rattlesnake. + +In point of simple fact (he decided), his impelling motive had been a +mixture of all three. + +In all three respects, furthermore, it proved notably successful; in +the two last named without delay. + +The Princess Sofia at once took note of Lanyard, with wonder, some +misgivings, and a hint of admiration. For he was not only a personable +person in those days, with a suggestion of devil-may-care in his air +that measurably lifted the curse of his superficial foppishness, but he +was putting a spoke in Prince Victor’s wheel. And whosoever did that, +by chance, out of sheer voluptuousness, or with malice prepense, won +immediate title to Sofia’s favourable regard. If she couldn’t thwart +Victor herself, she would be much obliged to anybody who could and did; +and she was nothing loath to betray her bias by looking kindly upon her +self-appointed champion. + +A whispered communication from Lady Diantha did nothing to abate her +overt approbation. + +As for Victor, his face of leaden gray took on a tinge of green; he +quaked with rage, and the glare he loosed on Lanyard made that young +man wonder if he were mistaken in believing that the eyes of the prince +shone in that dusky room with something nearly akin to the +phosphorescence to be seen in the eyes of an animal at night. + +The notion was amusing: Lanyard paid it the tribute of a quiet smile, +in direct acknowledgment of which Prince Victor snarled: + +“Six thousand guineas!” + +“And a hundred,” Lanyard added. + +Brief pause prefaced a bid designed to squelch him completely: + +“Ten thousand!” + +In a fatigued voice he uttered: “One hundred more.” + +“Fifteen—!” + +This time Lanyard contented himself with nodding to the auctioneer; and +the lips of the latter had barely parted to parrot the bid when Victor +sprang to his feet, his features working, his limbs shaking so that the +legs of the chair beside him, whose back he seized, chattered on the +floor, while the high-pitched voice broke into a screech: + +“Twenty!” + +And Lanyard said: “And one.” + +“Twenty thousand one hundred guineas!” chanted the auctioneer. “Are +there any more bids? You, sir—?” He aimed a respectful bow at Prince +Victor, who snubbed him with a sign of fury. “Going—going—gone! Sold to +Monsieur Lanyard for twenty thousand and one hundred guineas!” + +And Lanyard had the satisfaction of seeing Prince Victor, after a vain +effort to master his emotion, snatch up his topper, clap it on his +head, and make for the door with footsteps whose stuttering haste was +in poor accord with the dignity of his exalted station. + +But it was debatable whether this satisfaction plus the possession of a +questionable Corot was worth its cost. And Lanyard wasn’t in the +humour, now that the heat of contest began to abate, to look to +Princess Sofia for promise of further reward. Even if he could have +been guilty of such impertinence, indeed, he must have forborne for +very shame. After all (he told himself) he hadn’t figured very +creditably, permitting petty prejudice to sway him as it had. He felt +singularly sure he had played the gratuitous ass in this affair, and he +didn’t in the least desire to see the reflection of a like conviction +in the eyes of a pretty young woman with a flair for the ridiculous. + +He dissembled his diminished self-esteem, however, most successfully, +as he proceeded to the desk of the auctioneer’s clerk, filled in a +cheque for the amount of his purchase, and gave instructions for its +delivery. + +Whether by intention or inadvertence, he was followed from the auction +room by the Princess Sofia and Lady Diantha Mainwaring; and just +outside the entrance he found Prince Victor waiting with all the air of +a gentleman impatient for a cab to happen along and pick him up out of +the drizzle. + +But in view of the fact that he made no overtures to a passing hansom, +which swerved in to the curb in response to a signal of Lanyard’s cane, +this last concluded that the prince was up to his reputedly favourite +game of waylaying his rebel wife. + +If such were the case, Lanyard had no wish to witness a public wrangle +between the two. So he stepped briskly up on the carriage-block, and +only hesitated when he saw that the prince, utterly ignoring the +presence of the princess and Lady Diantha, was edging forward and +cocking an alert ear to catch the address which Lanyard was on the +point of giving the cabby. + +Hugely diverted, the adventurer looked round with a quirk of his brows, +and amiably commented: + +“Monsieur’s interest is so flattering! If he really must know, I’m +going home now, to my rooms in Halfmoon Street. Au revoir, monsieur le +prince!” + +He beamed benignly upon that convulsed countenance, and saw crestfallen +Prince Victor slink away, to the music of smothered laughter from the +ladies in the doorway—toward which Lanyard was careful not to look. + +Then, in high feather with himself, he chirped to the driver and hopped +into the hansom. + + + + +V +IMPOSTOR + + +As Lanyard’s cab swung away, the carriage wheeled in to take up the +Princess Sofia and Lady Diantha Mainwaring. Observing this, Lanyard +poked his stick through the little trap in the roof of the hansom and +suggested that the driver pull up, climb down, adjust some imaginary +fault with the harness and, when the carriage had passed, follow it +with discretion. + +Enchanted by sight of a half-sovereign in the palm of his fare, the +cabby executed this manoeuvre to admiration; with the upshot that +Lanyard got home half an hour later than he would have had he proceeded +to his rooms direct, but with information of value to recompense him. + +It wasn’t his habit to lose time in those days of his youth. And lest +his character be misconstrued (which would be deplorable) it may as +well be stated now that he had not laid down upward of twenty thousand +good golden guineas for a colourable Corot without having a tolerably +clear notion of how he meant to reimburse himself if it should turn out +that he had paid too dear for his whistle. + +The hint imparted by his garrulous acquaintance of the auction room—to +the effect that the Princess Sofia was famous, among other things, for +the magnificence of her personal jewellery—had found a good home where +it wasn’t in danger of suffering for want of doting interest. + +And now one knew where their owner lived, and in what state ... + +Alighting at his own door, the adventurer surprised Prince Victor, +morosely ambling by, in his vast fatuity no doubt imagining that his +passage through Halfmoon Street would go unremarked in the dusk of that +early winter evening. He wasn’t at all pleased to find himself +mistaken; and though Lanyard did his best with his blandest smile to +make amends for having discomfited the prince by getting home later +than he had promised to, his good-natured effort was repaid only by a +spiteful scowl. + +So he laughed aloud, and went indoors rejoicing. + +An hour or so later the painting was delivered by a porter from the +auction room. But Lanyard was in his bath at the time and postponed +examining his doubtful prize till he had dressed for dinner. For, +though it was his whim to dine in his rooms alone, and though he had no +fixed plans for the evening, Lanyard was too thoroughly cosmopolitan +not to do in Cockaigne as the Cockneys do. + +Besides, in this uncertain life one never knows what the next hour will +bring forth; whereas if one is in evening dress after six o’clock, one +is armoured against every emergency. + +At seven he sat down to the morbid sort of a meal one gets in London +lodgings: a calm soup; a segment of vague fish smothered painlessly in +a pale pink blanket of sauce; a cut from the joint, rare and lukewarm; +potatoes boiled dead; sad sea-kale; nonconformist pudding; conservative +biscuit, and radical cheese. + +With the aid and abetment of a bottle of excellent Montrachet, however, +one contrived to worry through. + +Meanwhile, Lanyard inspected his recent purchase, which occupied a +place of honour, propped up on the arms of the chair on his right. + +It was seldom that Lanyard entertained a guest of such equivocal +character. Wagging a reproving head—“My friend,” he harangued the +canvas, “you are lucky to have been sold. Sorry I can’t say as much for +myself.” + +It was really too bad it wasn’t a bit better. It wasn’t often that one +encountered so genuine a counterfeit. The hand of an artist had painted +it, but never the hand of Corot. Everything Corot was accustomed to put +into his painting was there, except himself. The abode had been +prepared in all respects as the master would have had it, but his +spirit had not entered into it, it remained without life. + +Still, Lanyard concluded, surveying his prize through the illusioning +fumes of his cigar, while the waiter cleared away, it wasn’t so bad +after all, it wouldn’t be in the end a total loss. He could afford to +cart the thing back to Paris with him and give it room in his private +gallery; and some day, doubtless, some rich American would pay a +handsome price for it on the strength of its having found place in the +collection of Michael Lanyard, even though it lacked the cachet of his +guarantee. + +But what the devil had made it so precious to the soi-disant Prince +Victor and his charming wife? + +But for a single circumstance Lanyard would have been tempted to +believe he had been craftily rooked by an accomplished chevalier +d’industrie and his female confederate; but too much and too real +passion had been betrayed in the auction room to countenance that +suspicion. + +No: he hadn’t been rigged; at least, not by design. Something more than +its intrinsic value had rendered the canvas priceless in the esteem of +those two, something had been at stake more than mere possession of +what they might have believed to be a real Corot. + +But what? + +Perplexed, Lanyard took the picture in his hands—it was not too +unwieldy, even in its frame—and examined it with nose so close to the +painted surface that he seemed to be smelling it. Then he turned it +over and scowled at its reverse. And shook a baffled head. + +But when he tapped the face of the picture smartly with a finger-nail, +he gave a slight start, passed a hand over it with the palm pressed +flat, and suddenly assumed the humanly intelligent expression of a +hunting-dog that has hit on a warm scent. + +Strong fingers and a fruit knife quickly extracted the painting from +its frame and loosened the canvas from its stretcher, proving that the +latter held in fact two canvases instead of one. Between these had been +secreted several sheets of notepaper of two kinds, stamped with two +crests, all black with closely penned handwriting. + +Lanyard gathered them into a sheaf and scanned them cursorily, even +with distaste. True enough, it might be argued that he had bought and +paid for the right to pry into the secrets they betrayed; but it was +not a right he enjoyed exercising. A fairly thoroughgoing state of +sophistication, together with some innate instincts of delicacy, worked +to render him to a degree immune to such gratification as others might +derive from being made privy to an exotic affair of the heart. +Revelation of human weakness was no special treat to him. And if his +eyebrows mounted as he read, if the corners of his mouth drew down, if +once and again he uttered an “_Oh! oh!_” of shocked expostulation, he +was (like most of us, incurably an actor in private as well as in +public life) merely running through business which convention has +designated as appropriate to such circumstances. At bottom he was being +stimulated to thought more than to derision. + +Putting the letters aside, he bowed his head upon a hand and reflected +sagely that love was the very deuce. + +He wondered if he could or ever would love or be loved so madly. + +He rather hoped not ... + +Here, if you please, was the scion of a reigning royal family risking +as pretty a scandal as one could well imagine—and all for love! Given a +few more days of life, and he would have jeopardized his right of +succession and set half-a-dozen European chancelleries by the ears—and +all for love! But for his untimely end, that poor, pretty creature +would have joined her life to his, consummating at one stroke her +freedom from the intolerable conditions of existence with Victor and a +diplomatic convulsion which might only too easily have precipitated all +Europe into a great war—and all for lawless love! + +So once more in history Death had served well the interests of public +morality. + +After a year these letters alone survived ... + +How they had survived, what hands had collected and secreted them, and +for what purpose, intrigued the imagination no end. Lanyard inclined to +credit Princess Sofia with the indiscretion of saving these souvenirs +of a grande passion that had almost made history. There was the +sentimental motive to account for such action, and another: the +satisfaction of knowing she had concrete proof of her intention to +treat Victor as he had treated her. + +Then somehow the painting must have passed out of her possession; and +in all likelihood she had made frantic and awkward efforts to regain it +which had aroused the suspicions of Victor; with the sequel of that +afternoon.... + +Lanyard’s speculations were interrupted by the peremptory telephone. +Without premonition he picked up the combination receiver and +transmitter. But his memory was still so haunted by echoes of that +delightful voice which he had heard in the auction room, he couldn’t +entertain any doubt that he heard it now. + +“Are you there?” it said “Will you be good enough to put me through to +Monsieur Lanyard?” + +The inspiration to mischief was instantaneous: Lanyard replied promptly +in accents as much unlike his own as he could manage: + +“Sorry, ma’am; Mister Lanyard dined hout to-night. Would there be any +message, ma’am?” + +“Oh, how annoying!” + +“Sorry, ma’am.” + +“Do you know when he will be home?” + +“If this is the lidy ’e was expectin’ to call this evenin’—” + +“Yes?” the dulcet voice said, encouragingly. + +“—Mister Lanyard sed as ’ow ’e might be quite lite, but ’e’d ’urry all +’e could, ma’am, and would the lidy please wite.” + +“Thank you _so_ much.” + +“’Nk-you, ma’am.” + +Smiling, Lanyard replaced the receiver and rang for the waiter. + +When that one answered, the adventurer was hatted and coated and +opening his door. + +“I’m called out,” he said—“can’t quite say when I’ll be back. But I’m +expecting a lady to call. Will you tell the doorman to show her into my +rooms, please, and ask her to wait.” + + + + +VI +THÉRÈSE + + +Posed in a blaze of lights, the Princess Sofia contemplated captiously +the charming image reflected in her cheval-glass. One little wrinkle, +not precisely of dissatisfaction, rather of enquiry, nestled between +her delicately arched brows. A look of misgiving clouded her wide eyes +of a wondering child. The bow of an exquisitely modelled mouth, whose +single fault lay in its being perhaps a trace too wide, described a +shadowy pout. + +She was beautiful: yes. Nobody could question that. La beauté du +diable, no doubt, to Anglo-Saxon eyes, with that skin of incomparable +texture and whiteness relieved by a heavily coiled crown of living +bronze, the crimson insolence of that matchless mouth, those luminous +and changeable eyes so like the sea, whose green melted into blue with +the swiftness of thought, whose blue at times as swiftly shaded into +stormy purple-black: but however bizarre and barbaric, beauty none the +less, and under the most meticulous examination indisputable. + +But was she as radiant as she had been? + +On this her birthday she was twenty-five. Appalling age! Five years +hence she would be thirty, in ten more—forty! And woman’s beauty fades +so swiftly: everybody said so. Was the shadow of to-morrow already +dimming her loveliness? How could it be otherwise? She had lived so +long and so fully, she had begun to live so young. Six years of +marriage to Victor—that alone should have been enough, one would think, +to metamorphose the fairest face into a blasted battlefield of +passions. + +She had a little shiver of voluptuous horror, remembering what she had +endured and escaped. The sweet, true lines of her flawlessly made body +were transiently undulant within a sheath of shimmering sequins: a +daring gown, by British standards of that day, but permissible because +she was Russian; foreigners, you know, are so frightfully weird even +when they’re quite all right. + +And yet she was growing old, she was twenty-five! Though she didn’t +feel in the least like one on the threshold of middle age. Indeed, she +had never felt younger, more thrillingly instinct with the power and +the will to live extravagantly in one endless riot of youth +unquenchable.... + +Reaction, of course: the swing of the pendulum to its farthest extreme. +It was now two years since she had been forced to separate from Victor, +finding herself unable longer to countenance and suffer his many-sided +beastliness; and a year since the hand of Death had penned an +inexorable finis to the too-brief chapter of her one great romance. + +For there had never been love in her life with Victor. She had been too +young at first to appreciate what love and marriage meant, she had been +led to the altar and sacrificed upon it as an animal is led in +sacrificial rites—without premonition or understanding, only wondering +(perhaps) to find itself so groomed and garlanded, so flattered and +adored. She had hardly known Victor before she was given to him in +marriage by Imperial ukase ... to get rid of her, probably, for some +inscrutable reason related to the mysterious circumstances of her +parentage. + +And now after six years of hell with her husband and one of mourning in +solitude for her love that was lost, she was coming back to life again +... at last! + +She lifted up arms that might have been a dream of Phidias chiselled in +Parian marble, and stretched them luxuriously. She was superbly alive, +indeed—and henceforth she meant to live. Only she must be careful to +retain her looks ... If Youth must surely go, Beauty must linger and +reign long in its stead. + +A maid, a comely creature, trim and smart in black and white, with that +vividly coloured prettiness which is too often the omen of premature +decline into the fat and florid thirties, fetched a wrap and settled it +upon Sofia’s shoulders. + +Long and dark, it disguised her figure as completely as it covered her +toilette. She nodded her satisfaction, and accepted the veil which she +had desired to complete her disguise, a thing of Spanish lace, black +and ample, like a mantilla. But before donning it she delayed one +minute more before the mirror. + +“Thérèse! Am I still beautiful?” + +“Madame la princesse is always beautiful.” + +“As beautiful as I used to be?” + +“But madame la princesse grows more lovely every day.” + +“Beautiful enough to-night, to keep out of jail, do you think?” + +To the mirth in the voice of her mistress the maid responded with a +smile demure and discreet. + +“Oh, madame!” was all she said; but the manner of her saying it was +rarely eloquent. + +Sofia laughed lightly, and affectionately pinched the cheek of the +maid. + +“And you, my little one,” she said in liquid French—“you yourself are +too ravishingly pretty to keep out of trouble. Do you know that?” + +Her little one looked more than ever demure as she enquired after the +hidden meaning of madame la princesse. + +“Because you will marry too soon, Thérèse—too soon some worthless man +will persuade you to dedicate all those charms to him alone.” + +“Oh, madame!” + +“Is it not so?” + +“Who knows, madame?” said Thérèse, as who should say: “What must be, +must.” + +“Then there is a man! I suspected as much.” + +“But, madame la princesse, is there not always a man?” + +“Then beware!” + +“Madame la princesse need not fear for me,” Thérèse replied. “Me, my +head is not so easily turned. There is always some man, naturally—there +are so many men!—but when I marry, rest assured, it will be for +something more.” + +With the compressed lips of self-approbation she deftly assisted her +mistress to swathe her head in the mantilla-like veil. + +“Something more than a man?” Sofia enquired through its folds. “What +then?” + +“Independence, madame la princesse.” + +“What an idea! Marriage and independence: how do you reconcile that +paradox?” + +“Madame la princesse means love, I think, when she speaks of marriage. +But love—that is all over and done with when one marries. One is then +ready to settle down; one has put by one’s dot, and marries a worthy, +industrious man with a little fortune of his own. With such a husband +one collaborates in the maintenance of the ménage and the management of +a small business, something substantial if small. And so one ends one’s +days in comfortable companionship. That, madame la princesse, is the +marriage for Thérèse! It may not sound romantic, madame, but it has +this rare virtue—it lasts!” + + + + +VII +FAMILY REUNION + + +The London night was normal: that is to say, wet. Darkness had +transformed the streets into vast sheets of black satin shot with +golden strands and studded with lamp-posts like sturdy stems for +ethereal blooms of golden haze. Within their areas of glow the air +teemed with atoms of liquid gold. The ring of hoofs on wet pavements +was at once disturbing and inspiriting. + +Alone in her hired hansom the Princess Sofia sat with the window +raised, drinking deep of the soft damp air, finding it as heady as +strange wine. Under cover of the veil her eyes were brilliant with +awareness of her audacity, her lips were parted with the promise of a +smile. + +She loved it all, she adored this mood of London: its nights of rain +were sheer enchantment, arabesque, nights of secrecy and stealth, +mystery, and romance under the rose. On nights such as this lovers +prospered, adventures were to the venturesome, brave rewards to the +bold. + +For herself she was unafraid, she foretasted entire success. How should +it be otherwise? Consider how famously chance had prospered her +designs, playing into her hands the information that this Monsieur +Lanyard was not at home, might not return till very late, and was +expecting a call from somebody whom he desired to await his return in +his rooms! + +With such an open occasion, how could one fail? + +Sofia asked only three minutes alone with the painting.... + +And if by any mishap she were caught, still she would not be dismayed. +The letters were hers, were they not? They had been stolen from her, he +had no right title to them who had purchased only the picture which had +served as their hiding-place. By all means, let him keep that stupid +canvas; he could hardly refuse to let her have her letters, not if she +pleaded her prettiest. And even if he should prove obtuse, +ungenerous.... + +Her smile was definite and confident. She was beautiful—and Monsieur +Lanyard was aware of that. Had she not, that afternoon, in the auction +room, without his knowledge detected admiration in his eyes, a look +warm with something more than admiration only? + +He was impressionable, then. And it would be no distasteful task to +play upon his susceptibilities. He was not only personally attractive +(“magnetic” was the catch-word of the period), but if half that Lady +Diantha had hinted concerning him were true, to make a conquest of +Michael Lanyard would be a feather in the cap of any woman, to attempt +it a temptation all but irresistible to one—like Sofia—in whose veins +ran the ichor of progenitors to whom the scent of danger had been as +breath of life itself. It was hardly conceivable; even now Sofia must +smile at her friend’s amiable endeavours to identify this mysterious +monsieur with a celebrated and preposterous criminal. + +It might be true that, as Lady Diantha had declared, wherever Michael +Lanyard showed himself in open pursuit of his avowed avocation as a +collector of rare works of art—in London, Paris, Berlin, Vienna, or +where-not—there in due sequence the Lone Wolf would consummate one of +his fantastic coups. + +And it was indisputable that Lanyard was at present living in London, +where for some time past the Lone Wolf had been perniciously busy; or +else his bad name had been taken in vain by a baffled and exasperated +Scotland Yard. + +Again: Diantha had insisted that the Lone Wolf was by every evidence +completely woman-proof; and there might be something in her contention +that such an elusive yet spectacularly successful thief could hardly +have won the high place he held in the annals of criminology and in the +esteem of the sensation-loving public, if he were one who maintained +normal relations with his kind. + +Sooner or later (so ran Diantha’s borrowed reasoning) the criminal who +has close friends, a wife, a mistress, children, family ties of any +sort, or even body-servants, must willy-nilly repose confidence in one +of these, and then inevitably will be betrayed. Depend upon envy, +jealousy, spite, or plain venal disloyalty, if accident or inadvertence +fail, to lay the law-breaker by the heels. + +Therefore (Diantha argued) the Lone Wolf must be a confirmed solitary +and misogynist—very much like this Monsieur Lanyard, according to +reports which declared the latter to be a man who kept to himself, had +many acquaintances and not one intimate, and was positively insulated +against wiles of woman. + +But—granting all this—it was none the less true that the utmost +diligence, spurred by the pique, ill-will, and ambition of the police +of all Europe, had failed as yet to forge any link between the +supercriminal of the age and the distinguished connoisseur of art. +Other than Lady Diantha and the gossips whose arguments she was +retailing, never a soul (so far as Sofia knew) had ventured to breathe +a breath of suspicion upon the good repute of Monsieur Lanyard. + +In short, Diantha’s conjectures had been entirely second-hand, and not +even meant to be taken seriously. + +And yet the suggestion had fastened firm hold upon the imagination of +the Princess Sofia. + +If it were true ... what an adventure! + +There was unaccustomed light of daring in the eyes of the princess, +unwonted colour tinted her cheeks. + +The hansom stopped, discharged the fairest fare it had ever carried, +and rattled off, leaving Sofia just a trifle daunted and dubious, the +animation of her anticipations something dashed by the uncompromising +respectability, the self-conscious worthiness of Halfmoon Street. + +Enfolded in the very heart of Mayfair, its brief length bounded on the +north by Curzon Street (its name alone sufficient voucher for its +character), on the south by Piccadilly (hereabouts somewhat oppressive +with its hedge of stately clubs, membership in any one of which is +equivalent to two years’ unchallenged credit) Halfmoon Street is +largely given over to furnished lodgings. But it doesn’t advertise the +fact, its landlords are apt to be retired butlers to the nobility and +gentry, its lodgers English gentlemen who have brought home livers from +India, or assorted disabilities from all known quarters of the globe, +and who desire nothing better than to lead steady-paced lives within +walking distance of their favourite clubs. So Halfmoon Street remains +quietly estimable, a desirable address, and knows it, and doggedly +means to hold fast to that repute. + +A strange environment (Sofia thought) for an adventurer like the Lone +Wolf. + +But then—of course!—Diantha’s innuendoes had been based on flimsiest +hearsay. The chances were that Michael Lanyard was an utterly +uninteresting person of blameless life. + +So thinking, the Princess Sofia was sensible of a pang of regret, and +tried to be prepared against bitter disappointment as she rang the +bell. Either she would fail to obtain admittance (perhaps the lady whom +he was really expecting had forestalled her) or else Lanyard would fail +to come home in time to catch her! Quite probably it would turn out to +be a dull and depressing evening, after all.... + +The servant who admitted her in manner and appearance lent colour to +these forebodings. A creature hopelessly commonplace, resigned, and +unemotional, to her enquiry for Monsieur Lanyard he returned the +discounted response: Mister Lanyard was hout, ’e might not be ’ome till +quite lite, but ’ad left word that if a lidy called she was to be +awsked to wite. The princess indicating her desire to wite, the man +turned to the nearest door (Lanyard’s rooms were on the street level), +opened it with a pass-key, stepped inside to make a light, and when +Sofia entered silently bowed himself out. + +Now when the latch clicked behind him, the Princess Sofia forgot that +the simplicity of her success thus far was almost discouraging. Her +heart began to beat more quickly, and a little tremor shook the hands +that lifted and threw back her veil. After all, she was committing an +act of lawless trespass, she was on the errand of a thief; if caught +the penalty might prove most painful and humiliating. + +Of a sudden she lost appetite entirely for a piquant encounter with the +prepossessing tenant of these rooms. Now she desired nothing so dearly +as to consummate her business and escape with all possible expedition. + +A swift and searching survey of the living-room descried nothing that +seemed apt to hinder or detain her. A large room, unusually wide and +deep, it had two windows overlooking the street, with a curtained +doorway at the back that led (one surmised) to a bedchamber. It was +furnished in such excellent taste that one suspected Monsieur Lanyard +must have brought in his own belongings on taking possession. The +handsome rug, the well-chosen draperies, the several excellent pictures +and bronzes, were little in character with the furnished lodgings of +the London average, even with those of the better sort. + +She had no time, however, to squander on appreciation of artistic +atmosphere, however pleasing, and needed to waste none searching for +the object of her desires. It faced her, distant not six paces from the +door—that shameless little “Corot”!—resting on the arms of a +straight-backed chair. + +A low laugh of delight on her lips, she went swiftly to the chair and +laid hold of the picture by its frame. In that act she checked, +startled, transfixed, the laugh freezing into a gasp of alarm. + +Brass rings slithered on a pole supporting the portières at the back of +the room. These parted. Through them a man emerged. + +Her grasp on the picture relaxed. It struck a corner against the chair +and clattered on the floor—the canvas on its stretcher simultaneously +flying out of the frame. + +“Victor!” + +“Sweet of you to remember me!” + +He advanced slowly with that noiseless, cat-like tread of his which she +had always hated, perceiving in it a true index to his character: the +prowl of a beast of prey, furtive, cowardly, cruel. It was so: Victor +was as feline and as vicious as a jungle-cat. Watching him with this +thought in mind, one could almost credit old tales of beasts bewitched +and walking in human guise. + +Near by he paused, alertly poised, prepared to spring. The slotted +black eyes glimmered malignantly. His lips drew back in mockery from +his teeth. His hands were hidden in the pockets of his dinner-coat; but +she could guess how they were held, like claws, in that concealment, +claws itching for her throat. She dared not stir lest she feel them +there, digging deep into her soft white flesh. + +Witless, in the extremity of her terror, she stammered: “What do you +want?” + +A nod indicated the picture that lay between them, at their feet. + +“My errand,” the man said in a silken tone that gloved grimmest menace, +“is much the same as yours—quite naturally—but more fortunate; for I +shall get not only what I came for, but something more.” + +“What—?” + +“The opportunity to plead with you, face to face. I think you will +hardly refuse to listen to me now.” + +“How—how did you get in?” + +“Oh, secretly! By the window, if you must know; but quite unseen. You +see, _I_ had no invitation.” + +“I never thought you had—” + +“Nor did I think you had—till now.” + +Puzzled, she faltered: “I don’t understand—” + +“Surely you don’t wish me to believe my pretty Sofia has turned thief?” + +That stung her pride. She drew upon an unsuspected store of spirit, +confronting him bravely. + +“What is it to me, what you choose to think?” + +“I refuse to think that of you. My reason will not let me believe it.” + +She saw that he was shaking with rage; so she shrugged and drawled: +“Oh, your _reason_—!” + +“It tells me you for one did not come here to-night uninvited.” He was +rapidly losing grip on his temper. “Oh, it’s plain enough! I was a fool +not to understand, there in the auction room, when my face was slapped +with proof of your liaison with this Lanyard!” + +She said in mild expostulation: “But you are quite mad.” + +“Perhaps—but not so as to be blind to the truth. You had him there this +afternoon to bid that picture in for you if your own means failed. Why +else should the man, who knows pictures as I know you, pay twenty +thousand guineas for a footling copy of a Corot that wouldn’t deceive +a—a Royal Academician! Yes: he bid it in for you—the sorry fool!—bought +with his own money the evidence of your infatuation for his predecessor +in your affections—and expects you here to-night to receive it from him +and—pay him _his_ price! Ah, don’t try to deny it!” + +He growled like a very animal, beside himself. “Why else should you be +admitted to these rooms without question in his absence?” + +Without visible resentment, the Princess Sofia nodded thoughtfully into +those distorted features. + +“Yes,” she commented: “quite, quite mad.” + +As if she had offered without warning to strike him, Victor recoiled +and for an instant stood gibbering. And she took advantage of this +moment in one lithe bound to put the table between them. + +The manoeuvre sobered him. He did not move, but in two breaths forced +himself to cease to tremble, and subdued every symptom of his passion. +Only his face remained sinister. + +“Graceful creature!” he observed, sardonic. “Such agility! But what +good will that do you, do you think? Eh? Tell me that!” + +It was her turn to shiver, and inwardly she did, who was never quite +able to combat the fear which Victor could inspire in her by such +demonstrations of the power of his will. The self-control which he had +always at his command was something that passed her understanding; it +seemed inhuman, it terrified her. + +Nevertheless, so exigent was this strait, she continued to confront him +with a face of unflinching defiance. + +In a voice whose steadiness surprised her she declared: “The letters +are mine. You shan’t have them.” + +“Undeceive yourself: I’ll have them though you never leave this room +alive.” + +More to give herself time to think than in any hope of moving him, she +began to plead: + +“Let me have them, Victor—let me go.” + +Smiling darkly, he shook his head. + +“The letters mean nothing to you. What good—?” + +He interrupted impatiently: “I shall publish them.” + +“Impossible—!” + +“But I shall.” + +Aghast, she protested: “You can’t mean that!” + +“Why not? The world shall know your true reason for leaving me—that you +were the mistress of another man—and who that man was!” + +Staring, she uttered in a low voice: “Never!” + +“Or,” he amended, deliberately, “you may keep them, burn them, do what +you will with them—on fair terms—_my_ terms.” + +She said nothing, but her dilate eyes held fixedly to his. He moved a +pace or two nearer, his voice dropped to a lower key, the light she had +learned to loathe flickered in the depths of his eyes. + +“Come back to me, Sofia! I can’t live without you ...” + +Her lips moved to deny him, but made no sound. Now it was revealed to +her, the way. + +“Come back to me, Sofia!” + +His hand crept along the edge of the table and lifted, quivering, to +capture hers. She steeled herself to endure its touch, against +sickening repulsion she fought to achieve a smile that would carry a +suggestion of at least forgetfulness. + +“And if I do—?” she murmured. + +He gave a violent start, blood suffused his face darkly, his arms leapt +out to enfold her. She stepped back, evading him with a movement of +coquetry that served, as it was intended, to inflame him the more. + +“Wait!” she insisted. “Answer me first: If I return to you—then what?” + +“Everything shall be as you wish—everything forgotten—I will think of +nothing but how to make you happy—” + +“And I may have my letters?” + +He nodded, swallowing hard, as if the concession well-nigh choked him. + +Under his gloating gaze her flesh crawled. Only by supreme effort did +she succeed in resisting a mad impulse to risk a rush for door or +windows, and whipped her will into maintaining what seemed to be frank +response. + +“Very well,” she said; “I agree.” + +Again he offered to touch her, again she moved slightly, eluding him. + +“No,” she stipulated with an arch glance—“not yet! First prove you mean +to make good your word.” + +“How?” + +“Let me go—with my letters—and call on me to-morrow.” + +His look clouded. “Can I trust you?” He was putting the question to +himself more than to her. “Dare I?” He added in a tone colourless and +flat: “I’ve half a mind to take you at your word. Only—forgive my +doubts—appearances are against you—you seem almost too keen for the +bargain. How can I know—?” + +“What proof do you want?” + +“Something definite.... You pledge yourself to me?” A movement of her +head assented. “You will give yourself back to me?” He came nearer, but +she contrived to repeat the sign of assent. “Wholly, without reserve?” + +An invincible disgust shook her as the full sense of his insistence +struck home. Still she whipped herself to play out the scene—and win! + +“As you say, Victor, as you will....” + +He moved still nearer. She became conscious of his nearness as if a +palpable aura of vileness emanated from his person. + +“Then give me proof—here and now.” + +“How?” + +He laughed a throaty, evil laugh. “Need you ask? Not much, my Sofia ... +only a little ... something on account ...” Suddenly she could no more: +memories unspeakable rose like disturbed dregs to the surface of her +consciousness. Involuntarily, not knowing what she did, she flung out +an arm and struck down his hands. + +“You—leper!” + +The epithet was like a knout cutting through the decayed fibre of the +man and raising a livid welt on his diseased soul. Galled beyond +endurance, his countenance convulsed with fury, he struck wickedly; and +the vicious blow of his open palm across her mouth brought flecks of +blood to the lips as her teeth cut into the tender flesh. + +It did far more, it shattered at one stroke the brittle casing of +self-command with which centuries of civilization had sought to veneer +the Slav. In a trice a woman whose existence neither of them had +suspected was revealed, a fury incarnate flew at the dismayed prince, +clawing, tearing, raining blows upon his face and bosom. Overcome by +surprise, blinded, dazed, staggered, he gave ground, stumbled, caught +at a chair to steady himself. + +As abruptly as it had begun, the assault ceased. Panting and frantic, +the girl fell back, paused, renewed her grasp upon herself, gazed +momentarily in contempt on that dashed and quaking figure, then swiftly +swooped down to retrieve the picture, and madly pelted toward the door. + +In an instant, Victor was after her. His clutching fingers barely +missed her shoulder but caught a flying end of the veil that swathed +her throat and head. With finger-tips touching the door-knob Sofia was +checked and twitched back so violently that she was all but thrown off +her feet. + +She tried desperately to regain her balance, but the pressure round her +throat, tightening, bade fair to suffocate her; and reeling, while her +hands tore ineffectually at the folds of the veil, she was drawn back +and back, and tripped, falling half on, half off the table. + +Already her vision was darkening, her lungs were labouring painfully, +her head throbbed with the revolt of strangulated arteries as if sledge +hammers were seeking to smash through her skull. + +Through closing shadows she saw that savage mask which hovered over +her, moping and mowing, as Victor twisted and drew ever more tight the +murderous bindings round her throat. + +A groping hand encountered something on the table, a lump of metal, +cold and heavy. She seized and dashed it brutally into that hateful +face, saw his head jerk back and heard him grunt with pain, and struck +again, blindly, with all her might. + +Instantly the pressure upon her throat was eased. She heard a groan, a +fall ... + + + + +VIII +GREEK VS. GREEK + + +She found herself standing, partly resting upon the table. Great, +tearing sobs racked her slight young body—but at least she was +breathing, there was no more constriction of her windpipe; Her head +still ached, however, her neck felt stiff and sore, and she remained +somewhat giddy and confused. + +She eyed rather wildly her hands. One held torn and ragged folds of the +veil ripped from her throat, the other the weapon with which she had +cheated death: a bronze paperweight, probably a miniature copy of a +Barye, an elephant trumpeting. The up-flung trunk was darkly stained +and sticky.... + +With a shudder she dropped the bronze, and looked down. Victor lay at +her feet, supine, grotesquely asprawl. His face was bruised and livid; +the cheek laid open by the bronze was smeared with scarlet, +accentuating the leaden colour of his skin. His mouth was ajar; his +eyes, half closed, hideously revealed slender slits of white. More +blood discoloured his right temple, welling from under the matted, +coarse black hair. + +He was terribly motionless. If he breathed, Sofia could detect no sign +of it. + +In panic she knelt beside the body, threw back Victor’s dinner-coat, +and laid an ear above his heart. + +At first, in her mad anxiety, she could hear nothing. But presently a +beating registered, slow and harsh but steady-paced. + +With a sob of relief she sat back on her heels, and after a little +while got unsteadily to her feet. + +The house door closed with a dull bang, and from the entrance hallway +came a sound of voices. She stood petrified in dread till the voices +fell and she heard stairs creak under an ascending tread. + +Thus reminded that Lanyard’s return might occur at any moment, she made +all haste to patch up the disarray of veil and coiffure. Fortunately +her costume, protected by the cloak of heavy and sturdy stuff, was +quite undamaged. + +Not till on the point of leaving did she remember the painting. It lay +unharmed where it had fallen when Victor seized her veil. She was calm +enough now to consider herself fortunate in finding it so poorly +secured in its frame; without the latter it would be far easier to +smuggle the canvas away under her cloak. + +In the final glance she bent upon Victor’s beaten and insensible body +there was no pity, no regret, no trace of compunction. What he had +suffered he had ten times—no, a hundred, a thousand—earned. Long before +she left him Sofia had lost count of the blows she had taken at his +hands, the insults worse than blows, the lesser indignities +innumerable. + +But in those abolished days she had never once struck back, she had +been faint of heart, cowed and terrified, and had lacked what two years +of separation had given her, that spiritual independence which never +before had been able to realize itself, lift up its head, and grow +strong in the assurance of its own integrity. + +Two years ago she would not have dared to lift a hand to Victor, no +matter how sore the provocation. To-night—if she had one regret it was +that she had struck so feebly: not that she desired his death, but that +she knew it was now her life or his. She knew the man too well to +flatter herself that he would rest before he had compassed such revenge +as the baseness of his degenerate soul would deem adequate. Half the +world were not too much to put between them if she were now to sleep of +nights in comfortable consciousness of security from his quenchless +hatred. + +Callously enough she switched off the lights and left him lying there, +in darkness but for the ash-dimmed glimmer of a dying fire. + +In the entrance hallway she hesitated, coldly composed and alert. But +seemingly the noise of their struggle had not carried beyond the door. +There was no one about. + +With neither haste nor faltering, without the least misadventure, she +let herself quietly out into the empty, silent, rain-swept street, and +scurried toward the lights of Piccadilly. + +Before long a cruising four-wheeler overhauled her. In its obscure and +stuffy refuge she sat hugging her precious canvas and pondering her +plight. + +It was borne in upon her that she would do well to leave London, yes, +and England, too, before Victor recovered sufficiently to scheme and +put a watch upon her movements. + +She had need henceforth to be swift and wary and shrewd.... + +A singular elation began to colour her temper, a quickening sense of +emancipation. Necessity at a stroke had set her free. Because she must +fly and hide to save her life, society had no more hold upon her, she +need no longer fight to keep up appearances in spite of her status as a +woman living apart from her husband, little better than a divorcée—an +estate anathema to the English of those days. + +She experienced, through the play of her imagination upon this new and +startling conception of life, an intoxicating prelibation of freedom +such as she had never dreamed to savour. + +That waywardness which was a legitimate inheritance from generations of +wilful forebears, impatient of all those restraints which a fixed +environment imposes upon the individual, an impatience which had always +been hers though it slumbered in unsuspected latency, asserted itself +of a sudden, possessed her wholly, and warmed, her being like forbidden +wine. + +In this humour she was set down at her door. + +None saw her enter. In a moment of vaguely prophetic foresight she had +bidden Thérèse not to wait up for her and to tell the other servants +there was no necessity for their doing so. She might be detained, +Heaven alone knew how late she might be; but she had her latch-key and +was quite competent to undress and put herself to bed. + +And Thérèse had taken her at her word. + +She was glad of that. In event that anything should leak out and be +printed by the newspapers concerning the theft of Monsieur Lanyard’s +famous “Corot” by a strange, closely veiled woman, it was just as well +that none of the servants was about to see her come in with the canvas +clumsily hidden under her cloak. + +So she exercised much circumspection in shutting and bolting the door, +mounted the stairs without making any unnecessary stir, and at the door +of her boudoir waited, listening, for several moments, in the course of +which she heard, or fancied she heard, a slight noise on the far side +of the door which made her suspect Thérèse might after all still be up +and about. + +The sound was not repeated, but to make sure Sofia slipped out of her +cloak and wrapped it round the canvas before she went in; which last +she did sharply, with head up and eyes flashing ominously beneath +scowling brows—prepared to give Thérèse a rare taste of temper if she +found she had been disobeyed. + +But though the maid had left the lights on, she was nowhere to be seen. +Nor did she answer from the bedchamber when the princess called her. + +With a sigh of relief that ran into the chuckle of a child absorbed in +mischief, Sofia threw the cloak across a chaise-longue, and bore her +prize in triumph to the escritoire. + +It was her intention to rip the canvas off with a knife, to get at the +letters; and a long, thin-bladed Spanish dagger that now did service as +a paper-knife was actually in her hand when she noticed how slightly +the painting was tacked to its stretcher, and for the first time was +visited by premonition. + +Dropping the knife, she caught a loose edge of the canvas and with one +swift tug stripped it clear of the unpainted fabric beneath. + +The cry that disappointment wrung from her was bitter with protest and +chagrin. + +Fortune had failed her, then, the jade had tricked her heartlessly. +With success within her grasp, it had trickled like quicksilver through +her fingers. Victor had been beforehand with her, had purloined the +letters and restored the canvas to its frame. She might have suspected +as much if she had only had the wit to draw a natural inference from +the way the painting had parted company with its frame when she dropped +it. + +So the letters for which she had risked and suffered so much must be +back there, in Lanyard’s lodgings, in Victor’s possession—lost +irretrievably, since she would never find the courage to go back for +them, even if she dared assume that Victor had not yet recovered and +escaped or that Lanyard had not yet come home. + +If only she had thought to rifle Victor’s pockets ... + +“Too late,” she uttered in despair. + +“Ah, madame, never say that!” + +She swung round but, shocked as she was to the verge of stupefaction, +made no outcry. + +The intruder stood within arm’s-length, collected, amiable, debonair, +nothing threatening in his attitude, merely an easy and at the same +time quite respectful suggestion of interest. + +“Monsieur Lanyard!” + +His bow was humorous without mockery: “Madame la princesse does me much +honour.” + +She was silent another instant, in a wide stare comprehending the +incredible, the utterly impossible fact of his presence there. The one +conceivable explanation voiced itself without her volition: + +“The Lone Wolf!” + +“Oh, come now!” he remonstrated, indulgently—“that’s downright +flattery.” + +She moved aside, lifting a hand toward the bell-cord. + +“Wait!” + +Involuntarily she deferred, her arm dropped. Then, appreciating that +she had yielded where he had no right to command, she mutinied. + +“Why?” she demanded, resentfully. + +“Why ring?” he countered, smiling. + +“To call my servants—to have them call in the police.” + +“But surely madame la princesse must appreciate the police might be at +a loss to know which housebreaker to arrest.” + +He cocked an eye of mocking significance toward the purloined “Corot,” +and in sharp revulsion of feeling Sofia had need to bite her lip to +keep from laughing. She hesitated. He was right and reasonable enough, +this impudent and imperturbable young elegant. Yet she could not afford +to concede so much to him. She was quick to accept his gage. + +“Who knows,” she enquired, obliquely, “why Monsieur the Lone Wolf +brought with him this counterfeit Corot when he broke in to steal—” + +“The counterfeit jewels of a titled adventuress!” + +An interruption brusque enough to silence her; or else it was its +innuendo that struck the princess dumb with indignation. Lanyard’s +laugh offered amends for the rudeness, as if he said: “Sorry—but you +asked for it, you know.” He stepped aside, caught up a handful of her +jewels that had been left, a tempting heap, openly exposed on her +dressing-table (as much her own carelessness as anybody’s, Sofia +admitted) and tossed them lightly upon the face of the fraudulent +canvas. + +“Birds of a feather,” was his comment, whimsical; “coals to Newcastle!” + +“My jewels!” The princess gathered them up tenderly and faced him, +blazing with resentment. He returned a twisted smile, an apologetic +shrug. + +“Madame la princesse didn’t know? I’m so sorry.” + +“How dare you say they’re paste?” + +“I’m sorry,” he repeated; “but somebody seems to have taken advantage +of madame’s confidence. Excellent imitations, I grant you, but articles +de Paris none the less.” + +“It isn’t true!” she stormed, near to tears. + +“But really, you must believe me. A knowledge of jewels is one of my +hobbies: I _know!_” + +She looked down in consternation at the exquisite trinkets he had +condemned so bluntly. Then in a fit of temper she flung them from her +with all her might, threw herself upon the chaise-longue, and wept +passionately into its cushions. Then the young man proved himself +tolerably instructed in the ways of womankind. He said nothing more, +made no offer to comfort her by those futile and empty pats on the +shoulder which are instinctive with man on such occasions, but simply +sat him down and waited. + +In time the tempest passed, Sofia sat up and dabbled her eyes with a +web of lace and linen. Then she looked round with a tentative smile +that was wholly captivating. She was one of those rare women who can +afford to cry. + +“It’s so humiliating!” she protested with racial ingenuousness—one of +her most compelling charms. “But it’s ridiculous, too. I was so sure no +one would ever know.” + +“No one but an expert ever would, madame.” + +“You see”—apparently she had forgotten that Lanyard was anything but a +lifelong friend—“I needed money so badly, I had them reproduced and +sold the originals.” + +“Madame la princesse—if she will permit—commands my profound sympathy.” + +“But,” she remembered, drying her eyes, “you called me an adventuress, +too!” + +“But,” he contended, gravely, “you had already called me the Lone +Wolf.” + +“But what do you expect, monsieur, when I find you in my rooms—?” + +“But what does madame la princesse expect when I find she had been to +mine—and brought something valuable away with her, too!” + +“I had a reason—” + +“So had I.” + +“What was it?” + +“Perhaps it was to see madame la princesse alone—secretly—without +exciting the jealousy, which I understand is supernormal, of monsieur +le prince.” + +“But why should you wish to see me alone?” she demanded, with widening +eyes. + +“Perhaps to beg madame’s permission to offer her what may possibly +prove some slight consolation.” + +She weighed his words in dark distrust. What was this consolation? What +his game? His attitude remained consistently too deferential and +punctilious for one to suspect that by consolation he meant +love-making. + +“But how did you get in?” + +“By the front door, madame. I find it ajar—one assumes, through +oversight on the part of one of the servants—it opens to a touch, I +walk in—et voila!” + +His levity was infectious. In spite of herself, she smiled in sympathy. + +“And what, pray, is this wonderful consolation you would offer me?” + +He produced from a pocket a packet of papers. + +“I think madame la princesse is interested in these,” he said. “If she +will be so amiable as to accept them from me, with my compliments and +one little word of advice....” + +“Ah, monsieur!” Look and tone thanked him more than words could ever. +“You are too kind! And your advice—?” + +“They tell too much, madame, those letters. And I see you have a fire +in the grate ...” + +“Monsieur has reason....” + +She rose, went to the fireplace and, half kneeling, thrust the letters +one by one into the incandescent bed of coals. A ceremony of sentiment +at any other time, but not now: her thoughts were far from the man with +whose memory these letters were linked, they were in fact not wholly +articulate. Just what was passing through her mind she herself would +have found it hard to define; she was mainly conscious of a flooding +emotion of gratitude to Lanyard; but there was something more, a +feeling not unakin to tenderness.... + +The reaction of her vital young body from a desperate physical +conflict, the rapid play of her passions from anger and despair through +triumph and delight to gratification and content, from the bitterest +sense of frustration and peril to one of security; the uprush of those +strange instincts which had lain dormant till roused by the knowledge +that she was free at length from the maddening stupidity of social +life, together with her recent, implicit self-dedication to a life in +all things its converse: these influences were working upon her so +strongly as to render her mood more dangerous than she guessed. + +Disturbed in her formless reverie, an aimless groping through a +bewildering maze of emotions but vaguely apprehended, she started up, +faced round and saw Lanyard, topcoat over arm and hat in hand, about to +open the door. + +“Monsieur!” + +He looked back, coolly quizzical. “Madame?” + +“What are you doing?” + +“Taking my unobtrusive departure, madame la princesse, by the way I +came.” + +“But—wait—come back!” + +He shrugged agreeably, released the door-knob, and stood before her, or +rather over her—for he was the taller by a good five inches—looking +down, quietly at her service. + +“I haven’t thanked you.” + +“For what, madame? For treating myself to an amusing adventure?” + +“It has cost you dear!” + +“The fortunes of war ...” + +Her hands rose unconsciously, with an uncertain movement. Her face was +soft with an elusive bloom of unwonted feeling. Her eyes held a puzzled +look, as if she did not quite understand what was moving her so deeply. + +“You are a strange man, monsieur....” + +“And what shall one say of madame la princesse?” + +She could but laugh; and laughter rings the death-knell of constraint. + +But Lanyard remembered uneasily that somebody—Solomon or some other who +must have led an interesting life—had remarked that the lips of a +strange woman are smoother than oil. + +“None the less, monsieur, I am deeply in your debt.” + +His smile of impersonal courtesy failed. He was becoming more sensitive +than he liked to her charm and the warm sentiment she was giving out to +him. This strange access in her of haunting loveliness, the gentle +shadows that lay beneath her wide—yet languorous eyes, the almost +imperceptible tremor of her sweetly fashioned lips, all troubled him +profoundly. He exerted himself to break the spell upon his senses which +this woman, wittingly or not, was weaving. But the effort was at best +half-hearted. + +“I am well repaid,” he said a bit stiffly, “by the knowledge that the +honour of madame la princesse is safe.” + +Sofia laughed breathlessly. Somehow her hands had found the way to his. +Her glance wavered and fell. + +“But is it?” she asked in a tone so intimate that it was barely +audible. And she laughed once more. “I am not so sure ... as long as +monsieur is here.” + +Lanyard’s mouth twitched, slow colour mounted in his face, the light in +his eyes was lambent. He found himself looking deep into other eyes +that were like pools of violet shadow troubled by a deep surge and +resurge of feeling for which there was no name. Aware that they +revealed more than he ought to know, he sought to escape them by +bending his lips to Sofia’s hands. + +Sighing softly, she resigned them to his kisses. + + + + +IX +PAID IN FULL + + +It was late when Lanyard got home, but not too late: when he entered +his living-room enough life lingered in the embers in the grate to +betray to him a feline shape on all-fours creeping toward his +bedchamber door. As he switched up the lights it bounded to its feet +and dived through the portières with such celerity that he saw little +more of it than coat-tails level on the wind. + +Dropping hat and canvas, Lanyard gave chase and overhauled the marauder +as he was clambering out through the open window, where a firm hand on +his collar checked his preparations to drop half a dozen feet to the +flagged court. + +Victor swore fretfully and lashed out a random fist, which struck +Lanyard’s cheek a glancing blow that carried just enough sting to +kindle resentment. So the virtuous householder was rather more than +unceremonious about yanking the princely housebreaker inside and +lending him a foot to accelerate his return to the living-room; where +Victor brought up, on all-fours again, in almost precisely the spot +from which he had risen. + +He bounced up, however, with a surprising amount of animation and +ambition, and flew back to the offensive with flailing fists. In this +his judgment was grievously in fault. Lanyard sidestepped, nipped a +wrist, twitched it smartly up between the man’s shoulder-blades (with a +wrench that won a grunt of agony), caught the other arm from behind by +the hollow of its elbow, and held his victim helpless—though +ill-advised enough to continue to hiss and spit and squirm and kick. + +A heel that struck Lanyard’s shin earned Victor a shaking so +thoroughgoing that he felt the teeth rattle in his jaws. When it was +suspended, he was breathless but thoughtful, and offered no objection +to being searched. Lanyard relieved him of a revolver and a dirk, then +with a push sent Victor reeling to the table, where he stood panting, +quivering, and glaring murder, while his captor put the dagger away and +examined the firearm. + +“Wicked thing,” he commented—“loaded, too. Really, monsieur le prince +should be more careful. One of these fine days, if you don’t stop +playing with such weapons, one of these will go off right in your +hand—and the next high-light in your history will be when the judge +says: ‘And may the Lord have mercy on your soul!’” + +Victor confided his sentiments to a handkerchief with which he was +mopping his face. Lanyard sat down and wagged a reproving head. + +“Didn’t catch,” he said; “perhaps it’s just as well, though; sounded +like bad words. Hope I’m mistaken, of course: princes ought to set +impressionable plebeians a better pattern.” + +He cocked a critical eye. “You’re a sight, if you don’t mind my saying +so—look as if the sky had caved in on you. May one ask what happened? +Did it stub its toe and fall?” + +Victor suspended operations with the handkerchief to bend upon his +tormentor a louring, distrustful stare. His head was still heavy, hot, +and painful, his mental processes thick with lees of coma; but now he +began to appreciate, what naturally seemed apparent, that Lanyard must +be unacquainted with the cause of his injuries. + +A searching look round the room confirmed him in this error. The canvas +lay where Lanyard had dropped it on entering, not in the spot where +Victor remembered seeing it last, but where conceivably an unheeded +kick might have sent it in the course of his struggle with Sofia. She +must have forgotten it, then, when she fled from what she probably +thought was murder, and what might well have been. + +He was much too sore and shaken to be subtle; and the general trend of +his conjectures was perfectly legible to Lanyard, who without delay set +himself to conjure away any lingering suspicion of his guilelessness. + +“Not squiffy, are you, by any chance?” he enquired with the kindliest +interest. “You look as if you’d wound up a spree by picking a fight +with a bobby. Your cheek’s cut and all (shall we say, in deference to +the well-known prejudices of the dear B.P.?) ensanguined. Sit down and +pull yourself together before you try to explain to what I owe this +honour—and so forth.” + +He got up, clapped a hand on Prince Victor’s shoulder, and steered him +into an easy chair. + +“Anything more I can do to put you at your ease? Would a brandy and +soda help, do you think?” + +The suggestion was acceptable: Victor signified as much with an +ungracious mumble. Lanyard fetched glasses, a decanter, a +siphon-bottle, and supplied his guest with a liberal hand before +helping himself. + +Victor took the drink without a word of thanks and gulped it down +noisily. Lanyard drank sparingly, then crossed the room to a bell-push. +Seeing his finger on it Prince Victor started from his chair, but +Lanyard hospitably waved him back. + +“Don’t go yet,” he pleaded. “You’ve only just dropped in, we haven’t +had half a chance to chat. Besides, you mustn’t forget I’ve got your +pistol and your dirk and the upper hand and a sustaining sense of moral +superiority and no end of other advantages over you.” + +“Why,” the prince demanded, nervously—“why did you ring?” + +“To call a cab for you, of course. I don’t imagine you want to walk +home—do you?—in your present state of shocking disrepair. Of course, if +you’d rather ... But do sit down: compose yourself.” + +“Let me be,” the other snapped as Lanyard offered good-naturedly to +thrust him back into the chair. “I am—quite composed.” + +“That’s good! Excellent! Hand steady enough to write me a cheque, do +you think?” + +“What the devil!” + +“Oh, come now! Don’t go off your bat so easily. I’m only going to do +you a service—” + +“Damn your impudence! I want no services of you!” + +“Oh, yes you do!” Lanyard insisted, unabashed—“or you will when you +learn what a kind heart I’ve got. Now do be nice and stop protesting! +You see, you’ve touched my heart. I’d no idea you were so passionate +about that painting. If I had for one instant imagined you cared enough +about it to burglarize my rooms ... But now that I do understand, my +dear fellow, I wouldn’t deny you for worlds; I make you a free present +of it, at the price I paid—twenty thousand and one hundred +guineas—exacting no bonus or commission whatever. You’ll find blank +cheques in the upper right-hand drawer of my desk there; fill in one to +my order, and the Corot’s yours.” + +For a moment longer the prince stared, hate and perplexity in equal +measure tincturing his regard. Then slowly the look of doubt gave way +to the ghost of a crafty smile. + +What a blazing fool the fellow was (he thought) to accept a cheque on +which payment could be stopped before banking hours in the morning—! + +Such fatuity seemed incredible. Yet there it was, egregious, +indisputable. Why not profit by it, turn it to his own advantage? To +secure what he had sought, the letters concealed between the canvases, +and turn them against Sofia, and to play this Lanyard for a fool, all +at one stroke—the opportunity was too rich to be slighted. + +He dissembled his exultation—or plumed himself on doing so. + +“Very well,” he mumbled, sulkily. “I’ll draw the cheque.” + +“That’s the right spirit!” Lanyard declared, and escorted him to the +desk. + +A knock sounded. Lanyard called: “Come in!” A sleepy manservant, +half-dressed and warm from his bed, entered. + +“You rang, sir?” + +“Yes, Harris.” Lanyard tossed him a sovereign. “Sorry to rout you out +so late, but I need a cab. Whistle up a growler, will you?” + +“’Nk-you, sir.” + +The man retired cheerfully, rewarded for many a night of broken +slumber. Prince Victor got up from the desk and proffered Lanyard the +cheque. + +“I fancy,” he said with a leer, “you’ll find that all right.” + +Lanyard scrutinized the cheque minutely, nodded his satisfaction. + +“Thanks ever so ... No, not a word!” He forbade inflexibly a wholly +imaginary interposition on the part of Prince Victor. “You don’t know +how to thank me—do you? Then why try? I know I’m too good, but I really +can’t help it, it’s my nature—and there you are! So what’s the good of +bickering about it?... Now where did you leave your coat and hat? On my +bed, as you came in?” + +He smiled charmingly and darted through the portières, returning with +the articles in question. “Do let me help you.” + +The prince struggled into the coat and grunted an acknowledgment of the +service. Lanyard pressed the hat into his hand, picked up the canvas, +replaced it in its frame, and tucked both under the princely arm. + +Another knock: Harris returned. + +“The four-wheeler is w’iting, sir.” + +“Thanks, Harris. Half a moment: I want a word with you. You see this +gentleman?” Lanyard caught Victor’s look of angry resentment and +interrupted himself. “Don’t forget yourself, monsieur le prince. +Remember ...” + +He patted significantly the pocket which held the revolver, and turned +back to Harris. + +“This gentleman,” he said, consulting the signature to the cheque, “is +Prince Victor Vassilyevski. Please remember him. You may have to bear +witness against him in court.” + +“What insolence is this?” Victor demanded, hotly. + +“Calm yourself, monsieur le prince.” Lanyard repeated the warning +gesture. “He is a nobleman of Russia, or says he is, and—strangely +enough, Harris!—a burglar. I caught him burglarizing my rooms when I +came home just now. You may judge from his appearance what difficulty I +had in subduing him.” + +“’E do seem fair used up, sir,” Harris admitted, eyeing Victor +indignantly. “Would you wish me to call a bobby and give ’im in +charge?” + +“Thanks, no. Prince Victor and I have compromised. He doesn’t relish +going to jail, and I’ve no particular desire to send him there. But he +does want what he broke in to steal—that painting you see under his +arm—and I’ve agreed to sell it to him. Here’s the cheque he has just +given me. Providing payment is not stopped on it, Harris, you will hear +no more of this incident. But if by any chance the cheque should come +back from his bank—I may ask you to testify to what you have seen and +heard here to-night.” + +“It is a lie!” Prince Victor shrilled. “You brought me in with you, +assaulted me, blackmailed that cheque out of me! Nobody saw us—” + +“Sorry,” Lanyard cut in; “but it so happens, that the gentleman who has +the rooms immediately above came in when I did, and can testify that I +was alone. That’s all, monsieur le prince. Your carriage waits.” + +Harris opened the door. Choking with rage, the prince shuffled out, +Lanyard politely escorting him to the curb. There, with a foot lifted +to enter the four-wheeler, Prince Victor turned, shaking an impassioned +hand in Lanyard’s face. + +“You’ll pay me for this!” he spluttered. “I’ll square accounts with +you, Lanyard, if I have to follow you to the gates of hell!” + +“Better not,” Lanyard warned him fairly, “if you do, I’ll push you in +... Bon soir, monsieur le prince!” + + + + +BOOK II +THE LONE WOLF’S DAUGHTER + + + + +I +THE GIRL SOFIA + + +She sat all day long—from noon, that is, till late at night—on a high +stool behind the tall, pulpit-like desk of the caisse; flanked on one +hand by the swing door of green baize which communicated with the +kitchen, on the other by a hideous black walnut buffet on which fruits +of the season were displayed, more or less temptingly, to the taste of +Mama Thérèse. + +But for these articles of furniture, the buffet, the desk, and the door +to the kitchen quarters, uninterrupted rows of tables, square, with +composition-marble tops, lined three walls of the room. The fourth was +mainly plate-glass window, one on either side of the main entrance. + +Back of the tables were wall-seats upholstered in red plush, dusty and +threadbare; and, above, a frieze of mirrors. The floor of the +restaurant was a patternless mosaic of small hexagonal tiles, bare in +warm weather, in the winter covered by a thick but well-worn Brussels +carpet of peculiarly repulsive design. The windows wore half-curtains +of net which, after nightfall, were reinforced by ruffled draperies of +rep silk. Through the net curtains, by day, the name of the restaurant +was shadowed in reverse by plain white-enamel letters glued to the +glass: + +[Illustration] + +The girl stared so constantly at these letters, during the off hours of +the day, that she sometimes wondered if they were not indelibly stamped +upon her brain, like this: + +[Illustration] + +She gazed in the direction of the windows as a matter of habit, because +Mama Thérèse objected to her reading at the desk (all the same, +sometimes she did it on the sly) because the glimpses she caught, above +the half-curtains, of heads of passersby gave her idle imagination +something to play with, but mostly because it was difficult otherwise +to seem unconscious of the stares that converged toward her from every +table occupied by a masculine patron, whether regular or casual—unless +the patron happened to be accompanied by a lady, in which unhappy event +he had to content himself with furtive, sidelong glances, not always +furtive enough by half. + +The feminine patrons stared, too, but from quite another angle of view. + +Sofia knew why. If she hadn’t, the mirror across the room would have +enlightened even a woman without vanity; which paradox this thoroughly +human young person was not. + +She was, indeed, healthily vain; and when she wasn’t focussing +dream-dark eyes upon the windows, or verifying additions and making +change, she was as likely as not to be stealing consultations with the +mirror opposite, making sure she hadn’t, in the last few minutes, gone +off in her looks. Not that her comeliness bade fair ever to prove the +cause of any real excitement. Mama Thérèse made a first-rate dragon: +she was very much on the job of discouraging enterprising young men, +and this without respect for union hours or overtime. And when she +wasn’t functioning as the ubiquitous wet-blanket, Papa Dupont +understudied for her, and did it most efficiently, too. If anything he +was more vigilant and enthusiastic when it came to administering the +snub sufficient than even Mama Thérèse; in Sofia’s sight, indeed, he +betrayed some personal feeling in the business; he seemed to consider +alien admiration of his charge an encroachment upon his private +prerogatives, to be resented accordingly. + +Sofia understood. At eighteen—thanks to the comprehensive visual +education in the business of life which she could hardly have failed to +assimilate from a coign of vantage overlooking every table of a Soho +restaurant—there were precious few things she didn’t understand. But +her insight into Papa Dupont’s mind in respect of herself was wholly +devoid of sympathy. She was just a little bit afraid of him, and she +despised him without measure. And this contempt was founded on +something more than his weakness for taking numerous and surreptitious +nips (surreptitious, at least, until they became numerous) while +presiding over the zinc in the pantry between the restaurant proper and +the kitchen; and on something more than his reluctance to let Mama +Thérèse make an honest man of him, although these two had squabbled +openly for so many years that most of the house staff believed them to +be married hard and fast enough. + +For the matter of that, Sofia herself might have been the dupe of this +popular delusion—which Mama Thérèse did her best to encourage by never +referring to Dupont save as “mon mari”—had they been less imprudent in +recriminations which had passed between them in private when Sofia was +of an age so tender that she was presumed to be safely immature of +mind. Whereas she had always been precocious, if rather a +self-contained child. Almost from infancy she had been conversant with +many things which she knew it wouldn’t do to talk about. + +Such sympathy as Sofia wasted on the couple was all for Mama Thérèse. +What with keeping an eye on Papa Dupont that prevented his drinking +himself to death seven times per calendar week, and an eye on Sofia +that was fondly credited with being largely responsible for her failure +to run away with each and every presentable man who ogled her, and +browbeating the waiters and frustrating their attempts to cheat the +house out of its fair dues, and supervising the marketing and the +cuisine: believe it or not, Mama Thérèse led a tolerably busy life and +deserved whatever gratification she got out of it, to say nothing of +highest commendation for industry, fidelity, and frugality. But that +did nothing to prevent Sofia from not liking her. + +Her inability to play up to the relationship in which she stood to Mama +Thérèse in the manner prescribed by sentimentalists worried Sofia more +than a little. She was as hungry to give affection as to receive it; +and surely she ought to be fond of Mama Thérèse, who (Sofia was forever +being reminded) had in the goodness of her great heart adopted her as +the orphaned offspring of a cousin far-removed, and had brought her up +at her own expense, expecting no return (excepting humility, gratitude, +unquestioning affection, and uncomplaining acceptance of a life of +incessant toil at tasks uncongenial when not downright unsavoury, +without spending money or hours of untrammelled liberty in which to +spend it). + +Surely such nobility ought to be requited with nothing less than love! + +Nevertheless, the plain, and to Sofia disquieting, truth was: it +wasn’t. + +She was fond of Mama Thérèse after a fashion. No one was ever more +ready to acknowledge the woman’s good qualities. But her faults, which +included avarice, bad temper, gluttony, native cruelty of inclination, +and simple inability to give a damn for anybody but herself, forbade +satisfaction of Sofia’s yearnings to give her affections freely through +bestowing them upon the abundant and florid person of Mama Thérèse. + +Still, she made no murmur. There was more than a trace of fatalism in +the composition of her spirit. As she conceived it, in this life either +things were or they were not; and as a rule they uncompromisingly were +not: one couldn’t have everything. + +She was not happy, it would be stretching the truth to say she was +content, but she was resigned, she was patient, she waited not +altogether without confidence.... + +All the same, sometimes, as she sat, day in day out, on her high stool, +looking down on familiar aspects of life’s fermentation as it manifests +in public restaurants, or peering out of the windows to catch +tantalizing glimpses of its freer, ampler, and—alas!—more recondite +phases—sometimes Sofia wondered whether there were not grimly cynic +innuendo in those three words which the mystery of choice had affixed +to the window-panes and graven so deep into her soul. + +[Illustration] + +For surely she was in exile there, an exile from all the fun and frolic +and, fury of life, marooned in weary isolation, on a high stool, in a +frowsty table d’hôte, in the living heart of London. + + + + +II +MASKS AND FACES + + +Quite naturally she became acquainted with Faces.... + +She grew adept at a game which consisted mostly in keeping close watch +upon those who for this reason or that engaged her attention, without +giving them the slightest reason to suspect she was doing anything of +the sort. + +One could not always be staring in abstraction at nothing in particular +as it passed to and fro on the sidewalk in front of the Café des +Exiles; one could not often or for long at a time succeed in reading a +book held open in one’s lap, below the level of the cashier’s desk, +Mama Thérèse was too brisk for that; one had to do something with one’s +mind; and it was sometimes diverting to watch and speculate about +people who looked interesting. + +There were so many Faces, they came and went so constantly, like +bubbles in a tideway, that to Sofia most of them seemed +indistinguishable one from another, mere blurs of flesh colour studded +with staring eyes and slitted by apertures which automatically and +alternately gaped to receive gobbets of food and goblets of drink and +closed to gulp them down. A man needed to be remarkable for something +in his looks, not necessarily pulchritude, or for uncommon +individuality, for Sofia to favour him with more than one of her +seemingly casual glances or to remember him if he visited the café a +second time. + +But those there were who stood out from the rank and file, for whom she +watched, whom she missed if they failed to put in appearance at their +accustomed hours, about whom her idle but able imagination wove +wonderful fantasies, enduing them with histories and environments as +far removed from fact as the drab dreams of the realists are from the +picturesque commonplaces of everyday. + +And there were others who came once and never again, but whom she never +forgot. But for some of these last, indeed, she would never have +remembered some of the former. The brown-eyed youngster with the +sentimental expression and the funny little moustache, for example, +lurked in the ruck a long time before the one and only visit of a bird +of passage dignified him in the sight of the girl on the high stool. + +On the occasion of his first appearance (but that was long ago, Sofia +couldn’t remember how long) the slender young man with the soulful eyes +and the insignificant moustache had commended himself to her somewhat +derisive attention by seeming uncommonly exquisite for that atmosphere. + +The Café des Exiles was little haunted by the world of fashion; its +diner á prix fixe (2/6), although excellent, surprisingly well done for +the money, did not much seduce the clientèle of the Carlton and the +Ritz. Now and again its remoteness, promising freedom from embarrassing +encounters save through unlikely mischance, would bring it the custom +of a clandestine couple from the West End, who would for a time make it +an almost daily rendezvous, meeting nervously, sitting if possible in +the most shadowy corner, the farthest from the door, and holding hands +when they mistakenly assumed that nobody was looking—until the affair +languished or some contretemps frightened them away. + +Aside from such visitations, however, the great world coldly passed the +café by; although it couldn’t complain for lack of patronage, and in +fact prospered exceedingly if without ostentation on the half-crowns of +loyal Soho and more fickle suburbia. + +The Sohobohemian on its native heath and the City clerk on the loose, +however, were not prone to such vestments as young Mr. Karslake +affected. It wasn’t that he overdressed; even the ribald would have +hesitated to libel him with the name of a “nut”—which is Cockney for +what the United States knows as a “fancy (or swell) dresser”; it was +simply that he was always irreproachably turned out, whatever the form +of dress he thought appropriate to the time of day; and that his +wardrobe was so complete and varied that he seldom appeared twice in +the same suit of clothes—except, of course, after nightfall; though his +visits to the Café des Exiles for dinner or afterward were so +infrequent that each attained (after Sofia began to notice him at all) +the importance of an occasion. Luncheon was his time, and those empty +hours at the end of the afternoon which London fills in with tea and +Soho with drinks. + +He seemed to have a very wide and catholic acquaintance among people of +all ranks and stations in life; one could hardly call them friendships, +for he lunched or sipped an aperti not often with the same person twice +in a blue moon. And whether his companion were a curate or some ragged +wastrel of the quarter; painted young person from the chorus of the +newest revue or proper matron from Bayswater; keen adventurer from +Fleet Street or solid merchant from the City, his attitude was much the +same: easy, impersonal, unaffected, courteous, detached. He was as apt +as not (going on his facial expression) to be mooning about Sofia when +his guest was gesticulating wildly and uttering three hundred words a +minute. When he spoke it was modestly, in a voice of agreeable cadences +but pitched so low that Sofia never but twice heard anything he said; +and his manner was not characterized by brisk decision. All the same, +one noticed that he had, as a rule, the last word, that what he said +left his hearer either satisfied or pensive. + +He was unmistakably silly about Sofia; though that didn’t impress her, +too many of the regulars were just as hard hit, one more or less didn’t +count. But he never stared to the point of rudeness, and it always +seemed to make him hugely uncomfortable if she appeared in the least +aware of his adoration; and Mama Thérèse and Papa Dupont never even +noticed him, so circumspect was he. Still, Sofia saw, and sometimes +wondered, just as she wondered now and then about most of the possible +men who seemed disposed to be sentimental about her. + +For there were times when she felt she could do with a little more +first-hand experience and a little less second-hand knowledge. + +Love (she supposed) must be a very agreeable frame of mind to be in, it +was so generally vogue.... + +What first led her to think that Mr. Karslake might be an interesting +person to know, entirely aside from his admiration, happened on an +afternoon in June, a warm day for England, when a temperature of some +81 degrees was responsible for “heat-wave” broadsides issued by the +evening papers. + +At about tea time, Mr. Karslake, faultlessly arrayed, ambled in, +selected a table diagonally across the room from the caisse, exchanged +pleasantries with the waiter who served him a picon, and used a copy of +The Evening Standard & St. James’s Gazette as a cover for his wistful +admiration of Sofia. + +Presently he was joined by a gentleman twice his age, if not older, +whose conservative smartness was such that one wondered if he hadn’t +strayed out of bounds through inadvertence. One would have thought his +place was in the clubs of Piccadilly if not (at that particular hour) +at a tea table on the river terrace of the Houses of Parliament. On the +other hand, there wasn’t a trace of self-importance in his habit, it +achieved distinction solely through the unpretending dignity of a +decent self-esteem. + +Sofia tried to fix what it was that made her think him the handsomest +man she had ever seen. She failed. He wasn’t at all handsome in the +smug fashion associated with the popular interpretation of that term; +his features were engagingly irregular of conformation, but the +impression they conveyed was of a singular strength together with as +rare a fineness of spirit. A mobile and expressive face, stamped with a +history of strange ordeals; but this must not be interpreted as meaning +that it was haggard or prematurely aged; on the contrary, it had +youthful colour and was but lightly scored with wrinkles, its sole +confession of advancing years was in the gray at either temple. The +eyes, perhaps, told more than anything else of trials endured and +memories that would never rest. + +Once they had looked into hers (but that came later) Sofia was sure she +would never forget those eyes. And as she saw them then, she never did +forget them. But the next time she saw them she did not know them at +all. + +The newcomer hailed Mr. Karslake by his name (which was the first time +Sofia had heard it), sat down on the wall-seat beside him and, when the +waiter came, desired an absinthe. + +He had used two languages already, English to Karslake, French to the +waiter; Sofia understood both and spoke them to perfection. So it was +rather exasperating when, his absinthe having been served and the +customary platitudes passed on the weather and their respective states +of health, the conversation was continued in a tongue with which Sofia +was not only unacquainted but which sounded like none she had ever +heard spoken. This seemed the more annoying because there were few +people in the restaurant to drown with chatter the sound of those two +voices and because, in spite of their guarded tones, their table was +one so situated that some freak of acoustics carried every syllable +uttered at it, even though whispered, to the quick ears at the +cashier’s desk. A circumstance which had treated Sofia to many a moment +of covert entertainment and not a few that threatened to shatter what +slender illusions had survived eighteen years of Mama Thérèse. But +nobody else (with the possible exception of the last) was acquainted +with this secret of the restaurant, and Sofia was careful never to +mention it. + +Now it so happened that Mr. Karslake had never before sat at that +particular table. + +The language spoken at it to-day intrigued Sofia extravagantly. It was +rich in labials, gutturals, and odd sibilances. She was positive it was +not a European tongue, though she thought it might possibly be Russian, +because it sounded rather like Russian print looks; it might just as +well have been Arabic or Choctaw, for all Sofia could say to the +contrary. But his fluent ease in it impressed her with the notion that +young Mr. Karslake might not, after all, be as negligible a person as +he looked and as she indifferently had assumed. + +She determined to study him more attentively. + +It was rather a long confabulation, too, and one that both men seemed +to take very seriously—though its upshot was apparently quite +acceptable to both—and terminated abruptly with Mr. Karslake +announcing, in English, with every evidence of satisfaction: + +“Good! Then that’s settled.” + +To this the older man dissented tolerantly. + +“Pardon: nothing is settled; it is proposed, merely.” + +“Well,” said Karslake with a little laugh that to Sofia sounded empty, +“at all events it ought to be amusing.” + +The other lifted one eyebrow and smiled remotely. + +“You think so?” + +“To be ordering you about, sir? I should say so!” But his companion +wasn’t listening or chose purposely to ignore that accent of respect. + +“You are right, my friend,” he said, abstractedly: “it will be amusing. +But what in life is not? I fancy that is why most of us go on, because +we find the play entertaining in spite of ourselves. And even when we +think of Death ... there’s the possibility that on the other side of +the curtain, where the unseen audience sits, whose hisses and applause +we never hear ... over there it may be more entertaining still!” + +Karslake was inquisitively watching his face. + +“You would say that,” he commented, deference and admiration in his +voice. “By all accounts you’ve had a most amusing life.” + +“I have found it so.” The other nodded with glimmering eyes. “Not +always at the time, of course. But when I look back, especially at my +beginnings, at the times that seemed hardest and most intolerable ...” + +He was thoughtful for a moment, glancing interestedly round the room. + +“It takes one back.” + +“What does?” + +“This café, my friend.” + +“To your beginnings, you mean?” + +“Yes. It is very like the café at Troyon’s, at this hour especially, +when there are so few English about.” + +“Troyon’s?” + +“A restaurant in Paris. Famous in its day. Several years ago—before the +war—it burned down one night, cremating many memories. While it stood I +hated it, now I miss it; Paris without it is no more the Paris that I +knew.” + +“Why did you hate it, sir?” + +“Because I suffered there.” + +He indicated a weedy young Alsatian across the room, a depressed and +pimply creature in a waiter’s jacket and apron, who was shambling from +table to table and collecting used glasses and saucers. + +“You see that omnibus yonder? What he is to-day, that was I in +mine—omnibus, scullion, valet-de-chambre, butt and scapegoat-in-general +to the establishment, scavenger of food that no one else would eat.... +I suffered there, at Troyon’s.” + +“You, sir?” Karslake exclaimed in astonishment. “Whoever would have +thought that you ... How did you escape?” + +“It occurred to me, one day, I was less than half alive and never would +be better while I stayed on in that servitude. So I walked out—into +life.” + +“I wish you’d tell me, sir,” Karslake ventured, eagerly. + +“Some day, perhaps, when I get back. But now”—he looked at his +watch—“I’ve got just time enough to taxi to my hotel, pack, and catch +the boat train.” + +“Don’t wait for me,” Karslake suggested, signalling the waiter. + +“Perhaps it would be as well if I didn’t.” + +They shook hands, and the older man got up, secured his hat and stick, +and started out toward the door, moving leisurely, still looking about +him with the narrowed eyes and smile of reminiscence. + +Of a sudden that look was abolished utterly. He had caught sight of +Sofia. + +Her interest had been so excited by the singular confidences she had +overheard that the girl had quite forgotten herself and her +professional pose of blank neutrality. She was bending forward a +little, forearms resting on the desk, frankly staring. + +The man’s stride checked, his smile faded, his eyes grew wide and +cloudy with bewilderment. For a moment Sofia thought him on the point +of bowing, as one might on unexpectedly encountering an acquaintance +after many years: there was that hint of impulse hindered by +uncertainty. And in that moment the girl was conscious of a singular +sensation of breathlessness, as if something impended whose issue might +change all the courses of her life. A feeling quite insane and +unaccountable, to be sure; and nothing came of it whatever. With a +readiness so instant that the break in his walk must have been +imperceptible to anybody but Sofia, the man recollected himself, +composed his face, and proceeded to the door. + +Confounded with inexplicable disappointment, Sofia sat unstirring. + +In the open doorway the man turned and looked back, not at her, but at +Karslake, as if of half a mind to return and say something more to the +younger man. But he didn’t. + +He never came back. + + + + +III +THE AGONY COLUMN + + +Sofia dated from that afternoon the first stirrings of a discontent +which grew in her throughout the summer till everything related to her +lot seemed abominable in her sight. + +Even without this subjective inquietude it would have been an +unpleasant summer. All the world was at sixes and sevens, the social +unrest stirred up by the war showed no signs of subsiding, but indeed, +quite the contrary, there was trouble in the very air—ominous portents +of a storm whose dull, grim growling down the horizon could be heard +only too clearly by those who did not wilfully close their ears, grin +fatuous complacence, and bleat like brainless sheep: “All’s well!” + +High-spirited youth and witless wealth a-lust for strange new pleasures +turned from the long strain of conflict to indulgence in endless orgies +of extravagance like nothing ever witnessed by a world long since +surfeited with contemplation of weird excesses: daily that wild dance +of death attained wilder stages of saturnalia, the bands blaring ever +louder to drown the mutter of savage elemental forces working +underneath the crust. + +And ever and anon a lull would fall and the world would shudder to the +iteration of a word that spelled calamity to all things fair and sweet +and lovable in life, the word _Bolshevism_.... + +In the Café des Exiles there was endless discord and strife. + +For several reasons trade was not what it had been, even for the slack +season of summer it was poor. The cost of everything had gone up, +waiters were insubordinate and unreasonable in their demands, Mama +Thérèse had been constrained to increase the fixed price of the dinner, +old customers took umbrage at this and their patronage elsewhere. + +Mama Thérèse cultivated a temper that grew day by day more vile, Papa +Dupont displayed new artfulness in the matter of sneaking his daily +toll of drink and showed it; the two squabbled incessantly. + +One of the chefs, surmising the irregularity of their relations and +foreseeing an imminent break, sought to turn it to his own profit by +making amorous overtures to Mama Thérèse, who for reasons of her own, +probably hoping to make Papa Dupont jealous, encouraged the idiot. And, +as if this were not sickening enough, Papa Dupont, far from resenting +this menace to the pseudo-peace of the ménage, ignored if he did not +welcome it, and daily displayed new tenderness for Sofia. He kept near +her as constantly as he could, he would even interrupt a wrangle with +Mama Thérèse to favour the girl with a languishing glance or a term of +endearment; he was forever caressing her disgustingly with his eyes. + +The swing door between the café and the pantry had warped on its hinges +and would not stay quite shut. Normally it stuck in a position which +permitted whoever was at the zinc an uninterrupted view of the desk of +la dame du comptoir. Instead of having it fixed, Papa Dupont put off +that duty from day to day and developed a fond attachment for the place +at the zinc. For hours on end Sofia, on her high stool, would be +conscious of his gloating regard, his glances that lingered on the +sweet lines of her throat, the roundness of her pretty arms. + +She dared make no sign to show that she knew and resented, to do so +would be merely to draw upon herself the spite of Mama Thérèse. + +But she simmered with indignation, and contemplated futile +plans—especially in the long, empty hours of the afternoon, between +luncheon and the hour of the apertifs—countless vain plans for +abolishing these intolerable conditions. + +She thought a great deal of the strange man who had talked with young +Mr. Karslake, and wondered about him. Somehow she seemed unable to +forget him; never before had any one she didn’t know made such a +lasting impression upon her imagination. + +Sometimes she wasted time trying to explain to herself why the man had +seemed, for that brief instant, to think he knew her, only to dismiss +such speculations eventually with the assurance that she probably +resembled in moderate degree somebody whom he had once known. + +But mostly she was preoccupied with pondering the strangeness of it, +that he who seemed so brilliant and brave a figure of the great world +should, according to his own confession, have risen from beginnings as +lowly as her own. All that he had suffered in the days of his youth, in +that place in Paris which he called Troyon’s, Sofia had suffered here +and in large part continued to suffer without prospect of alleviation +or hope of escape. And remembering what he had said, that his own +trials had come to an end only when he awakened to the fact that he +was, as he had put it, “less than half alive” there at Troyon’s, and +had simply “walked out into life,” she was persuaded that the cure for +her own discomfort and discontent would never be found in any other +way. But she lacked courage to adventure it. + +To say “walk out and make an end of it” was all very well; but assuming +that she ever should muster up spirit enough to do it—what then? Which +way should she turn, once she had passed out through the doors? What +could she do? She had neither means nor friends, and she was much too +thoroughly conversant with the common way of the world with a woman +alone to imagine that, by taking her life in her own hands, she would +accomplish much more than exchange the irk of the frying pan for the +fury of the fire. + +All the same, she knew that she must one day do it and chance the +consequences. Things couldn’t go on as they were. + +And even granting that the outcome of any effort at self-assertion must +be unhappy, she grew impatient. + +Meanwhile, she did nothing, she sat quietly on her perch, looked with +stony composure over the heads of the multitude, indifferent alike to +admiration and the uncharitable esteem of her own sex, and waited with +a burning heart. + +Mr. Karslake ran true to form. He drifted in and out casually, always +idle and dégagé and elegant, he continued his irregular conferences +with ill-assorted companions, he worshipped discreetly and evidently +without the faintest hope, he seemed more than ever a trifling and +immaterial creature. Chance did not again lead him to the table where +he had sat with the man whom Sofia could not forget, and only the +memory of that conversation held any place for Karslake in the +consideration of the girl. + +Even at that she didn’t consider him seriously, she looked for him and +missed him when he didn’t appear solely because of a secret hope that +some day that other one would come back to meet him in the café. + +Why she held fast to that hope Sofia could not have said. + +Toward the middle of summer Mr. Karslake absented himself for several +weeks, and when he showed up again his visits were fewer and more +widely spaced. + +On an afternoon late in August, a hot and weary day, he sauntered in +with his habitual air of having in particular nothing to do and all the +time there was to do it in, and found a man waiting for him. + +This was a person whom Sofia had quite overlooked after one glance had +classified and pigeon-holed him. A single glance had been enough. They +do some things better in England; a man cast for any particular rôle in +life, for example, is apt to conform himself, mentally, physically, and +even as to his outer habiliments, so nicely to the mould that he is +forever unmistakably what he is even to the most casual observer. So +this man was a butler, he had been born and bred a butler, he lived by +buttling, a butler he would die; not a pompous, turkeycock butler, such +as the American stage will offer you when it takes up English +fashionable life in a serious way, but a mild-mannered, decent body, +with plain side-whiskers, chopped short on a line with the lobes of his +ears, otherwise clean-shaven, his hair pathetically dyed, a colourless +cast of countenance, eyes meek and mild. + +He was soberly dressed in black coat and waistcoat, the latter showing +a white triangle of hard-polished shirt and a black bow tie, with +indefinite gray trousers and square-toed boots by no means new. His +middle was crossed by a thick silver watch-chain, and curious, +old-fashioned buttons of agate set in square frames of gold fastened +his round stiff cuffs of yesterday. He carried a well-brushed bowler as +unfashionable as unseasonable. + +When Mr. Karslake entered, the polished pattern of a young gentleman of +means, slenderly well set-up in an exquisitely tailored brown lounge +suit, wearing a boater and carrying a slender malacca stick in one +chamois-gloved hand, the butler stood up at his table, quietly +acknowledged his greeting—“Ah, Nogam! you here already?”—and waited for +the younger man to be seated before resuming his own chair: a +stoop-shouldered symbol of self-respecting respectability, not too +intelligent, subdued by definite and unresentful acceptance of “his +place.” + +Their table was the one immediately beyond the buffet; and the café was +very quiet, with only three other patrons, two of whom were playing +chess while the third was reading an old issue of the Echo de Paris. So +Sofia could, if she had cared to eavesdrop, have overheard everything +that passed between Mr. Karslake and the man Nogam. But she didn’t; +their first few speeches failed to excite her curiosity in the least. + +She heard Mr. Karslake, who was becomingly affable to one of inferior +station, express the perfunctory hope that he hadn’t kept Nogam waiting +long, and Nogam reply to the simple effect of “Oh, not at all, sir.” To +this he added that he ’oped there had been no ’itch, he was most heager +to be installed in his new situation, and would do his best to give +satisfaction. Karslake replied airily that he was sure Nogam would do +famously, and Nogam said “Thank you, sir.” Then Karslake announced they +must bustle along, because they were expected by some person unnamed, +but just the same he meant to have a drink before he budged a foot. And +he called a waiter and requested a whiskey and soda for himself and +some beer for Nogam.... And Sofia turned her attention to other things. + +The murmur of their talk meant nothing to her after that, and she +forgot them entirely till they got up to leave, and then wasted only a +moment in wondering why Mr. Karslake, if he were, as he seemed to be, +engaging a butler for some friend or employer, should have arranged to +meet the man in a café of Soho. But it didn’t matter, and she dismissed +the incident from her mind. + +What did matter was that she was to-day more than ever galled by the +deadly circumstances of her existence. If they were to continue to +obtain, she felt, life would grow simply unendurable, and she would to +do something reckless to get a little relief from the tedium and the +ugliness of it all. + +She was fed up with everything, the shrewishness of Mama Thérèse, the +drunkenness of Papa Dupont, the hideous dullness of the café, the smell +of food, the fumes of tobacco, the reek of wines. + +She was fed up with the leers of Papa Dupont, the scowls of Mama +Thérèse, the grimaces of waiters, the stares of customers, the very +sight of herself in the mirror across the room. + +She was fed up with being fed up, she wanted to do something lunatic, +she wanted to kick and scream and drum on the floor with her heels. + +And all the while, beyond the threshold, life in the street was flowing +by, a restless stream, and the voice of it was a siren call to her +hungry heart, whispering of freedom, laughing low of love, roaring +robustly of brave adventures. + +And she sat there with folded hands, mutinous yet impotent, afraid, a +useless thing with sullen eyes ... wasted ... + +As was her custom, between six and seven, before the busy hours of the +evening, she had her dinner fetched to a table near by. + +Somebody had left a copy of a morning paper on the wall-seat. Sofia +glanced through it without much interest. None the less, when she had +finished, she took the sheet back to the caisse with her and +intermittently, as occasion offered, read snatches of it quite openly, +so bored that she didn’t care if Mama Thérèse did catch her at this +forbidden practice; a good row would be almost welcome ... anything to +break the monotony.... + +When she had digested without edification every item of news, she +devoured the advertisements of the shops, then turned to the Agony +Column, which she had saved up for a savoury. + +She read the appeal of the widow of the English army officer who wanted +some kind-hearted and soft-headed person to finance her in setting up +an establishment for “paying guests.” + +She read the card of the young gentleman of good family but +impoverished means who admitted that he had every grace and talent +heart could desire and who, in frantic effort to escape going to work +for his living, threw himself bodily upon the generosity of an unknown, +and as yet non-existent, benefactor, hinting darkly at suicide if +nothing came of this last attempt to get himself luxuriously maintained +in indolence. + +She read the advertisements of money-lenders who yearned to advance +fabulous sums to the nobility and gentry on their simple notes of hand. + +She read the thinly disguised professional cards of lonely ladies whose +unhappy lot could be mitigated only by congenial male companionship. + +She read the ingenuous matrimonial bids. + +She read the announcement of the lady of (deleted) title who was +willing, for a substantial consideration, to introduce gentlefolk of +means and their daughters to the most exclusive social circles. + +She read the naïve solicitation of the alleged ex-officer of the +B.E.F., who had won through the war with every known decoration except +the Double Cross of the Order of St. Gall and with nothing of his +anatomy left whole except his cheek, begging some great-hearted soul to +buy him a barrel organ to play in the streets. + +And then her eye was arrested by the appearance of her own name in the +text of a brief advertisement, which she read naturally, with +heightened interest: + +IF MICHAEL LANYARD will communicate privately he will hear news of +Sofia his daughter. Address Secretan & Sypher, Solicitors, Lincoln’s +Inn Fields, W.C. 3 + + + + +IV +MUTINY + + +Sofia had never heard the name of Michael Lanyard. Neither did the firm +style of Messrs. Secretan & Sypher, Solicitors, mean anything to her. +Notwithstanding, she wasted more time than she knew trying to picture +to herself a man who looked like Michael Lanyard sounded, and wishing +(no matter what his looks might be) that she were his long-lost +daughter Sofia, and that he would see the advertisement, and +communicate privately as requested, and hear news of her, and come +speeding in a Rolls-Royce to the Café des Exiles, and walk in and +humble Papa Dupont with a look of hauteur and confound Mama Thérèse +with a peremptory word, and take Sofia by the hand and lead her out and +induct her into such an environment as suited her rightful station: +said environment necessarily comprising a town house if not on Park +Lane at least nearly adjacent to it, and a country house sitting, in +the mellowed beauty of its Seventeenth Century architecture, amid +lordly acres of velvet lawn and private park. + +She hoped the country house would be within sight of the sea, and that +the family garage would run to a comfortable little town-car for her +personal use when she went shopping in Bond Street, or to pay calls or +leave cards, or to concerts and matinees.... + +At about this stage her châteaux en Espagne began to rock upon their +foundations; a seismic phenomenon due to the appearance of Mama Thérèse +and Papa Dupont, coming from zinc and kitchen for their dinner, which +meal they habitually consumed in the café when the evening rush was +over, the tables undressed, and the establishment had settled down to +drowse away the dull hours till closing time. + +Thus reminded that it was nine o’clock or thereabouts of a stuffy +evening in a stodgy world where nothing ever happened that hadn’t +wearily happened the day before and the day before that and so back to +the beginning of Time, and wasn’t scheduled tediously to continue +happening to-morrow and the day after and so on to the end of Eternity, +Sofia sighed and shook herself and put away the vanity of dreams. + +But her beauty, as she sat brooding, was as sultry as the night. + +In the rear of the room Mama Thérèse and Papa Dupont wrangled sourly +over their food; not with impassioned rancour but in the natural order +of things—as others might discuss the book of the moment or the play of +the year or scandal or Charlie Chaplin or the thundering fiasco of +Versailles—these two discussed each other’s failings with utmost +candour and freedom of expression: handling their subjects without +gloves; never hesitating to touch upon topics not commonly mentioned in +civil intercourse or to use the apt, unprintable word; never dreaming +of politely terming a damned old hoe a spade; tossing the ball of +recrimination to and fro with masterly ease. + +Their preoccupation with this pastime was so thoroughgoing that Mama +Thérèse even failed to notice the passage of the postman on his last +round of the day. Ordinarily, for reasons best known to herself and +which Sofia had never thought to question, Mama Thérèse preferred +personally to receive all letters and contrived to be on hand at the +postman’s customary hours of call. But to-night she only realized that +he had come and gone when, happening to glance toward the caisse, she +saw Sofia shuffling the half-dozen envelopes which had been left with +her. + +Immediately Mama Thérèse pushed back the table and got up, wiping chin +and moustache with her napkin as she rolled toward the desk. + +But she was too late. Already Sofia had sorted out and was staring in +blank wonder at an envelope addressed to Mama Thérèse and bearing in +its upper left-hand corner the imprint of its origin: + +_Secretan & Sypher +Solicitors +Lincoln’s Inn Fields +London, W.C. 3._ + + +As yet she was simply startled by the coincidence, her brain had not +had time to absorb its full significance—that Mama Thérèse should +receive a communication from these distinctively named solicitors on +the evening of the very day on which they advertised concerning a young +woman named Sofia!—when the letter was snatched out of her hand, a +torrent of objurgation was loosed upon her devoted head, and she looked +into the black scowl of the Frenchwoman. + +“Sneak! Spying little cat! How dare you pry into my letters?” + +“But, Mama Thérèse—!” + +“Be still, you! Has one asked you to speak? Give me those others”—Mama +Thérèse with a vast show of violence appropriated them from Sofia’s +unresisting grasp—“and after this keep your nose of a mouchard out of +what doesn’t concern you!” + +“But, Mama Thérèse!—” + +“Hold your tongue. I wish to hear nothing from you, I hear too +much—yes, and see too much, too! Oh, don’t flatter yourself I am like +that fat dolt of a Dupont, to be taken in by a pair of round eyes and +innocent ways. I know your sort, I know _you_, mam’selle, too well! Me, +I am nobody’s fool, least of all yours, young woman. What goes on under +my nose, I see; and if you imagine otherwise you are a bigger simpleton +that you take me for.” + +She snapped her fingers viciously in Sofia’s crimsoned face, uttered a +contemptuous “_Zut!_” and waddled off, shaking her head and growling to +herself. + +Sofia felt stunned. The offensive had been launched so swiftly, she was +conscious of having done so little to invite it, she had been taken +unprepared, thrown into confusion, her feeble objections silenced and +overwhelmed by that deluge of abuse, publicly disgraced.... + +Her face was burning, and tears started in her eyes; but she winked +them back, she would not let them fall. Conscious of the grins of the +handful of patrons, and the leers of the waiters, she steeled herself +to suppress every betrayal of the mortification in which her soul was +writhing, she made no sign but stared on stonily at the blackness of +the night that peered in at the open doors. + +Then indignation came to her rescue, the flaming colour ebbed from her +face and left it unnaturally white, the mists before her eyes +dissipated and their look grew fixed and hard, even her lips took on a +grim, unyielding set. Beneath the desk her hands clenched into small +fists. But she did not move. + +The sensation stirred up by the outbreak of Mama Thérèse subsided, the +domino players resumed their game, the old gentleman reading Le Rire +turned a page and read on with a knowing smile, lovers returned to +their low-voiced love-making, waiters yawned behind their hands, all +was as it had been save that, at their table (Sofia could see by the +mirror, without looking directly) Mama Thérèse and Papa Dupont seemed +to have declared an armistice and were gobbling down the rest of their +meal in silence and indecorous haste. + +Presently they got up and sought their living quarters. To do this they +had to pass the caisse and through the green baize door. Mama Thérèse +marched ahead with forbidding frown and quivering chins, with the +militant carriage of misprized and affronted rectitude. To her, it was +obvious, Sofia for the time being did not exist. At her heels Papa +Dupont shambled uneasily, hanging the head of deep thoughtfulness, +avoiding Sofia’s gaze. It was his part to pretend that all was well and +always would be; only he lacked the effrontery, just then, for his +usual smirk. + +When they had disappeared Sofia began to think. + +There was something more in this affair than mere coincidence, there +was mystery, a sinister question. + +Her countenance grew as dark as the complexion of her reverie. Athwart +the field of her abstracted vision drifted the figure of young Mr. +Karslake. She was barely conscious of it. + +He seated himself with plain premeditation directly opposite the +caisse, staring openly. But Sofia did not heed him at all. An odd smile +shadowed his lips, an expression half eager, half apprehensive; there +was a hint of puzzlement in his scrutiny. It was rather as if he had +unexpectedly found some new reason for thinking the girl an +exceptionally interesting personality. But she continued all unaware. + +Shortly after being served with a drink which he ordered but made no +offer to taste, he moved as if minded to rise and cross to Sofia, sat +up and edged forward on the wall-seat with a singular air of timidity +and embarrassment. But whatever his intention, he reconsidered and sat +back, glancing round the room to see if anybody were watching him. He +could not see that anybody was. Not even Sofia. Relieved, he settled +back, found a handsome gold case in the waistcoat of his dinner jacket, +extracted a cigarette, nipped it between his lips—and forgot to light +it. + +Of a sudden Sofia had arrived at a decision; and with every expression +of it in her manner she slipped down from the high stool and left the +caisse to take care of itself. Turning to the swing door she barged +through with a high head and fire of determination illuminating her +face. She had had enough of riddles. + +Behind the zinc an elderly and trusted waiter was nodding. The kitchen +was cold and dark for the night. Papa Dupont, then, would be upstairs, +closeted with the genius of the establishment. + +From the pantry a narrow staircase led up to the apartment above the +restaurant. Sofia mounted rapidly, with a firm tread that was +nevertheless practically noiseless, thanks to the paper-thin soles of +well-worn slippers. She could hear voices bickering above. + +At the top there was a short, dark corridor, with three doors. Two of +these were closed on sleeping-rooms; the third door, to a sort of +combination office and living-room, stood open, letting out a stream of +light. + +Sofia approached on tiptoe, though the altercation going on within had +reached a stage so acute that it was doubtful whether either of the +disputants would have heard had she stumped like a navvy. + +The point of dissension was not at first apparent, because Mama Thérèse +was speaking, and what she said had exclusively to do with her estimate +of Dupont’s character, the mettle of his spirit, the stuff of his +mentality, the authenticity of his pedigree (with especial reference to +the virtue of his maternal ancestry) and the circumstances of his +upbringing; which estimate in sum was low but by no means so low as the +terms in which Mama Thérèse was inspired to couch it. + +Papa Dupont did not seem to be greatly interested. He had heard all +this before, many a time, with insignificant phraseological variations. +Sofia, pausing unseen and unsuspected in the darkness just outside the +doorway, could see him slouching deep in his chair, to one side of the +table, his soft fat hands deep in the pockets of his trousers, his chin +sunken on his chest, something dogged in the louring frown which he was +bending upon nothing, something of genuine indifference in his passive +attitude toward the blowsy virago who was leaning across the table the +better to spit vituperation at him. + +And he waited with singular patience until she had to stop for want of +breath. Then he shrugged and said heavily: + +“Still, I don’t see what else you propose to do, my old one.” + +Apparently his old one was as poor in expedient as he. “It is for +nothing,” she said, acidly, “that one looks to you!” + +“I have said my say. If you have anything better to suggest....” He +made a rhetorical pause for reply, but Mama Thérèse was well blown and +sulky for the moment. “I am not old, not so old as you, and I have +reason to believe the girl is not indifferent to my person.” + +“Drooling old pig,” Mama Thérèse observed with reason: “if you dream +she would trouble to look twice at you—!” + +“That remains to be seen. And I, for one, fail to see how else we are +to hold her. All this money that has been coming in, paid on the dot +every quarter—that means there is more, much more to come to her. Are +you ready to give it up?” + +“Never!” Mama Thérèse thumped the table vehemently. “It is mine by +rights, I have earned it. Look at the way I have slaved for her, the +tender care I have lavished upon her, ever since she was a little one +in my arms.” + +“By all means,” Papa Dupont agreed, “look at it, but don’t talk about +it to her. She might not understand you. Also, do not depend upon her +to endorse any claim you might set up based upon such assertions.” + +“She is an ungrateful baggage!” + +“Possibly; but she is human, she has a memory—” + +“Are you going to be sentimental about her again?” Mama Thérèse +demanded. “Pitiful old goat!” + +“But I am not in the least sentimental,” Papa Dupont disclaimed. “It is +rather I who am practical, you who are sentimental. I ask you: Is there +any way we can hold on to that money unless I marry Sofia? You do not +answer. Why? Because there _is_ no other way. Then I am practical. But +you will not admit that. And why? Because we have lived together for a +number of years through force of habit, because once, very long ago, we +were lovers, you and I—so long ago that you have forgotten you ever had +a softer name for me than pig or goat. Who is the sentimentalist +now—eh?” + +“Shut your face!” Mama Thérèse growled. “You annoy me. I have a +presentiment I shall one day murder you.” + +“You would have done that long ago,” Papa Dupont pointed out, “if you +had had the courage. Enough! I am silent. But when you are tired trying +to think out another way, reflect on my solution. Meantime, let me have +another look at that accursed letter.” + +Mama Thérèse did not respond, she offered no objection when Dupont took +up the sheet of paper that lay between them, but ground the heels of +her hands into her fat cheeks and sat glowering vindictively while he +read aloud, slowly, with the labour of one to whom reading is +unaccustomed dissipation: + +DEAR MADAM: + + +Herewith we beg to enclose our cheque to your order in the sum of two +hundred and fifty pounds, being the quarterly payment in advance due +you from the estate of our deceased client, the Princess Sofia +Vassilyevski, for your care of her daughter. We further beg to advise +that, pursuant to the provisions of her will, we begin to-day, on the +eighteenth birthday of the young Princess Sofia, a search for her +father with the object of apprising him of his daughter’s existence. +Therefore we would request you to make arrangements to have the young +Princess Sofia brought to England forthwith from the convent in France +where we understand she is finishing her education. We take leave, +however, to advise that, pending the outcome of our enquiries, the +question of her father’s existence be not discussed with the young +princess. In event of his death being established or of failure to find +him within six months, the Princess Sofia is to enter without more +delay or formality into possession of her mother’s estate. + + +Papa Dupont put down the letter. “It is plain enough,” he expounded: +“if this father is found, we can whistle for our money; whereas if I +were married to Sofia, as her husband I would control—” + +He broke off sharply, and added in consternation: “One million +thunders!” + +Sofia stood between them. + +And yet she wasn’t the Sofia they knew, but another person altogether, +a transfigured and exalted Sofia, aflame with righteous wrath and +contemptuous with the pride of birth which had leaped into full being a +moment since. + +A princess, born the daughter of a princess, now she knew and looked +it. + +All thought of fear or deference was gone, she had nothing left but +scorn for these two despicable creatures, the fat harpy and her +crapulent consort who had battened so long upon her misery, who had +held her in bondage to the most menial tasks of their wretched +restaurant while they filched and hoarded the money paid them for +giving her the care and the advantages that were her due. + +And something of this new-found dignity, to which her title was so +unquestionable, which set her upon a level from which she could not but +look down on these two paltry frauds, so abashed the Frenchwoman that +the phrases of invective and vilification which gushed instinctively +from the foul springs of her temper stuck in her throat, she couldn’t +utter them, and she well-nigh choked with impotent fury and fear as the +girl spoke. + +“You swindlers!” Sofia said, deliberately. “You poor cheats! To pocket +a thousand pounds a year of my mother’s money—and make me slave for you +in your wretched café! And for eighteen years! For eighteen years you +have been robbing me of every right I had in the world, robbing me of +everything I’ve needed and longed and prayed for, everything you were +paid to give me—while I drudged for you and endured your ill-temper and +your abuse and the contamination of association with you!... Give me +that letter.” + +She possessed herself of it unopposed. But now Mama Thérèse found her +tongue. + +“What—what do you mean?” she gasped, livid with fright. Was not a +fortune slipping through her avaricious fingers? “What are you going to +do?” + +“Do?” Sofia cried. “I don’t know, more than this: I’m not going to stay +another hour under this roof, I’m going to leave to-night—now— +immediately! That’s what I’m going to do!” + +“Where are you going?” + +The question halted Sofia in the doorway. + +“To find my father—wherever he is!” + +She left the two staring at each other, dumbfounded and aghast. + +At the far end of the passage she flung open her bedchamber door, +entered, turned up the light, and snatched her cloak and hat from pegs +beneath the curtained shelf that held her scanty wardrobe. + +Adjusting these before the mirror she could hear Thérèse bawling at +Dupont to follow and stop her. Sofia had little fear he would find +heart to attempt that, none the less she hurried. Once her hat was +adjusted there was nothing to detain her; the best she had she stood +in; no sentimental associations invested that room, the tomb of her +defrauded childhood, the prison of her maltreated youth, to make her +linger there, but only hateful ones to speed her going. + +She turned and fled. + +Stumbling on the stairs, she heard Thérèse still screaming imprecations +and commands at Dupont, then the clumping of the man’s feet as, +yielding at length, he started in pursuit. + +Through the green baize door she burst into the café like a young +tornado. Every head turned her way with gaping mouths and protruding +eyes of astonishment as she stopped at the caisse and brazenly, in the +face of them all, plundered the till. + +This was a matter of necessity. Sofia had not one shilling of her own. +But those two had robbed her, what she took was not so much as a +thousandth part of the money of which they had despoiled her. Moreover, +she dared not go out penniless to face London. + +Snatching a handful of loose coin, she made for the door. But the delay +had been fatal. Dupont was now at her heels, and displaying +extraordinary agility in a man of his years of dissipation and +sedentary habits. And Thérèse was not far behind. + +Seeing coins trickling through the fingers of the fugitive and falling +to ring and spin upon the floor, the Frenchwoman raised an anguished +shriek of “_Thief! Stop thief!_”—and such part of the audience as had +remained in its seats rose up as one man. + +In the same instant Dupont’s fingers clamped down on Sofia’s shoulder. +She screamed, and he chuckled and dragged her back. Then his arm was +struck up by a deft hand, the girl slipped from his hold and darted out +through the doors. + +Roaring with rage (now that his blood was up, his heart in the chase) +Dupont turned upon the meddler. This was young Mr. Karslake. Dupont did +not know him except by sight, but that slender, boyish figure and the +semi-apologetic smile on Karslake’s lips did not inspire respect. +Blindly and with all his might Dupont swung his right to the other’s +head, only to find it wasn’t there. + +The weight of the unexpended blow carried Dupont off his feet. He fell +in a heap, and Mama Thérèse, charging wildly after Sofia, tripped on +his body and deposited fourteen stone of solid flesh squarely in the +small of Dupont’s back with a force that drove the breath out of him in +one agonized blast. + +Karslake laughed aloud: it was all as good as a cinema. Then he +followed Sofia. + +It was a dark and silent street by night, little used, a mere link +between two main thoroughfares. Sofia, running for dear life, was still +far from the nearest corner. Karslake doubled nimbly across the street +to the only vehicle in sight, an impressive Rolls-Royce town-car. +Jumping on the running-board he pointed out the fleeing shadow to the +chauffeur. + +“Lay alongside that young woman before she makes the corner, Albert!” + +Without delay the car began to move. + +Meanwhile, the Café des Exiles was erupting antic shapes, waiters, +customers, Dupont, Thérèse. The quiet hour was made hideous by their +yells. + +“_Stop thief!” “À la voleuse!” “L’arrêtez!” “À la voleuse!” “Stop +thief!_” + +An entirely superfluous bobby weathered the corner, discovered Sofia in +flight across the street, came about, and shaped a diagonal course to +cut across her bows. She saw him coming and stopped short with a gasp +of dismay. Simultaneously the Rolls-Royce slid smoothly in between them +and Karslake hopped down. Sofia uttered a small cry, more of surprise +than fright, and hung back, trying to free the arm by which he was +trying to guide her to the open door. + +“It’s our only chance,” he warned her, coolly. “We’re between two +fires. Better not delay!” + +She yielded and tumbled in. Karslake followed and slammed the door. The +car shot away and rounded into the cross street before the bobby could +collect himself enough to look at its license plate. He made after it, +but when he had reached the corner it had turned another and was lost. + +At the second turning Karslake looked round from the window with a +reassuring laugh, and settled back beside Sofia. + +“So that ends that!” + +She stared wide-eyed through the shadows. She knew him now, she was not +in the least afraid, but she was confused beyond measure. + +“Why—why—” she faltered—“what—who are you and where are you taking me?” + +“Oh, I beg your pardon!” said the young man, contritely. “I forgot. One +ought to introduce one’s self before rescuing ladies in distress—but +there really wasn’t time, you know. If you’ll overlook the informality, +my name’s Karslake, Roger Karslake, Princess Sofia, and I’m taking you +to your father.” + + + + +V +HOUSE OF THE WOLF + + +This startling announcement Sofia received without comment and with a +composure quite as surprising. The life which had made her what she +was, a young woman singularly unillusioned, well-poised, and +well-informed, had brought out in her nature a strong vein of +scepticism. She was not easily to be impressed. The more remarkable the +circumstance in question, the less inclined was she to exclaim about +it, the stronger was her propensity to look shrewdly into the matter +and find out for herself just what it was that made it seem so odd. + +She didn’t repose much faith in those striking synchronizations which +apparently unrelated influences sometimes effect with related events, +and which we are accustomed to term coincidences. She distrusted their +specious seeming of spontaneity, she suspected a deep design behind +them all. + +For example: Up to the moment of her flight from the Café des Exiles +there had been, as Sofia saw it, nothing extraordinary or inexplicable +in the chapter of happenings which had made her acquainted, as abruptly +as tardily, with certain facts concerning her parentage. + +You might, if you felt like it, call it a strange coincidence that she +should have read the advertisement of Messrs. Secretan & Sypher just +before their letter was delivered and Mama Thérèse by her intemperate +conduct warmed Sofia’s simmering suspicions to the boiling point. But +then Sofia read the Agony Column every time it came into her hands: she +would have been more surprised had she missed noticing her given name +in print, and downright ashamed of herself if she had failed to +associate the letter with the advertisement. + +If you asked her, she called it Fate, the foreordained workings of +occult forces charged with dominion over human affairs. Sooner or later +she must somehow have learned the truth about her right place in the +world; and to her way of thinking it was no more astonishing that she +should have learned it through accident supplemented by the acute +inferences of a sharply stimulated imagination, rather than through +being waited upon by a delegation of legal gentlemen commissioned with +the duty of enlightening her. And the colossal set-piece of the evening +having been duly exploded, no sequel whatever could expect anything +better than relegation to the cheerless limbo of anticlimax. + +Thus when young Mr. Karslake explained his uninvited if timely +intervention by stating that he was conducting her to the parent of +whose existence she had so recently been informed, he succeeded—not to +put too fine a point upon it—only in making it all seem a bit thick. + +So for the time being Sofia contented herself with silent study of his +face as fitfully revealed by the passing lights of Shaftesbury Avenue. + +A nice face (she thought) open and naïve, perhaps a trace too much so; +but, viewed at close quarters, by no means so child-like as she had +thought it, and by no means wanting in evidences of quiet strength if +one forgave the funny little moustache which (now one came to, observe +it seriously) was precisely what lent that possibly deceptive look of +innocence and inconsequence, positively weakening the character of what +might otherwise have been a countenance to foster confidence. + +As for Mr. Karslake, he endured this candid scrutiny with a faintly +apprehensive smile, but volunteered nothing more; so that, when the +silence in time acquired an accent of constraint, it was Sofia who had +to break it, not Mr. Karslake. + +“I’m wondering about you,” she explained quite gravely. + +“One fancied as much, Princess Sofia.” + +She liked his way of saying that; the title seemed to fall naturally +from his lips, without a trace of irony. None the less, it wouldn’t do +to be too readily influenced in his favour. + +“Do you really know my father?” + +“Rather!” said Mr. Karslake. “You see, I’m his secretary.” + +“How long—” + +“Upward of eighteen months now.” + +“And how long have you known I was his daughter?” + +Mr. Karslake, consulting a wrist-watch, permitted himself a quiet +smile. + +“Thirty-eight minutes,” he announced—“say, thirty-nine.” + +“But how did you find out—?” + +“Your father called me up—can’t say from where—said he’d just learned +you were acting as cashier at the Café des Exiles, and would I be good +enough to take you firmly by the hand and lead you home.” + +“And how did he learn—?” + +“That he didn’t say. ’Fraid you’ll have to ask him, Princess Sofia.” + +Genuinely diverted by the cross-examination, he awaited with unruffled +good humour the next question to be put by this amazingly collected and +direct young person. But Sofia hesitated. She didn’t want to be rude, +and Karslake seemed to be telling a tolerably straight story; still, +she couldn’t altogether believe in him as yet. She couldn’t help it if +his visit to the restaurant had been a shade too opportune, his account +of himself too confoundedly pat. + +No: she wasn’t in the least afraid. Even if she were being kidnapped, +she wasn’t afraid. She was so young, so absurdly confident in her +ability to take care of herself. On the other hand, intuition kept +admonishing her that in real life things simply didn’t happen like +this, so smoothly, so fortunately; somehow, somewhere, in this curious +affair, something must be wrong. + +“Please: what is my father’s name?” + +“Prince Victor Vassilyevski.” + +“You’re sure it isn’t Michael Lanyard?” + +Now Mr. Karslake was genuinely startled and showed it. Sofia remarked +that he eyed her uneasily. + +“My sainted aunt! Where did you get hold of that name?” + +“Isn’t it my father’s?” + +“Ye-es,” the young man admitted, reluctantly; at least with something +strongly resembling reluctance. “But he doesn’t use it any more.” + +“Why not?” + +Mr. Karslake was silent, thoughtful. Sofia felt that she had scored and +with determination pressed her point. + +“Do you mind telling me why he doesn’t use that name, if it’s his?” + +“See here, Princess Sofia”—Karslake slewed round to face her squarely +with his most earnest and persuasive manner—“I am merely Prince +Victor’s secretary, I’m not supposed to know all his secrets, and those +I do know I’m supposed not to talk about. I’d much rather you put that +question to Prince Victor yourself.” + +“I shall,” Sofia announced with decision. “When am I to see him? +To-night?” + +“Of course. That is, I presume you will. I mean to say, Prince Victor +wasn’t at home when I left, but if I know him he’s sure to be when we +arrive. And I’m taking you there as directly as a motor can travel in +this blessed town.” + +Sofia looked out of the window. The car, having turned down Regent +Street from Piccadilly Circus, was now traversing sedate Pall Mall; and +in another moment it swung into the passage between St. James’s Palace +and Marlborough House Chapel; and then they were in The Mall, with the +Victoria Memorial ahead, glowing against the dingy backing of +Buckingham Palace. + +Now, since all Sofia’s reading had inculcated the belief that the +enterprising kidnapper always made off with his victim by way of dark +bystreets and unsavoury neighbourhoods, she felt somewhat reassured. + +“Have we very far to go?” + +“We’re almost there now—Queen Anne’s Gate.” + +A good enough address. Though that proved nothing. There was still +plenty of time, anything might happen.... + +Sofia shrugged, and settled back to await developments. + +But there was nothing to warrant misgivings in the aspect of the +dwelling before which the car presently drew up. If it wasn’t the +palace Sofia had unconsciously been looking forward to, it owned a +solid, dull-faced dignity that suited well the town-house of a person +of quality, it measured up quite acceptably to Sofia’s notion of what +was becoming to the condition of a prince in exile—who naturally would +live quietly, in view of the recent revolution in Russia. + +Without augmented fears, then, though still on the alert for anything +that might seem questionable, and more agitated with excitement than +she let him suspect, Sofia permitted Mr. Karslake to conduct her to the +door. + +He had barely touched the bell-button when this door opened, revealing +a vista of spacious entrance-hall. + +To one side stood a manservant to whom Sofia paid no attention till the +sound of his name on Karslake’s tongue struck an echo from her memory. +“Thanks, Nogam. Prince Victor home yet?” + +“Not yet, sir.” + +“Tell him, please, when he comes in, we’re waiting in the study.” + +“’Nk-you, sir.” + +The servant was the man whom Karslake had met in the Café des Exiles +only a few hours before. Catching Sofia’s quick, questioning glance, +Nogam paused at respectful attention. And, even then, she was struck +again with his fidelity to the rôle in the social system for which Life +had cast him. In the café, that afternoon, he had cut a mildly +incongruous figure, unpretending but alien to that atmosphere; here, in +the plain evening-dress livery of his station, he blended perfectly +into the picture. + +Karslake gave his hat and stick to the man, then opened one wing of a +great double doorway, and with a bow invited Sofia to precede him. She +faltered, hazily conceiving that threshold in the guise of an +inglorious Rubicon. But she had already gone too far into this +adventure to draw back now without forfeiting her self-respect. With a +deceptively firm step she entered a room to wonder at. + +Sombre shadows masked much of its magnificent proportions, but what +Sofia could see suggested less the study of a man of everyday interests +than the private museum of an Orientalist whose wealth knew no limits. + +The air was warm and close, aromatic with the ghosts of ten thousand +perished perfumes. The quiet, when Karslake had closed the door, was +oppressive, as if some dark enchantment here had power to tame and +silence the growl of London that was never elsewhere in all the city +for an instant still. + +On a great table of black teakwood inlaid with mother of pearl burned a +solitary lamp, a curious affair in filigree of brass, furnishing what +illumination there was. Its closely shaded rays made vaguely visible +walls dark with books, tier upon tier climbing to the ceiling; chairs +of odd shape, screens of glowing lacquer; tables and stands supporting +caskets of burning cinnabar, of ivory, of gold, of kaleidoscopic +cloisonné; trays heaped high with unset jewels; cabinets crowded with +rare objects of Eastern art; squat shapes of neglected gods brandishing +weird weapons; grotesque devil masks ferociously a-grin; chests of +strange woods strangely fashioned, strangely carved, and decorated with +inlays of precious metals, banded with huge straps of black iron, from +which gushed in rainbow profusion silks and brocades stiff with +barbaric embroideries in gold- and silver-thread and precious stones. + +Confused by the impact upon her perceptions of so much that was +unexpected and bizarre, the girl looked round with an uncertain smile, +and found Karslake watching her with a manner of peculiar gravity and +concern. + +“Prince Victor is an extraordinary man,” Karslake replied to her +unspoken comment; “probably the most learned Orientalist alive. +Sometimes I think the East has never had a secret he doesn’t know.” + +He paused and drew nearer, with added earnestness in his regard. + +“Princess Sofia,” said he, diffidently, “if I may say something without +meaning to seem disrespectful—” + +Perplexed, she encouraged him with one word: “Please.” + +“I’m afraid,” Karslake ventured, “you will have many strange +experiences in this new life. Some of them, I fancy, you won’t +immediately understand, some things may seem wrong to you, you may find +yourself confronted with conditions hard to accept ...” + +He rested as if in doubt, and she fancied that he was listening +intently, almost apprehensively, for some signal of warning. But on her +part Sofia heard no sound. + +Impressed and puzzled, she uttered a prompting “Yes?” + +“I only want to say”—he employed a tone so low that she could barely +hear him—“if you don’t mind—whatever happens—I’d be awf’ly glad if +you’d think of me as one who sincerely wants to be your friend.” + +“Why,” she said in wonder—“thank you. I shall be glad—” + +She checked in astonishment: a man was approaching from the general +direction of the door by which they had entered. + +The effect was uncanny, as if the figure had materialized before her +very eyes, out of clear air, as if one of those many shadows had taken +on shape and substance while she looked. + +The man himself was nothing unusual in general aspect, of no remarkable +stature, neither tall nor small, neither robust nor slender. His +evening clothes were without fault, but as much might be said of ten +thousand men who might be seen any night in the public rendezvous of +leisured London. His carriage had special distinction only in that he +moved with a sort of feline grace. Still, something elusive made him +unlike any other man Sofia had ever met, something arresting and not +altogether prepossessing. + +As he drew nearer and his features became more clearly defined by the +light, she was sensible of gazing into a face of unique cast. Of an odd +grayish pallor accentuated by hair so black that it might have been +painted on his skull with india-ink, the skin seemed to be as soft and +smooth as a child’s, beardless and wholly without lustre. The mouth was +sensuous yet firm, with hard, full lips. Leaden pouches hung beneath +heavy-lidded eyes set at a noticeable angle. The eyes themselves were +as black as night and as lightless; the rays of the lamp struck no +gleam from them; in spite of this they were compelling, masterful, and +disconcerting. + +Karslake at once fell back, with a bow so low it was little less than +an obeisance. + +“Prince Victor!” + +The man nodded acknowledgment of this greeting without detaching +attention from the girl. His voice, slightly tremulous with emotion, +uttered her name: “Sofia?” + +She collected herself with an effort. “I am Sofia,” she replied almost +mechanically. + +“And I, your father...” + +Prince Victor lifted hands of singular delicacy, slender and tapering, +whose long fingers were dressed with many curious rings. + +A reluctance she could not understand hindered Sofia from going gladly +into those arms. She had to make herself yield. They tightened hungrily +about her. She closed her eyes and experienced a slight, invincible +shudder. + +“My child!” + +The lips that touched her forehead astonished her with their warmth. +Instinctively she had expected them to be cool, as frigid as the effect +of that strange mask of which they formed a part. + +Then, held at arm’s-length, she submitted to an inspection whose sum +was enunciated with a strange smile of gratification: + +“You are beautiful.” + +In embarrassment she murmured: “I am glad you think so—father.” + +“As beautiful as your mother—in her time the most beautiful creature in +the world—her image, a flawless reproduction, even to her colouring, +the shade of the hair, the eyes—so like the sea!” + +“I am glad,” the girl repeated, nervously. + +“And until to-night I did not know you lived!” + +She mustered up courage enough to ask: “How—?” + +The heavy lids drooped lower over the illegible eyes. “My attention was +called to a newspaper advertisement signed by a firm of solicitors. I +got in touch with them—a matter of some difficulty, since it was after +business hours—and found out where to look for you. Then, prevented +from acting as quickly as I wished, myself, I sent Karslake here to +bring you to me.” + +“But, according to their letter, the solicitors thought I was in +France, in a convent!” + +“When they advertised for me—yes. But by the time I enquired they were +better informed.” + +“But the advertisement was addressed to Michael Lanyard!” + +The thin lips formed a faint smile. “That was once my name. I no longer +use it.” + +Against a feeling that she was adopting an attitude both undutiful and +unbecoming, Sofia persisted. + +“Why?” + +Prince Victor Vassilyevski gave a gesture of pain and reluctance. + +“Must I tell you? Why not? You must know some day, as well now as +later, perhaps. Twenty years ago the name of Michael Lanyard was famous +throughout Europe—or shall I say infamous?—the name of the greatest +thief of modern times, otherwise known as ‘The Lone Wolf’.” + +Involuntarily, Sofia stepped back, as if some shape of horror had been +suddenly thrust before her face. + +“The Lone Wolf!” she echoed in a voice of dismay. “A thief! You!” + +The man who called himself her father replied with a series of slow, +affirmative nods. + +“That startles you?” he said in an indulgent voice. “Naturally. But you +will soon grow accustomed to the thought, you will condone that chapter +in my history, remembering I am no longer that man, no longer a thief, +that for many years now my record has been without reproach. You will +remember that there is more joy in Heaven over the one sinner who +repents ... You will forgive the father, if only for your mother’s +sake.” + +“For my mother’s sake—?” + +“What the Lone Wolf was in his day, your mother was in hers—the most +brilliant adventuress Europe ever knew.” + +“Oh!” cried the girl in semi-hysterical protest. “Oh, no, no! +Impossible!” + +“I assure you, it is quite true. Some day I may tell you her +history—and mine. For the present, you will do well to think no more +about what I have confessed. Repining can never mend the past. It is +to-day and to-morrow you must think of: that you are restored to me, +and that I have not only the means but a great hunger to make you +happy, to gratify your slightest whim.” + +“I want nothing!” Sofia insisted, wildly. + +“You want sleep,” Prince Victor corrected, fondly—“you want it badly. +You are nervous, overstrung, in no condition to understand the great +good fortune that has befallen you. But to-morrow you will see things +in a rosier light.” + +Apparently he had manipulated some signal unremarked by Sofia. The door +opened, framing the figure of the man Nogam. Without looking round, but +with an inscrutable smile, Prince Victor took the girl in his arms +again and held her close. + +“You rang, sir?” + +“Oh, are you there, Nogam? Is the apartment ready for the Princess +Sofia?” + +“Quite ready, sir.” + +“Be good enough to conduct her to it.” Again Prince Victor kissed +Sofia’s forehead, then let her go. “Good-night, my child.” + +Moving slowly toward the door, drooping, Sofia made inarticulate +response. She felt suddenly stupefied with fatigue. To think meant an +effort that mocked her flagging powers. A vast lassitude was weighing +upon her, body and spirit were faint in the enervation of an inexorable +disconsolation. + + + + +VI +THE MUMMER + + +Alone with his secretary, Prince Victor Vassilyevski dropped +indifferently the guise of manner with which he had clothed himself for +the benefit of the woman whom he claimed as his own child. That +semblance of shy affection coloured by regrets for the past and +modified by the native nobility of a prince in exile—so becoming in a +parent to whose bosom a daughter whom he had never seen was suddenly +restored—being of no more service for the present, was incontinently +discarded. In its stead Victor favoured Karslake with a slow smile of +understanding that broadened into an insuppressible grin of successful +malice, a grimace of crude exultation through which peered out the +impish savage mutinously imprisoned within a flimsy husk of modern +manner. + +Suspecting this self-betrayal, he erased the grin swiftly, but not so +swiftly that Karslake failed to note it. And the young man, smiling +amiably and respectfully in return, was sensible of a thrill: yet +another glimpse had been given him into the mystery that slept behind +that countenance normally so impenetrable. + +But he was studious to show nothing of his own emotion. It was his part +to be merely a mirror, to reflect rather than to feel, to be an +instrument infinitely supple and unfailing, never an independent +intelligence. Not otherwise could he count on holding his place in +Victor’s favour. + +“You were quicker than I hoped.” + +“I had no trouble, sir,” Karslake returned, cheerfully. “Things rather +played into my hands.” + +Victor dropped into a chair beside the table and lifted the lid of a +small golden casket. Helping himself to one of its store of cigarettes, +he made Karslake free of the remainder with a gracious hand. The +secretary demurred, producing his pocket case. + +“If you don’t mind, sir ...” + +Victor moved a supercilious eyebrow. “Woodbines again?” + +“Sorry, sir; I know they’re pretty awful and all that, but they were +all I could get in France, and I contracted a taste for them I can’t +seem to cure. I remember, while I lay in a hospital, hardly a whole +bone in my body, thanks to the Boche and his flying circus—it was that +lot sent me crashing, you know—the nurses used to tempt me with the +finest Turkish; but somehow I couldn’t go them; I’d beg for Woodbines.” + +Prince Victor dismissed the subject curtly. “I am waiting to hear about +Sofia.” + +“Not much to tell, sir. There seemed to be a storm of sorts brewing +when I got there. The young woman was at her desk with a face like a +thundercloud. While I was trying to make up my mind what would be my +best approach, she jumped down, flew upstairs and, I gathered, kicked +up a holy row. You see, she’d seen that advertisement of Secretan & +Sypher’s, and smelt a rat.” + +“What did she say?” + +“Nothing definite, sir: seemed to understand she was the daughter of +Princess Sofia Vassilyevski, only she objected to her father being +anybody but Michael Lanyard.” + +“Go on.” + +“After a bit she stampeded downstairs again, with the old girl and that +swine of a Dupont at her heels. I blocked him and gave Sofia a chance +to get outside. The whole establishment boiled out into the street +after us, yelling like fun, but I got the girl into the car ... and +here we are.” + +But Prince Victor seemed to have lost interest. The glow ebbing from +his face, his lips tightening, the thick lids drooping low over his +eyes, he sat in apparent abstraction, aping the impassivity of the +graven idols that graced his study. + +“I don’t mind owning, sir,” the younger man resumed, nervously, “she +had me sparring for wind when she put it to me point-blank her father’s +name was Michael Lanyard.” + +Without moving Victor enquired in a dull voice: “What did you tell +her?” + +“That it was a name you had once used, sir, but.... Well, what you told +her, all except the Lone Wolf business. Don’t mind telling you I was in +a rare funk till you capped my story so neatly.” + +He laughed and ventured with a hesitation quite boyish: “I say, Prince +Victor—if it’s not an impertinent question—was there any truth in that? +I mean about your having been the Lone Wolf twenty years ago.” + +“Not a syllable,” said Victor, dryly. + +“Then your name never was Michael Lanyard?” + +“Never, but ...” + +During a long pause the secretary fidgeted inwardly but had the wisdom +to refrain from showing further inquisitiveness. He could see that +strong passions were working in Victor: a hand, extended upon the +table, unclosed and closed with a peculiar clutching action; the +muscles contracted round mouth and eyes, moulding the face into a cast +of disquieting malevolence. The voice, when at length it resumed, was +bitter. + +“But Michael Lanyard was my enemy ... and is to-day.... He became a +lover of Sofia’s mother, he had a hand in overturning plans I had made, +he humiliated, mocked me.... And to-day he is interfering again.... But +...” + +Victor sank back in his chair. Suddenly that unholy grin of his flashed +and faded. + +“But now his impertinence fails, his insolence over-reaches itself. Now +I have the whip-hand and ... I shall use it!” + +Vindictiveness that could find relief only in action mastered the man. + +“Be good enough to take this dictation.” + +Karslake turned to the table and opened a portfolio of illuminated +Spanish leather. + +“Ready, sir,” he said, with pencil poised. + +_“To Michael Lanyard, Intelligence Division, the War Office, Whitehall. +Sir: Your daughter Sofia is now with me. Permit me to suggest that, in +consideration of this situation, you cease to meddle with my affairs. +Your own intelligence must tell you nothing could be more fatal than an +attempt to communicate with her.”_ + +“Sign on the typewriter with the initial _V_.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Type it on plain paper, use a plain envelope, be sure that neither has +a watermark, and get it off to-night without fail. Take a taxi to St. +Pancras station and post it there. If you make haste you can get it in +a pillar-box before the last collection.” + +“I shan’t lose a minute, sir.” + +Karslake straightened up, folding the paper, and made for the door. + +“One moment, Karslake.... This man, Nogam: where did you pick him up?” + +“He used to buttle for my father, sir, but got into trouble—some +domestic unpleasantness, I believe—needed money, and raised a cheque. +The old boy let him off easy; but I’ve got the cheque, and Nogam knows +it. The fellow’s perfectly trained and absolutely dependable, knows his +place and his duties and not another blessed thing. I’ll send him in if +you like.” + +Prince Victor uttered with dry accent: “Why?” + +“Thought you might care to have a talk with him, sir.” + +“I have.” + +“Oh!” Mr. Karslake exclaimed—“I didn’t know.” + +“Quite so,” commented Prince Victor. “I shan’t need you again to-night, +Karslake.” + +“Good-night, sir.” + +When the secretary had gone, Victor sat motionless, so still that his +breathing scarcely stirred his body, with a face absolutely +imperturbable, steadfastly gazing into that darkness which shrouded the +workings of his mind. + +On the doorstep a shrill whistle sounded: Nogam calling Karslake’s +taxi. Victor heard the vehicle roll in and stand panting at the curb, +then the slam of its door, the diminishing rumble of its departure. + +The house door closed, and after a little the study door opened, and +Nogam halted on the threshold. + +Unstirring Victor enquired: “What is it, Nogam?” + +“I wished to enquire would there be anything more to-night, sir.” + +“Nothing.” + +“’Nk you, sir.” + +“But Nogam: in this house, regardless of the custom which may have +obtained in other establishments where you have served, you will always +knock before entering a room, and never enter until you obtain +permission.” + +“But if I’m sure the room is empty, sir, and get no answer—?” + +“Then you may enter any room but this. Never this, unless I am here—or +Mr. Karslake is—and you get leave.” + +“’Nk you, sir.” + +“Good-night.” + +As the door closed Victor extended a thin, effeminate hand to a casket +of ivory, searched with sensitive finger-tips its exquisite tracery +until a cunningly hidden spring responded and the lid, splitting in +two, sank down into its walls. In the pocket thus revealed were many +pills, apparently hand-moulded, of a grayish-brown substance, +putty-soft. + +Slowly Victor selected three, placed one after another upon his tongue, +and swallowed them. + +He shut the casket and sat waiting. + +Slowly the keenness of his countenance became blurred, as if the hand +of an unseen sculptor were rubbing down its features, doing away the +veneer with which Europe had overlaid the primitive Asiatic, which now +showed on the surface, in every detail of coarsely modelled nose, +oblique eyes of animal cunning, pendulous lips cruel and sensual. + +By degrees a faint trace of colour began to flush Victor’s cheeks, a +smile modified the set of his mouth, the heavy-lidded eyes lost their +lustreless opacity and glimmered with uncanny light. + +He breathed deeply, evenly, with an evident relish. The action of the +opium was visibly renewing his powers. His expression, softening, +became terrible with brute tenderness and longing. Gazing into shadows +in which he saw that which he wished ardently to see, he stretched +forth his arms, and his lips moved, shaping a name: + +“Sofia!” + +As those syllables, freighted with that undying passion which consumed +the man, sounded upon the stillness, Victor turned sharply, with a +gesture of irritation, looking aside, listening. + +Instantaneously the Asiatic disappeared, thrust back into its habitual +latency within the prison of European: Prince Victor was as he had +been, as always to the world, cool, composed, and crafty, master, never +creature, of his emotions. + +A faint buzzing was audible, broken by muffled clicks. + +Rising, Victor approached a table in a corner and with a key from his +pocket ring unlocked a heavy casket of bronze. As he raised its cover a +small electric bulb illuminated the interior, focussing on the +paper-covered face of a mechanical writing device, upon which a pencil +with a broad flat lead operated by a metal arm was tracing characters +resembling the hieroglyphics of the Chinese. + +When the clicking ceased and the pencil was at rest, Victor caught an +end of the paper and pulled it forward until a blank surface again +occupied the writing-bed. Upon this with another pencil he inscribed a +reply, then closed and relocked the casket. + +Back at the table with the lamp, the message just received became crisp +black ash on a brazen tray. + +From a locked chest Victor produced an inverness and a soft hat of +black felt. Wearing these he moved quietly out of the lamp’s radius of +light, and made himself one with the shadows that crowded one another +round the walls. He did not leave by the hall door; but of a sudden the +room was untenanted. + + + + +VII +THE FANTASTICS + + +Downstream from The Pool, a little way below Shadwell, an uncouth row +of dilapidated dwellings in those days stood—or, better, squatted, like +a mute company of draggletail crones—atop a river-wall whose ancient +blocks, all ropy with the slime of centuries, peered dimly out through +groups of crazy spiles at the restless pageant of Thames-life. + +Viewed by day, say from the deck of a river steamer, the spectacle they +offered was, according to bias of mood and disposition, unlovely and +drear or colourful and romantic: Whistler might have etched these +houses, Dickens have staged therein a lowly tragedy, Thomas Burke have +made of one a frame for some vignette unforgettable of Limehouse life. + +Builded of stone or brick or both as to their landward faces, without +exception they presented to the river false backs of wooden framework +which overhung the water. Ordinarily, their windows were tight-shut, +the panes opaque with accumulated grime—many were broken and boarded. +Their look was dismal, their squalor desperate. + +Below, by day, heavy wherries swung moored to the ooze-clad spiles or, +when the tide was out, sprawled upon stinking mud-flats with a gesture +of pathetic helplessness peculiar to stranded watercraft. Seldom was +one observed in use: to all seeming they existed for purposes of +atmosphere alone. + +More seldom still did any dwelling betray evidence of inhabitation +beyond faint wisps of smoke, like ghosts of famine, drifting from the +chimneypots, or—perhaps—some unabashed exhibit of red flannel hung out +to dry with wrist or ankle-bands nipped between a window-sash and sill. + +By night, however, a stir of furtive life was to be surmised from +cryptic lights that flared and faded behind the crusted window-glass or +fell through opened floor-traps to the thick black element that swirled +about the spiles, and from guarded calls as well, inarticulate cries of +hate and love and pain, rumours of close and crude carousal. + +And ever and again the belated riverfarer would encounter one of the +wherries, its long oars swung by brawny arms and backs, stealing +secretly across the inky waters on some errand no less dark. + +On land the buildings lined a cobbled street, from dawn to dark a +thoroughfare for thundering lorries and, twice daily, in murk of early +morning and gloom of early night, scoured by a nondescript rabble +employed in the vast dockyards whose man-made forests of masts and +cordage, funnels and cranes, on either hand lifted angular black +silhouettes against the misty silver of the sky. + +Black and white and yellow and brown, men of every race and skin, they +came and went, their brief hours loud with babel of strange tongues and +a scuffling of countless feet like the sound of surf; and their goings +left the street strangely hushed, a way of sinister reticences, its +winding length ill-lighted by infrequent corner-lamps, its mephitic +glooms enlivened by windows of public houses all saffron with specious +promise of purchasable good-fellowship. + +One of these, the Red Moon, faced the row of waterfront houses, +standing at the intersection of a street which struck inland to the +pulsing heart of Limehouse. A retired bully of the prize-ring ruled +with a high hand over its several bars and many patrons, yellow men and +white girls, deck-hands and dock-workers, pugilistic and criminal +celebrities of the quarter, and their sycophants. Its revels rendered +the nights cacophonous, its portals sucked in streams of sweethearts +and more impersonal lovers of life and laughter, and spewed out sots +close-locked in embraces of maudlin affection or brutal combat. Bobbies +kept an eye on the Red Moon, a respectful one: interference with the +time-hallowed customs and prerogatives of its clientèle was something +to be adventured with extreme discretion. + +Out of the hinterland of Limehouse, a tall man came to the Red Moon +that night, walking with long, loose-jointed strides, holding his head +high and looking over the heads of all he passed with a fixed, far +gaze. He had a hatchet-face, sallow, with lantern jaws, a petulant +mouth, hot eyes that showed too much white above their pupils. A lank +black mane greased his collar. His garments, shoddy but whole, were +stained and bleached in spots, apparently the work of acids, and so +wrinkled and shapeless as to suggest that their owner slept without +undressing as a matter of habit. The pockets of his coat bulged +noticeably. + +Shouldering heedlessly into the saloon-bar, he found it deserted except +for a chinless potman: the liveliest evening trade was always plied in +the cheaper bars adjacent. + +One glance sufficed to identify him: with a surly nod the potman ducked +behind a partition to call the proprietor. Drinks were in order when +this last appeared; and a brief conference in undertones ended when, +having made careful reconnaissance, the publican nodded shortly to the +patron, a jerk of his thumb designating a small door let into the wall +to one side of the bar proper. + +Through this the tall man passed to find himself upon a dark stairway, +at the foot of which another door admitted to an underground chamber +where an apparently exclusive social gathering was in session of +Saturnalia. + +In one corner a long-suffering piano was taking cruel punishment at the +hands of a flashily dressed, sharp-faced man of horsey type. Flanking +him, two young women of the world, with that insouciance which +appertains—in Limehouse—to sweet sixteen, were chanting shrilly to his +accompaniment: both more than comfortably drunk. In the middle of the +room assorted lawbreakers gathered round a table were playing fan-tan +at the top of their lungs. At smaller tables men and women sat +consuming poisons of which they were obviously in no crying need; while +in bunks builded against one wall devotees of the pipe reclined in +various stages of beatitude. The air was hot, and foul with cigarette +smoke, sickening fumes of sizzling opium, effluvia of beer and spirits, +sour reek of sweating flesh. + +Incurious glances greeted the newcomer: none paid him more heed than an +indifferent nod. On his part, brief but comprehensive survey having +deepened the stamp of scorn upon his features, he ignored them all and, +proceeding directly to a bunk of the lowermost tier, aroused its +occupant with a smart tap on the shoulder. + +The ostensible drug-addict looked up dreamily, then opened his eyes +wide, with surprising docility rolled out and, uttering no word, +lurched to the fan-tan table. The tall man took his place, lay down, +and drew together the unclean curtains of sleazy stuff provided to +afford privacy to shrinking souls. This done, he turned on his side and +knuckled in peculiar rhythm the back of the bunk, a solid panel which +slipped smoothly to one side, permitting the man to tumble out into +still another room, a cheerless place, with floor of stone and the +smell of a vault. + +When the panel had slipped back into place, closing out the bunk, the +man stood in night absolute. But after a minute a slender beam of +golden light struck suddenly athwart the darkness and found his face. +This he endured impassively, only lifting a hand to describe an obscure +sign. Immediately the light was shut off, a door opened in the wall +opposite, dull light from behind disclosed the silhouette of a man in +Chinese robes, his head inclined in a bow of courteous dignity. + +In good English but with musical Eastern inflection a voice gave +greeting: + +“Good evening, Thirteen. You are awaited—and welcome!” + +“Good evening, Shaik Tsin,” the European replied in heavy un-English +accents. “Number One is here, yes?” + +“Not yet. But we have just received a telautographic message saying he +is on his way.” + +Nodding impatiently, Thirteen passed through the door, which the +Chinaman quickly closed and barred. + +The chamber to which one gained admittance by ways so devious and +fantastic was large—exactly how large it was difficult to guess, since +all its walls were screened by black silk panels upon which golden +dragons writhed and crawled. A thick carpet of black covered every inch +of visible floor space, a black silk canopy hid the ceiling, and all +the room was in deep shadow save the space immediately beneath a great +lamp of opalescent glass, likewise draped in black. + +Here stood an octagonal table of black teakwood, on seven sides of +which seven chairs were placed. When Thirteen had taken his seat all +these were occupied. On the eighth side an eighth chair stood empty on +a low dais, the heavy carving of its high back, its massive arms and +legs, picked out with gold. + +The six who had anticipated Thirteen at this bizarre rendezvous hailed +him as a familiar, according to their several idiosyncrasies, +brusquely, indifferently, or with some semblance of cordiality. They +made a motley crew. + +Two were Englishman in appearance, though the figure of languid +elegance in evening dress that might have graced the lounge of a West +End club had a voice soft with Celtic brogue. The other owned a gross +body clothed in loud checks and, with his mean blue eyes, his mottled +complexion, and cunning leer, would not have seemed out of place in a +betting-ring. + +Aside from these there were a moon-faced Bengali babu, a dark Italian +with flashing eyes and teeth, and a stout person of bovine Teutonic +cast—the type that is sage, shrewd, easy-going when unopposed, but +capable under provocation of exhibiting the most conscienceless +brutality. + +From this last Thirteen got his warmest welcome. + +“You are late, mine friend.” + +“In good time, however,” Thirteen responded with a nod toward the +vacant chair. “More than that, the summons was handed me only twenty +minutes ago.” + +“How was that?” the babu asked. “It was sent at six o’clock.” + +“I was at work in the laboratory and had left orders I was not to be +disturbed. But for one thing”—the petulance of Thirteen’s habitual +expression was lightened by a flash of self-gratulation, and his voice +shook a little with excitement—“I might not have received the summons +before morning.” + +“And that one thing?” + +“Success, comrades! At last—after months of experimentation—I have been +successful!” + +“’Ow?” dryly demanded the man in the checked suit. + +“I have discovered a great secret—discovered, perfected, adapted it to +common means at our command. Comrades, I tell you, to-night we hold all +England in the hollow of our hands!” + +With an incoherent exclamation and eyes afire the Russian sat forward. +Unconsciously the others imitated his action. Only the man in evening +dress made a show of remaining unimpressed. + +“It’s fine, fat words you’re after using,” he commented. “‘All England +in the hollow of our hands!’ If they mean anything at all, comrade, +they mean—” + +“Everything!” Thirteen cut in with arrogant assertiveness; “all we’ve +been waiting for, hoping for, praying for—the end of the ruling +classes, extinction of the accursed aristocrats, subjugation of the +thrice-damned bourgeois, the triumph of the proletariat, all at a +single stroke, swift, subtle, and sure! Freedom for Ireland, freedom +for India, freedom for England, the speedy spreading of that red dawn +which lights the Russian skies to-day, till all the wide world basks in +its warm radiance and acclaims us, comrades, its redeemers!” + +“Lieber Gott!” the German breathed. “Colossal!” + +“’Ear, ’ear!” the Englishman applauded, perfunctory and skeptical. +“Bli’me if you didn’t mike me forget where I was—’ad me thinking I was +in ’Yde Park, you did, listening to a bloody horator on a box.” + +“You may laugh,” Thirteen replied with a sour glance; “but when you +have heard, you will not laugh. I am not boasting—I am telling you.” + +“Not a great deal,” the Irishman suggested. “Your mouth is full of +sounds and fury, but till you tell us more you’ll have told us +nothing.” + +The face of Thirteen grew darker still, and for a moment he seemed to +meditate an angry retort; but he thought better of it, contenting +himself with an impatient movement and a mutter: “All in good time; +Number One is not here yet.” + +“W’y wyste time w’itin’ for ’im?” demanded the Englishman. “’E’s no +good, ’e’s done.” + +Thirteen’s eyes narrowed. “How so?” + +“’E’s done, Number One is—finished, counted out, napoo! ’E’s ’ad ’is +d’y, and a pretty mess ’e’s mide of it—and it’s ’igh time, I say, for +’im to step down and let a better man tike ’old.” + +Growls in chorus endorsed this declaration of mutiny; but suddenly were +stilled by a voice, sonorous and calm, from outside the circle: + +“You think so, Seven? Well—who knows?—perhaps you are right.” + + + + +VIII +COUNCIL OF THE GODLESS + + +Someone exclaimed in an accent of alarm: “Number One!” + +With a concerted turning of startled heads, a hasty thrusting back of +chairs, the gathering rose in involuntary deference. That is, five rose +as one; and, after a moment during which his spirit of insubordination +faltered and failed, the Englishman got awkwardly to his feet and stood +abashed and sullen. + +The one to remain seated was the Irishman so well turned out by Conduit +Street; who made no move more than slightly to elevate supercilious +brows and slouch a little lower in his chair, glancing from face to +face of the circle, then back to the cold countenance presented by the +author of the abrupt interruption. + +This last stood quietly beside the eighth chair, a hand on its carved +arm, one foot on the edge of the dais. A long robe of black silk +enveloped him; on its bosom a Chinese unicorn was embroidered. His +girdle clasp was of Imperial jade set with rubies. The girdle itself +was yellow. A great ruby button, nearly an inch in diameter, set in a +mounting of worked gold, crowned a hat like an inverted round bowl. His +black silk shoes were heavy with golden embroidery, and had white soles +an inch thick. Authority lent inches to his stature, so that he seemed +to dominate his company physically as well as spiritually. + +A pace or two in the rear Shaik Tsin, with impassive face and arms +folded in voluminous sleeves, waited as might a bodyguard. + +A sardonic glimmer in eyes half visible under heavy lids alone betrayed +relish of the situation, the homage commanded and the sensation created +by this inopportune and unheralded arrival: deliberately Number One +mounted the dais and posed himself in the throne-like chair. Then, as +his look read face after face, he smiled with twitching and disdainful +nostrils. + +“Gentlemen of the Council,” he said, slowly, “I bow to you all. Pray be +seated.” + +In confounded silence the six resumed their seats, while the +seventh—who had not moved—lighted a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and +through a veil of smoke continued to regard Number One with insolent +eyes. + +“I fear my arrival was ill-timed, gentlemen. Seven had the floor, and I +confess to finding what I happened to overhear extremely interesting. +If he will be good enough to continue ...” + +The Irishman gave a light, derisive laugh. Shifting uneasily in his +chair, the man in the checked suit flushed darkly, then stiffened his +spine, hardened his eyes, set his jaw, and faced Number One defiantly. + +“You ’eard ... I ’olds by w’at I said.” + +“I am to understand, then, you think it time for me to abdicate and let +another lead you in my stead?” + +The Englishman assented with an inarticulate monosyllable and a surly +nod. + +“And may one ask why?” + +“Blue’s plice in Pekin Street was r’ided this afternoon,” Seven +announced truculently. “But per’aps you didn’t know—” + +“Not until some time before the news reached you,” One replied, +pleasantly. “And what of it?” + +“Three fycers in a week, Gov’ner—anybody’ll tell you that’s comin’ it a +bit thick.” + +“Granted. What then?” + +“That’s only part of it. Tike last week: Eighteen pinched, the queer +plant in ’Igh Street pulled by the coppers—” + +“I know, I know. To your point!” + +Seven hesitated under that steely stare. “I leave it to you, Gov’ner,” +he continued to stammer at length. “S’y you was me and I was Number +One—w’at would you think?” + +“Why, quite naturally, that some superior intelligence has latterly +been collaborating with Scotland Yard.” + +“Aren’t you a bit behindhand in arriving at that conclusion?” the +Irishman suggested with an ill-dissembled sneer. + +“No, Eleven,” Number One replied, mildly, “since I arrived at it some +time since.” + +“But took no measures—” + +“You are in a position to state that as a fact?” + +Eleven shrugged lightly. “Need I be? Does not our situation speak for +itself?” + +“Since you cannot be as thoroughly acquainted as I am with the +situation, and since it seems I am required to account for my +leadership or surrender it to you, Eleven ... I believe you have +selected yourself to replace me as Number One, have you not?—that is to +say, in the improbable event of my abdication.” + +“Improbable?” repeated the Irishman. “I wouldn’t call it that.” + +“You are right,” Number One assented, gravely: “unthinkable is the +word. But you haven’t answered my question.” + +“Oh, as for that, if the Council should see fit to appoint me Number +One, I’d naturally do my best.” + +“And most noble of you, I’m sure. But rather than bring down any such +disaster upon this organization, I will say now that measures have +already been taken, and I am to-night in a position to promise you that +the new spirit in Scotland Yard will no longer be a factor in our +calculations.” + +“That wants proving,” Eleven contended. + +A spasm of anger shook the figure in the throne-like chair, but only +for an instant; immediately the iron will of the man imposed rigid +self-control; almost without pause he proceeded in level and civil +accents: + +“I think I can satisfy you and—this once—I consent to do so. But first, +a question: Have you yourself formed any theory as to the identity of +this hostile intelligence which has so hindered us of late?” + +“I’d be a raw fool if I hadn’t,” the Irishman retorted. “We know the +Lone Wolf has been hand-in-glove with the authorities ever since the +British Secret Service used him during the war.” + +“You think, then, it is Lanyard—?” + +“It’s a wise saying: ‘Set a thief to catch a thief.’ I believe there’s +no man in England but Lanyard who has the wit and vision and audacity +to fight us on our ground and win.” + +“I agree entirely. Therefore, I have this day tied the hands of the +Lone Wolf; he will not again dare to contend against us.” + +Eleven sat up with a startled gesture. + +“Are you meaning you’ve got the girl?” + +Number One indulged a remote and chilly smile. + +“Then you, too, noticed the advertisement? Accept my compliments, +Eleven. Decidedly you might prove a dangerous rival—were I in a temper +to countenance competition.... But it is true: I have the girl +Sofia—the Lone Wolf’s daughter.” + +“Where?” + +The smile faded; the man on the dais looked down loftily. + +“It is enough for you to know I have proved far-sighted and unfailing +in my fidelity to our common cause.” + +“So _you_ say ...” + +Though the Irishman winced and fell silent under the cold glare of the +other’s eyes, the voice that answered him was level and passionless. + +“I am not here to have my word challenged—or my authority. If any one +of you imagines I am even thinking of surrendering the latter, under +any conceivable circumstances, he is mad. And if any one of you doubts +my power to enforce my will, I promise him ample proof of it before the +night is ended.... Let us now proceed to business, the question held +over from our last meeting. If Comrade Four will consult his minutes”—a +nod singled out the babu, who, beaming with importance, produced a +note-book—“they will show we adjourned to consider overtures made by +the Smolny Institute of Petrograd, seeking our coöperation toward +accelerating the social revolution in England.” + +“Thatt,” the Bengali affirmed, “is true bill of factt.” + +“If the temper in which you received those proposals is fair +criterion,” Number One resumed, “there can be little doubt as to our +decision. Speaking for myself, I think it would be suicidal to reject +the overtures of the Soviet Government in Russia. Let me state why.” + +He bowed his forehead upon a hand and continued with thoughtful gaze +downcast: + +“England is ripe for revolution. The social discontent resulting from +the war has reached an acute stage. Only a spark is needed. It remains +for us to decide whether to permit Russia to bring about the explosion +or—bring it about ourselves. The soviet movement is irresistible, it +will sweep England eventually as it has swept Russia, as it is now +sweeping Germany, Hungary, Austria, Italy, as it must soon sweep France +and Spain. Our power in England is great; even so, we could hope to do +no more than delay the soviet movement were we to set ourselves against +it—we could never hope to stop it. It would seem, then, +self-preservation to set ourselves at the head of it, seize with our +own hands—in the name of the British Soviet—the symbols of power now +held by an antiquated and doddering Government. So shall we become to +England what the Smolny Institute is to Russia. Otherwise, in the end, +we must be crushed.” + +“If we adopt the indicated course, there will be an end forever to this +hole-and-corner business which so hampers us, we will be able to work +in the open, the police will become our tools rather than weapons in +the hands of our enemies; our power will be without limits, Soviet +Russia itself must bow to our dictation.” + +He paused and lifted his head, looking round the circle of intent +faces. + +“If I am wrong or too sanguine, I am ready to be corrected.” + +He heard only a murmur of admiration, never a note of dissent; and a +smile of gratification, yet half satiric, curved his thin lips. + +“I take it, then, the Council endorses my decision to proceed with the +negotiations instituted by Soviet Russia; to accept its proposals and +pledge our cooperation in every way?” + +This time there was no mistaking the accuracy with which he had gauged +the minds of his associates. + +“One thing remains to be decided: a plan of action, something which +will demand all that we have of imagination, ingenuity, common sense, +and far prevision. We can afford to waste not a single ounce of +strength: the blow, when we strike, must be sudden, sharp, +merciless—irresistible. But if Thirteen is not over-confident of the +discovery which he says he has to-day perfected, the means to deal just +such a blow is ready to our hands.... Thirteen?” + +A nod and gracious smile invited that one to speak. He rose, trembling +a little with excitement, bowed to Number One and, delving into +capacious pockets, produced a number of small tin canisters together +with three sealed bottles of brown glass. Surveying these, as he +arranged them on the teakwood table before him, he smiled a little to +himself: the stars, it seemed to him, were warring in their courses in +his behalf; this was to prove his hour of hours. + +He began to speak in a quivering voice which soon grew more steady. + +“It is true, Excellency—it is true, comrades—I have perfected a +discovery which I offer as a free gift to the cause, and by means of +which, intelligently employed, we can, if we will, make all London a +graveyard. Put the resources of this organization at my command, give +me a week to make the essential preparations, select a time of national +crisis when the Houses of Parliament are sitting and the Cabinet meets +in Downing Street with the King attending or in Buckingham Palace ...” + +He paused and held the pause with a keen feeling for dramatic effect, +his eyes seeking in turn the faces of his fellow conspirators, an +insuppressible grin of malicious exultation twisting his scornful and +mutinous mouth. + +“Let this be done,” he concluded, “and by means of these few tins and +bottles which you see before you, in one brief hour the ruling classes +will have perished almost to a man, there will be no more government of +a tyrannical bourgeoisie to grind down the proletariat, a bloodless +revolution will have made England the cradle of the new liberty!” + +“Bloodless?” the man on the dais repeated; and even he was seen +perceptibly to shudder at the prospect unfolded to the vision of his +mind. “Yes—but more terrible than the massacre of the Huguenots, more +savage than the French Revolution!” + +“But I believe,” the inventor commented, “your Excellency said we +required the means to deal a ‘blow sudden, sharp, +merciless—irresistible’.” + +“Surely now,” the Irishman suggested, mockingly—where a wiser man would +have held his tongue—“you’ll not be sticking at a small matter like +wholesale murder if it’s to make us masters of England?” + +“Of England?” the German echoed. “Herr Gott! Of the world!” + +“And you, Excellency, our master,” the inventor added, shrewdly. + +A sign at once impatient and imperative demanded silence, and for a few +minutes it obtained unbroken, while the gathering, keyed to high +tension, studied closely the face of their leader and found it +altogether illegible. + +On his part he seemed forgetful of the existence of anybody but +himself, forgetful almost of himself as well: sitting low in his great +chair, his body as stirless as it were bound by some spell of black +magic, his far gaze probing unfathomable remotenesses of thought. + +Slowly he recalled himself to his surroundings; with a suggestion of +weariness he sat up and reviewed the little company that hung so +breathlessly upon the issue of his judgment. The shadow of that satiric +smile returned. + +“If the thing be feasible,” he promised, “it shall be done. It remains +for Thirteen to be more explicit.” + +With an extravagant flourish the inventor whipped from his breastpocket +a folded paper, and spread it out face uppermost on the table. + +“A map of London,” he announced, “based on the latest Ordnance Survey +and coloured to show the districts supplied by the mains of each +individual gas depot. Thus you will observe”—what his long, bony finger +indicated—“the district supplied by the mains of the Westminster gas +works, comprising Buckingham Palace, the Houses of Parliament, the War +Office, and the Admiralty, Downing Street, the homes of hundreds of the +aristocracy. All these we can at will turn into the deadliest of death +traps.” + +A tense voice interrupted with the demand: “How?” + +“Quite easily, comrade: with the ramifications of our power throughout +London, all under the control of his Excellency”—the inventor bowed to +Number One—“it should be an easy matter to place a few trustworthy men +with the Westminster gas works.” + +“It can readily be done,” Number One affirmed. “And then—?” + +“While this is being done means must be found to smuggle other men, in +the guise of servants, into the various buildings selected, or to +corrupt those already so employed therein. At the designated hour—” + +The words dried upon his lips as somewhere a hidden bell stabbed the +quiet with short, sharp thrills of sound, a code that spelled a message +of terrifying significance. The inventor started violently, but no more +so than every man about the table. Even Number One, shocked out of his +lounging pose, grasped the arms of his throne with convulsive hands. + +Quietly and without a hint of hurry, the Chinese, Shaik Tsin, moved +back into the shadows and, unnoticed, disappeared behind a screen. + +For a moment, when the bell had ceased, nobody spoke; but pallid face +consulted face and eyes grown wide with dread sought eyes that winced +in terror. + +Then the Bengali leaped from his chair, jabbering with bloodless lips. + +“Police! Raid! We are betrayed!” + +He made an uncertain turn, as if thinking to seek safety in flight but +doubting which way to choose; and the movement struck panic into the +minds and hearts of his fellows. In a twinkling all were on their feet. +But before one could move a step the lamp in the ceiling winked out, +the room was left in darkness unrelieved, and the accents of Number One +were heard, coldly imperative. + +“Gentlemen! be good enough to resume your places—let no one move before +there is light again. We are in no immediate danger: Shaik Tsin will +show you out by a secret way long before the police can hope to find +and break into this chamber. In the meantime—” + +The infuriated voice of the Englishman interrupted: + +“And ’oo’re you to give us orders?—you ’oo talked so big about ’avin’ +tied the ’ands of the Lone Wolf and Scotland Yard! You blarsted +blow’ard! Bli’me if I don’t believe it’s you ’oo—” + +“Quietly, Seven! Have you forgotten you have a bad heart?—that +excitement may mean your sudden death?” + +The rage of the Englishman ran out in a gasp and a whisper. + +“In the meantime,” Number One resumed as if there had been no break, “I +promised that, before the night was out, you should have proof of my +ability to enforce my will.” + +A groan of agony answered him, followed by an oath of witless fear. +From a distance the voice, now thin but still sonorous, added: + +“Thirteen will hold himself ready to wait on me when I send for him +to-morrow. Gentlemen of the Council, I bow to you all.” + +Again silence held for a long minute during which no man stirred or +spoke. Then overhead the lamp burned bright again, discovering six +frightened men upon their feet and one who, still seated, did not stir, +and never would again. + +His head fallen forward, chin resting on his chest, mouth ajar, inert +arms dangling over the arms of the chair, heavy legs lax, the +Englishman sat quite dead, dead without a sign to show how death had +come to him. + +Number One had disappeared. + +There was a remote rumour of cries and shouts, the muffled sound of +axes crashing into woodwork.... + + + + +IX +MRS. WARING + + +Late in the forenoon a pencil of golden light found a chink in +jealously drawn draperies, and groped the rich dusk of the bedchamber +till it came to rest, as if happy that its search had found so lovely a +reward, upon the face of a young girl who lay sleeping in a bed whose +exquisite adornment must have flattered even the exalted person of a +princess. + +With a swift but silent movement another girl, who had been sitting +patiently on a low stool near by, rose and put herself in the way of +the sunbeam. But too late: already long lashes were a-flutter upon the +delicately modelled cheeks of the sleeper. + +A gentle sigh brushed parting lips; the sweet body stirred luxuriously; +unclouded by any shadow of misgiving, the blue eyes of the Princess +Sofia looked out upon the first day of her new world. + +Then they grew wide with wonder, comprehending the sleek, pretty face +of a Chinese girl of about her own age who, with eyes downcast, demure +mouth and folded hands, submissively awaited recognition. + +“Who are you?” Sofia demanded in a breath. + +A bob of courtesy, wholly charming, prefaced a reply pattered in +English of quaintest accent: + +“You’ handmaiden—Chou Nu is my name.” + +“My handmaiden!” + +“Les, Plincess Sofia.” + +“But I don’t understand. How—when—?” + +“Las’ night Numbe’ One he send for me, but when I come you go-sleep.” + +“Number One?” + +Surprise coloured faintly the explanation: “Plince Victo’, honol’ble +fathe’ of Plincess Sofia. You like get up now, take bath, have +blekfuss?” + +The smile was irresistibly ingratiating: Sofia could not but return it. +Delighted, Chou Nu ran to the windows, threw wide their draperies, and +darted into the bathroom. + +Autumnal sunlight kindled to burning beauty the golden-bronze tresses +coiled upon the pillows where Sofia lay unstirring, like a princess +enchanted—as indeed she was. Surely nothing less potent than magic had +wrought this metamorphosis in the fabric of her life! And whether the +magic were white or black—what matter? Its work was good. + +No more the Café des Exiles, no more the deadly tedium of daily service +at the desk of the caisse, no more the shrewish tongue of Mama Thérèse, +the odious oglings of Papa Dupont, the ceaseless cark of discontent.... + +Incredible! + +As one who moves in a dream, Sofia rose presently and bathed, then, +robed in a ravishing negligée of rare brocade, breakfasted on melon, +tea, and toast from a service of eggshell china. + +In a long mirror she saw and watched but did not know herself. Like +Goody Twoshoes of nursery fame she could have cried: Lawkamercy! this +is never I! + +The presence of Chou Nu served merely to stress the sense of unreality: +for, obviously, only the heroine of a true fairy tale could have broken +from a chrysalis stage of sordid Soho to the brilliant butterfly +existence of a Russian princess domiciled in the most aristocratic +quarter of London and attended by a Chinese maid! + +And Chou Nu proved a delight. Once satisfied she need fear neither +ill-temper nor arrogance from her new mistress, she indulged an even +and constant flow of artless high spirits, her amusing, clipped English +affording Sofia considerable entertainment together with not a little +food for thought. + +Thus one learned that the main body of the service staff was Chinese +under a major domo named Shaik Tsin—Chou Nu’s “second-uncle”—who +enjoyed Prince Victor’s completest confidence and was, second to the +latter only, the real head of the establishment, its presiding genius. +The front of the house alone was dressed with a handful of English +servants nominally under the man Nogam, but actually, like him, +answerable in the last instance to Shaik Tsin. + +Why this should be Chou Nu couldn’t say. Sofia supposed it was because +Prince Victor thought his Occidental guests would feel more at ease +with English servants; or perhaps he himself preferred them, when it +came to the question of personal attendance. + +No success rewarded efforts to extract from Chou Nu her reason for +referring to Victor as “Number One.” She stated simply that all +Chinamans in London called him that; and being pressed further added, +with as near an approach to impatience as her gentle nature could +muster, that it was obviously because Plince Victo’ _was_ Numbe’ One: +ev’-body knew _that_. + +A knock at the door interrupted Sofia’s questioning. Answering, Chou +brought back word that the honourable father of Princess Sofia +submitted his august felicitations and solicited the immediate favour +of her serene attendance in his study. + +Hasty search failed to locate the garments discarded on going to bed +and, in the indifference of depression and fatigue, left in a tumble on +the floor. All had vanished while Sofia slept; Chou Nu professed blank +ignorance of their fate; and apparently nothing had been provided in +their stead but Chinese robes, of sumptuous vestments well suited to +one of high estate. With these, then, and with Chou Nu’s guidance as to +choice and ceremonious arrangement, Sofia was obliged to make shift; +and anything but unbecoming she found them—or truly it was a shape of +dream that looked out from her mirror. + +Yet it was with reluctant feet that she left her room, descended the +broad staircase to the entrance hall, and addressed herself to the +study door. It had been so beautiful, that waking dream the sequel to +her night of dreamless sleep, too beautiful to be foregone without +regret. + +For Sofia had not forgotten, she could never forget, she had merely +been successful temporarily in banishing from mind that bitter +disillusionment which had poisoned what should have been her time of +greatest joy. + +To be told, by the father of whose dear existence one had only learned +within the hour, that one was the child of a notorious thief and an +adventuress ... + +It needed more than common fortitude to face renewed reminder of that +shame. + +Oddly enough, it seemed to help a bit, somehow to lend her courage and +assurance, to pass the man Nogam in the hall and acknowledge his bow +and smile. Sofia wondered vaguely what it was that made his smile seem +so kind; it was entirely respectful, there was nothing more in it that +she could fix on; and yet ... + +She was able to offer Victor a composed, almost a happy countenance, +and to return cheerful assurances to punctilious enquiries after her +well-being and her comfort overnight. To the real affection in which he +held her, the warmth of his embrace, and the lingering pressure of his +lips gave convincing testimony; and in time, no doubt, as she grew to +know him better, her response would become more spontaneous and true. +Indeed, she insisted, it must; she would school herself, if need be, to +remember that this strange man was the author of her being, the natural +object of her affections—deserving all her love if only because of that +nobility which had enabled him to renounce those evil ways of years +long dead. + +But to-day—and this, of course, she couldn’t understand—a slight but +invincible shiver, perceptible to herself alone, attended her +submission to paternal caresses; and the eyes were too dispassionate +with which she saw Prince Victor. Still, they found little to which +fair exception might be taken. If Life had thus far been callously +frank with Sofia as to its broader aspects, the niceties of its +technique remained measurably a mystery, she was insufficiently +instructed to perceive that Victor’s morning coat (for example) had +been cut a shade too cleverly, or that the ensemble of his raiment was +a trace ornate; and where a mind more mondain would have marked +ponderable constraint in his manner, she saw only dignity and reserve. +But for all that she recognized intuitively a lack of something in the +man, the sum of this second impression of him was formless +disappointment, she felt somehow cheated, disheartened, chilled. + +That she was able at all to dissemble this sense of dashed expectations +was thanks in the main to a third party, a stranger whose presence she +overlooked on entering, when Prince Victor met her near the door, while +the other remained aside, half hidden in the recess of a window. + +Directly, however, that Victor half turned away, saying “I have found a +friend for you, my dear,” Sofia, following his glance, discovered a +woman whose every detail of dress and deportment was unmistakably of +the fashionable world and whose face carried souvenirs of loveliness as +unmistakable. + +Smiling and offering her hands, she approached, while Victor’s voice of +heavy modulations uttered formally: + +“Sybil, permit me to present my daughter. Sofia, Mrs. Waring has +graciously offered to sponsor your introduction to Society, to guide +and instruct you and be in every way your mentor.” + +“My dear!” the woman exclaimed, holding Sofia’s hands and kissing her +cheek. And then, looking aside to Victor, “But how very like!” she +added with the air of tender reminiscence. + +“Oh!” Sofia cried, “you knew my mother?” + +“Indeed—and loved her.” Sofia never dreamed to question the woman’s +sincerity; and her charm of manner was irresistible. “You must try to +like me a little for her sake—” + +“As if one could help liking you for your own, Mrs. Waring!” + +“Prettily said, my dear. You have inherited more from your mother than +your good looks alone. Is it not so, mon prince?” + +“Much more.” Victor’s enigmatic smile gave place to a look of regret +and uneasiness. “Let us hope, however, not too much. Heredity,” he +mused in sombre mood, “is a force of such fatality in our lives....” + +He gave a gesture of solicitude and continued with characteristic +deliberation, and that preciseness of diction which he seemed never +able to forget, even though deeply moved. + +“More than ever, now that Sofia is restored to me, I could wish the +past other than what it was, that she might start life with a handicap +less cruel of inherited tendencies. But when I reflect that both her +parents—” + +“Please!” Sofia begged, piteous. “Oh, please!” + +“I am sorry, my dear.” Victor closed tender hands over those which the +girl had lifted in appeal. “It is for your own good only I give myself +this pain of warning you against your worst enemy, I mean yourself, the +self that is so strange a compound of hereditary weaknesses.... Please +remember always that, no matter what may happen, however far you may be +led into transgression of the social codes, I shall never reproach you, +on the contrary, you may count implicitly on my sympathetic +understanding. Never forget, I, too, have known, have suffered and +fought myself—and in the end won at a cost I am not yet finished +paying, nor will be, I fear, this side my grave.” + +He sighed from his heart, and bowing a stricken head, seemed to lose +himself in disconsolate reverie—but not so far as to suffer the +interruption which Sofia made to offer and which he stayed with an +eloquent hand. + +“You do not understand? But naturally. Let me explain. No: there is no +reason why Sybil—Mrs. Waring—should not hear. She is a dear friend of +long years, she understands.” + +With a quiet murmur—“Oh, quite!”—Mrs. Waring ran an affectionate arm +round Sofia’s shoulders and gently held the girl to her. + +“When I determined to forsake the bad old ways,” Victor pursued—“this +you must know, my dear—I had friends—of a sort—who resented my +defection, set themselves against my will and, when they found they +could not swerve me from my purpose, became my enemies. That was long +ago, but to this day some of them persist in their enmity—I have to be +constantly on my guard.” + +“You mean there is danger?” Sofia asked in quick anxiety. “Your life—?” + +“Always,” Victor assented, gravely. With a shrug he added: “It is +nothing; for myself, I am used to it, I do not greatly care. But for +you—that is another matter altogether. I have a great fear for you, my +child. That, indeed, is why I never tried to find you till +yesterday—believing, as I mistakenly did, you were in good hands, well +cared for, happy—lest my enemies seek to strike at me through you. But +when I saw that unfortunate advertisement I dared delay not another +hour about bringing you within the compass of my protection. Even now, +untiring as my care for you shall ever be, I know my enemies will be as +tireless in endeavours to rob me of you. You will be followed, hounded, +importuned, lied to, threatened—all without rest. If they cannot take +you from me bodily, they will seek to poison your mind against me. +Therefore, rather than keep you practically a prisoner in your home, I +feel obliged to require a promise of you.” + +Deeply stirred by the melancholy gravity that informed his pose, the +girl protested earnestly: “Anything—I will promise anything, rather +than be an anxiety to one who is so kind.” + +“Kind? To my own daughter?” Victor smiled sadly. “But I love you, +little Sofia. Nor is it much that I must ask of you: merely that you +never go out alone, but only in the company of Mrs. Waring or Mr. +Karslake or, preferably, both.” + +“Oh, I promise that—” + +“But there is more: If by any accident you should ever find yourself +left alone in public, do not let strangers speak to you, refuse to +listen to them.” + +“I promise.” + +“And finally: If anybody should ever seek to turn you against me, come +to me instantly and tell me about it.” + +“But naturally I would do that, father.” + +“Good. I rely upon your discretion and loyalty. At another time I will +explain matters in more detail. For the present—enough of an unpleasant +subject. You have a busy day before you. At my request Mrs. Waring has +arranged to have various tradespeople wait upon you this morning to +take your orders for the beginnings of a wardrobe. If you can find +something ready-made to wear you will want, no doubt, to spend the +afternoon shopping. A car will be at your disposal, and I give you +carte blanche. I wish you never to know an unsatisfied need or desire. +Still, I am selfish enough to reserve for myself the happiness of +selecting your jewels.” + +“Oh!” Sofia cried, breathlessly. Victor was holding his arms open; and +how should she deny him? “You are too good to me,” she murmured. “How +can I ever show my gratitude?” + +Holding her close, Victor smiled a singular smile. + +“Some day I may tell you. But to-day—no more. I am much preoccupied +with affairs; but Mrs. Waring will take care of you till evening, when +I promise myself the pleasure of dining with you both.” + +At the sound of a knock he put Sofia gently from him, and said in a +strong voice: + +“Enter.” + +The door opened, Nogam announced: + +“Mr. Sturm.” + +Hard on the echo of his name a man swung into the room with an air at +once nervous and aggressive—a tall man shabbily dressed, holding his +head high—and at sight of Sofia and Mrs. Waring, where he had doubtless +thought to find Prince Victor alone, stopped short, betraying +disconcertion in the way he instinctively assumed the stand of a +soldier at attention, bringing his heels together with an undeniable +click, straightening his shoulders, stiffening both arms to rigidity at +his sides. And for a bare thought his eyes rolled almost wildly in +their deep sockets. Then he bowed twice, from the hips, with mechanical +precision, profoundly to Victor, with deep respect to the women. + +Victor smothered an exclamation of annoyance. + +Unbidden, a word shaped in Sofia’s consciousness, a French monosyllable +into which the war had packed every shade and gradation of hatred and +contempt, the epithet _Boche_. + +Immediately erasing every sign of irritation, Victor greeted the man +with casual suavity. “Oh, there you are, eh, Sturm?” Then, as Sofia and +Mrs. Waring turned to go, he added quickly: “A moment, please. Since +Mr. Sturm to-day becomes a member of the household, acting as my +assistant in some research work which I am undertaking, I may as well +present him now. Mrs. Waring, permit me: Mr. Sturm. And the Princess +Sofia Vassilyevski, my daughter ...” + +Mumbling their names after Victor, the man Sturm executed two more +bows. At the same time he seemed to remind himself that his soldierly +carriage was perhaps injudicious, and forthwith abandoned it for a +studied slouch which, in Sofia’s sight, was little less than insolent. +And unmistakably there was something nearly resembling insolence in the +eyes that boldly sought hers: a look equivocal at best and, +intentionally or no, wholly offensive in essence; as if the fellow were +asserting their partnership in some secret understanding; or as if he +knew something by no means to Sofia’s credit.... + +Her acknowledgment of his salute was accordingly cool, and she was glad +when a nod from Prince Victor gave her leave to go. + + + + +X +VICTOR ET AL + + +Those first few weeks of emancipation from the ennui of existence at +the Café des Exiles were so replete with wonders that Sofia lived +largely in a beatific state of breathless excitement, devoting the best +part of her days to thoughtless flying from delight to new delight, and +going nightly to her bed so healthily tired that she slept like a top +and never once awakened to memories of disturbing dreams. + +Perhaps her pleasure burned the brighter for its dark, ambiguous +background—those many questions which Prince Victor persisted in +leaving unanswered. Sofia knew bad times of perplexity and depression, +when the price of translation from drudge to princess seemed a sore +price to pay. + +And yet, required to state the cost to her in terms explicit, she must +have hesitated lest she appear ungrateful in complaining, who hardly +needed to express a wish to have it granted, who indeed knew many a +wish realized in fact before she was fully aware of its inception in +her private thoughts. + +All those lovely material things of life which her famished girlhood +had ached for so hopelessly now were hers in abundant measure, and all +the less tangible things, too, so requisite to the happiness of women +in a worldly world—or nearly all. Frocks she had, with furs and +furbelows no end; flowers and flattery and frivolities; freedom within +limitations as yet not irksome; jewels that would have graced an +imperial diadem—everything but the single essential without which +everything is hollow nothing and life itself only the dreaming of a +dream. + +The one lack known to the Sofia of those days was the lack of Love. + +She had gone so long longing to love, questing blindly and vainly for +some human being to whom her affection would mean something vital and +dear—it seemed cruel that her longing must be still denied. As it had +been with Mama Thérèse, it was now with the romantic father so newly +self-declared. She wanted desperately and tried her best to love Victor +as his daughter should; and that he cared for her profoundly she knew +and never questioned; yet when she searched her secret heart Sofia +discovered no feeling for the man other than a singular form of fear. +His look, his tone, his manner, his presence altogether, inspired a +nameless sort of shrinking, inarticulate apprehensions, and mistrust +which the girl found at once utterly unaccountable and dismally +disappointing; so that, with every wish and will to do otherwise, she +found herself involuntarily making excuse of trivial interests to keep +out of Victor’s way and, when there was no escaping, sitting silent and +ill at ease in his society, or seizing on some slender pretext, it +didn’t matter what, to inveigle into their company a third somebody, it +didn’t matter whom—Mrs. Waring, Karslake, even the unspeakable Sturm. + +Nevertheless, there were times, far too many of them, too, when of a +sudden Victor would forsake his occult preoccupations and, +unceremoniously upsetting whatever arrangements Sofia might have made +with Mrs. Waring or Karslake, would find other pleasures of his own +invention for her to share with him alone: long motor jaunts through +the English countryside, apparently his favourite recreation; a box all +to themselves at a theatre, where Victor would sit watching the girl +with a fascination only rivalled by her fascination with the traffic of +the boards; curiously constrained little dinners à deux in fashionable +restaurants; morning rides in Rotten Row, where it oddly appeared that +Victor knew everybody, whereas not one in five hundred seemed to know +him—or to care to know him. + +Sofia, indeed, was often puzzled to account for what to her appeared to +be an almost pathetic eagerness on the part of Victor, in strange +accord with his lofty pretensions, to claim acquaintanceship with and +win the recognition even of persons of the utmost inconsequence. And +she remarked, too, that his temper was apt to be raw in sequel to their +excursions into the haunts of the well-known. But it was for other +reasons altogether that she came to dread them most. + +For one thing, Victor’s conversation was ordinarily rather dull; at +best, the reverse of exhilarating. And in spite of her unquestioning +acceptance of him as her father, he remained to Sofia actually a new +acquaintance; in effect, a strange man. And from strangers, more than +from relatives with whose minds one is presumably on terms of close +intimacy, one is warranted in expecting something in the way of mutual +stimulation through the opening of new perspectives of experience, +thought, and feeling. Whereas—with Sofia, at least—Victor seemed unable +to talk on more than two subjects, one or the other of which was +constantly uppermost in his thoughts. + +He never wearied of warning Sofia against the dangers of those moral +infirmities which he asserted were hers by legitimate inheritance; and +which, if Victor were right in his contentions, she could hardly hope +to overcome without a desperate struggle. She would have to be forever +on guard, he insisted, lest the temptation of some moment, not to be +foreseen, prove too strong for her latent weakness of character, and +commit her, through some unpremeditated act of defiance to the law—most +probably an act of theft—to the life of a social outcast. + +To do her justice, the girl was consciously not much impressed by this +alleged peril. She had never been aware of any failing such as Victor +would have endowed her with; so far as she could remember she had never +been tempted to commit more venial sins than inhered in lying to Mama +Thérèse now and then in order to escape unmerited disciplining at the +heavy hands of that industrious virago; and as for thieving, the very +thought of anything of that sort was detestable to Sofia. + +But unconsciously, no doubt, the everlasting iteration of Victor’s +admonitions had its purposed effect upon that sensitive and +impressionable spirit. + +Then, too, by degrees, but all too soon, it became manifest that the +memory of his passionate attachment for her mother possessed Victor to +the point of monomania. It was only with an effort that he could force +himself to talk to Sofia on other subjects. He thought of nothing else +while with her; if she read his eyes aright, often glimpses of weird +light flickering in their opaque depths, like heat lightning of a murky +summer’s night, fairly frightened her, and she knew a shuddering +perception of the possibility that Victor was at times in danger of +confusing the daughter with the mother. + +“Never was there such resemblance,” he once uttered, in a stare. “You +are more like her than she herself!” + +Sofia was pardonably puzzled, and looked it. + +“I mean, you re-create my vision of the woman I loved and lost—the +woman I saw in her, not the woman she was.” + +“Lost?” the girl murmured. + +The gray countenance took on an added shade of sombre passion. “She +never understood me, she treated me badly. Once, in a fit of pique, she +ran away. I did everything—everything, I tell you!—to win her back, +but—” + +He choked on bitter recollections—and Sofia was painfully reminded of +the Chinese devil-masks in Victor’s study. But the likeness faded even +as she saw it, under her gaze the twisted features were ironed back +into their accustomed cast of austerity. + +“Before I could persuade her, you were born.... Then she died.” + +Sensible though she was of the ellipsis, and afraid it would never be +filled in if she interrupted, Sofia could not help uttering a sound of +regret and pity for the lot of the mother she had never seen, whose +untimely death had ended a life accounted unendurable as Victor’s wife, +for reasons unknown but none the less, to the daughter, vaguely and +lamentably understandable. + +For Sofia by now had passed the stage of pretending to herself that she +was not happier away from her father. + +Victor mistook the nature of the feeling that swayed the girl—took to +himself the sympathy excited by his revelations. + +“But do not grieve on my account. Is not that which was lost restored +again to me? In you my old love lives once more ... little Sofia!” + +He caught and pressed a hand that rested on the cloth between them. +(They happened that night to be dining at the Ritz.) And Sofia +re-experienced that inevitable, hateful flinching with which she was +growing too familiar. + +She dropped her head that her eyes might not betray her. + +“People will see ...” + +“What if they do? Those who know us will hardly see any wrong in my +squeezing the hand of my own daughter; and the others—not that they +matter—will only think me the luckiest dog alive—as I am!” + +Chuckle and smirk both were indescribably odious, reminding Sofia of +the creature Sturm; _he_ had a laugh like that for her, on the rare +occasion when chance propinquity encouraged the Boche to begin one of +his uncouth essays in flirtation. + +Sturm’s attitude, in truth, perplexed Sofia to exasperation; that is to +say, as much as it offended her. For Victor the man seemed to entertain +an exaggerated yet deeply rooted respect, approaching actual awe, which +he tried his best to carry off with a swagger; for to hold anybody in +any degree of deference was, one judged, somehow deplorable, even +shameful, in the code of Sturm; but in Victor’s presence the fellow’s +bravado would quickly wilt into hopeless servility, he would cringe and +crawl like a dog currying the favour of a harsh master. + +Nevertheless, Victor’s daughter seemed to be no more than fair game, in +Sturm’s understanding, and a source of supercilious amusement but +thinly veiled or not at all. Alone with the girl, Sturm put on the airs +of a Prussianized pasha condescending to a new odalisque. + +Sofia held the animal in a deadly loathing which, betrayed in word or +look or gesture, animated in him only a spirit of derision. In the +absence of Victor, Sturm’s eyes were ever ironic, his bows and leers +mocking, his speeches flavoured with clumsy sarcasm; from which it +resulted that the girl never quite forgot the impression which he had +managed to convey in those few moments of their first encounter, that +Sturm knew something she ought to know but didn’t, and was meanly +jeering at her in his sleeve. + +What virtues Victor Vassilyevski perceived in the man passed +comprehension. But so did most of Victor’s whims and ways. What riddle +more obscure than that portentous business which permeated the +atmosphere of the establishment with the taint of stealth and +terror?—the famous “research work” that kept Victor closeted with Sturm +in his study daily for hours at a time, often in confabulation with +others of like ilk, men of furtive and unprepossessing cast who came +and went by appointment at all hours, but as a rule late at night! + +Into these conferences, Sofia observed, Karslake was never summoned. +She wondered why. He was, as she saw him, so unquestionably the better +man, everything that Sturm was not, open of countenance, fair of temper +and tongue, well-bred and well-mannered, light of heart and high +spirited, and at the same time dependable, with metal of sincerity and +earnestness like tempered steel in his character—or Sofia misread him +woefully. + +She had been quick to see the man behind the misleading little +moustache. And already she was beginning to count that amusement tame +which Karslake did not share. + +Mrs. Waring was undeniably a dear. Sofia could hardly be grateful +enough to the happy chance which had cast that lady for the rôle of her +chaperone; lacking her guidance the girl must have been innocently +guilty of many a gaucherie in ways new and strange to untried, +faltering feet. And it was to her alone that Sofia owed the slow but +constant widening of her social horizon. For Sybil Waring, it seemed, +quite literally “knew everybody”; and Sofia soon learned to count it an +off day when Sybil failed to present her protégée to the notice of +somebody of position and influence. + +Most of these persons were women with sounding names and the solid +backing of much money conspicuously in evidence—matrons of the younger +and more giddy generation which was just then so busily engaged in +providing material for the most hectic chapters of London’s post-war +social history. But Sofia was scarcely qualified to be critical or to +guess that they were climbers equally with herself, and that if their +footing had been of older establishment the name of Vassilyevski would +have rung sinister echoes in their memories, deafening them to the rich +allure inherent in the title of princess. + +So she was fain to accept them all at their own valuation, and thought +most of them entirely charming. And though she had hardly had time as +yet to progress beyond the introductory stages of chance meetings and +informal little teas in public, she began clearly to descry enchanting +vistas of better days to come, when the Princess Sofia Vassilyevski +would have not only teas but dinners and dances given in her honour, +and would be asked to spend gay week-ends in the country houses of the +people with whom she contracted the stronger friendships. + +But for the immediate present, and especially in the paramount business +of having a good time, Karslake was fairly a necessity. He thought of +everything and forgot nothing, was ever fertile of fresh expedient if +the pastime of a moment began to pall, and was capable of sustained +fits of irresponsible gaiety which enchanted Sofia, so well did they +chime with her own eagerness for sheer fun. + +Decidedly she would have been lost without Sybil Waring; but without +Karslake she would have been forlorn. + + + + +XI +HEARTBREAK + + +Not yet prepared to admit it even to herself, in her heart Sofia knew +she prized the companionship of Karslake for something more than the +mere amusement it afforded her: there was a deeper feeling she would +not name. For all that, her times of solitude knew dreams quick and +warm with the thought of Karslake, his words and ways, the gracious +little attentions he had accustomed her to expect of him and which his +manner subtly invested with a personal flavour inexpressibly +delightful, indispensably sweet. + +Nor did she ever quite forget how long he had worshipped with +unostentatious devotion at her lowly shrine of the caisse in the Café +des Exiles, and how shabbily she had rewarded his admiration—never +once, in those many months, with so much as a smile—and how unresentful +had been his acceptance of her half-feigned, half-real indifference to +his existence. + +But whenever her reflections took that back-turning she would recall +the man who had talked to Karslake in the café, that day so long ago, +of his own humble past as a ’bus-boy in Troyon’s in Paris, and who on +leaving had given Sofia herself that odd look of half-recognition +tempered by bewilderment. + +She tried once to draw Karslake about this acquaintance of his, but +Karslake’s memory proved unusually sluggish. + +“No-o,” he drawled after a tolerably long pause for thought—“can’t say +I place the chap you mean, can’t seem somehow to think back that far, +you know. One meets such a lot of people, first and last, they talk +such a lot of tosh—” + +“But it couldn’t have been only tosh you were talking,” the girl +persisted, “because—_I_ remember—you were so keen about keeping what +you said secret, you spoke the strangest language together most of the +time. I could hear every word”—she had already explained about the +freak acoustics of the Café des Exiles—“and not one meant anything to +me.” + +“Stupid of me, but I simply can’t think what it could have been.” + +“I can—now.” + +Karslake looked askance at Sofia. + +“Since I’ve heard so much Chinese spoken by the servants—now I come to +think of it”—Sofia’s eyes grew bright with triumph—“I’m sure it must +have been Chinese you were speaking to the man I mean.” + +“Impossible,” Karslake pronounced calmly. + +“But you do know Chinese, don’t you?” + +“Not a syllable.” + +Sofia opened her lips to protest, but delayed to study Karslake’s face +intently. He didn’t try to escape her scrutiny, he even seemed to court +it; but there was a curious, quizzical look in his eyes, those +half-smiling lips had a whimsical droop. + +“Mr. Karslake!” Sofia announced, severely, “you’re fibbing.” + +“Nice thing to say to me.” + +“You do speak Chinese—confess.” + +“My dear Princess Sofia,” Karslake protested: “if I had known one word +of Chinese I could never have landed my job with your father.” + +“Why not?” + +“He expressly stipulated that I should be ignorant of that language.” + +“What a silly condition to make!” + +“Still, I daresay Prince Victor had his reasons.” + +“I can’t imagine what ...” + +“Possibly preferred a secretary who couldn’t understand everything he +said to the servants. I’ve never pretended to know all Prince Victor’s +secrets, you know.” + +After a little pause Sofia asked gently: “Did you really need the job +so badly, Mr. Karslake?” + +“To get it meant more to me than I can tell you—almost as much as to +hold on to it does to-day.” + +Sofia turned her eyes away at this, and for the rest of the ride—they +were homeward bound from a matinée, having dropped Sybil Waring at her +flat in Mayfair—kept her thoughts to herself. + +Only the most perfunctory civilities passed between them, in fact, +until they had been ushered into the study by Nogam, who advised them +that Prince Victor had ordered tea to be served there and had promised +to be home in good time for it. + +The tea service was already set out on a little table beside the +fireplace in that room of secrets, whose normal atmosphere of brooding +gloom was now the darker for the deepening dusk. Only the tea itself +remained to be served, a special rite never performed in that household +by hands more profane than those of the major-domo, Shaik Tsin himself. +And this last could be counted upon not to put in appearance until +Nogam took him word that Victor was waiting. + +So, having laid aside her furs and satisfied herself, by a seemingly +aimless but in fact exacting survey, that the abominable Sturm was not +skulking anywhere in the shadows, Sofia established herself on a lounge +that faced the fireplace, while Karslake stood before the fire, looking +down with an expectant smile of which she was but half aware. + +“Aren’t you going to forgive me?” he asked, quietly, after a time. + +Sofia withdrew a pensive gaze from the ruddy bed of coals. + +“For what?” + +“You were kind enough to call it merely fibbing.” + +“I’m still thinking about that.” + +In fact, she had been thinking of nothing else. There was so much to be +considered. Imprimis, that Karslake had been guilty of practising a +deception upon her father. Deceit in itself was one form of treachery. +And how often had Victor stressed to her the dangers of his position, +surrounded by nameless but implacable enemies who would stick at no +infamy to compass his ruin! + +But if she told him that Karslake understood Chinese she would lose her +friend forever—no question about that. Victor would not hesitate an +instant—indeed, Sofia felt sure he was only waiting for some such +pretext to get rid of his secretary. She was anything but unobserving, +this child of Soho, whose wits had been sharpened in the sophisticated +atmosphere of a French restaurant; and more than once she had seen +Victor’s face duplicate the expression Papa Dupont’s had so often +assumed on his discovering that some patron of the café was taking too +personal an interest in the pretty young dame du comptoir. A look of +insensate jealousy ... + +To risk forfeiting the comradeship that had grown to be so dear? Or to +be constructively derelict in her duty as a daughter? + +A difficult choice to make; but Sofia made it honestly. In point of +fact, she assured herself, coldly, there was no choice, there was only +one thing she could do under the circumstances. And she hardened her +heart and eyes as she rose to face Karslake on more equal terms. + +But when she saw him waiting patiently, with that friendly smile of his +she knew so well, she hesitated long enough to permit his anticipating +her with a quiet question: + +“Well, Princess Sofia?” + +And then, amazingly, her tongue betrayed her, the phrases she had +framed so carefully vanished utterly from out her mind; and she heard +herself saying in rather tremulous accents: + +“It’s all right. I shan’t tell.” + +“About my understanding Chinese?” + +“Yes—about that.” + +“Then you do care—?” + +She was panicky with knowledge that somehow her emotions had managed to +slip their moorings and get beyond her handling. It didn’t help or mend +matters much to hear her own voice stammering: + +“Yes, of course, I—I don’t want you to—to have to go away—” + +Oh, the vanity of trying to hoodwink him who knew so well what she was +now for the first time realizing! + +“Because you like me a little, Princess Sofia?” + +“Why—yes—of course I do—” + +“Because you know I love you, dear.” + +And then she found herself clinging to Karslake; and his lips were warm +upon her hands ... + +So suddenly and at long last it came to Sofia, that Love for which all +her days had been one long weariness of waiting, Love that brimmed with +raptures what had been only aching emptiness and made the desert places +to blossom as the rose. And the joy of it proved overmastering, +sweeping her off her feet and dazing her, leaving her breathless and +thoughtless but for the all-obscuring thought—at length she loved, and +the one whom she loved loved her! + +And for a space she existed in an iridescent dream of happiness, +without sense of relation to a material world, forgetful of the flight +of time, lost to everything but her lover’s arms and voice and lips. + +It might have been five minutes, it might have been sixty, before she +became aware that Karslake was gently disengaging her hands. “Dearest, +dearest!” she heard him say. “We must be sensible. That was the front +door, I’m afraid.” + +The meaning in his insistence presently began to penetrate, if vaguely, +and she suffered him to go from her a pace or two. But, still a little +blind with the beauty of the revelation that had been granted unto her, +nothing that met her gaze seemed to be in true focus except her lover’s +face: even the countenance of Victor swam into her ken as if blurred by +veils of mist, its dour, forbidding look had no significance to her +intelligence. Victor himself, for that matter, was a figure without +real consequence other than as a symbol of the old order, the tedious +old ways of the world from which she had magically escaped. + +A ring of sarcastic apology provided the only clue she got to the +import of Victor’s words. Sobered a trifle, her mental processes +somewhat less incoherent, still she knew she would hardly regain her +poise until she was alone. And breathing an excuse, she left the room +with such dignity as she could muster. + +In the hall, with the closed door behind her, she paused to collect +herself. Then she missed furs and gloves and handbag and, remembering +that she had left them in the study, for some obscure reason imagined +she must have them before proceeding to her room. + +Much more mistress of herself by now, it never occurred to Sofia that +there could be any reason why she should hesitate about returning or +feel embarrassed before Victor. True, he had surprised them, Sofia was +not at all sure he hadn’t actually seen her in Karslake’s arms. But +what of that? Love like hers was nothing to be ashamed of; and that +Victor could reasonably object to her giving her heart to one of his +secretaries was something far from her thought just then. + +She put a hand to the knob, turned it, and swung the door open—all on +impulse—then faltered, transfixed by the tableau before the fireplace. + +The door was silent on its hinges, and Karslake’s back was to her. +Victor, on the other hand, facing both Karslake and the door, +unquestionably saw Sofia, but pretended not to, and had his say out +with Karslake in a manner bitterly cynical. + +“... sadly in error if you flatter yourself I pay you a wage to make +love to Sofia behind my back.” + +“Sorry, sir.” Karslake’s tone was level, respectful but firm. “Your +instructions were, I believe, to win her confidence. Well—I have always +found love the one sure key to a woman’s confidence. Of course, if I +had understood you cared one way or the other—” + +Sofia heard no more: unconsciously she had closed the door, at one and +the same time shutting from her sight Victor’s exultant sneer and from +her hearing the words with which the man whom she loved had damned +himself irretrievably and dashed her spirit from radiant pinnacles of +ecstasy into the profoundest black abyss of shame and despair. + +Primitive instinct bade the stricken girl seek her room and hide her +suffering there; but the shock had stunned her to the point of physical +weakness. Already a hand was pressed above her heart, that ached +cruelly; and as she moved to cross to the foot of the staircase her +knees gave under her. She clutched the newel-post for support, waiting +to find strength for the ascent. + +From the shadowed back part of the hall the man Nogam moved hastily +into view, his features twisted in a grimace of concern as he +recognized the bleak misery of Sofia’s face. His voice sounded +strangely thin and remote. + +“Is there anything the matter, miss?—anything I can do?” + +She contrived to shake her head slightly and utter an inarticulate +sound of negation, then began slowly to mount the stairs. + +Below, Nogam stood watching, in a pose of indecision, as if tempted to +follow and offer the support of an arm lest she fall, restrained only +by fear of a rebuff. But Sofia’s leaden limbs carried her safely to the +upper landing, then on to the blessed shelter of her room, where she +collapsed upon a chaise-longue and there lay in a stirless huddle, dry +of eye but deaf to the plaintive entreaties of Chou Nu and numb to all +sensation but the anguish of her humiliated heart. + + + + +XII +SUSPECT + + +Toward mid-evening the man Victor Vassilyevski and his creature Sturm +sat where the lamp of hand-wrought brass made the top of the teakwood +table an oasis of light amid a waste of shadows, their heads together +over a vast glut of books and papers—maps printed and sketched, curious +diagrams, works of reference, documents all dark with columns of +figures and cabalistic writings intelligible only to initiated eyes. + +They had the study all to themselves. Nevertheless, when they spoke it +was in the discreet pitch of those who deal in fatal secrets. At a +distance of two paces only a lip-reader could have caught the substance +of their communications, and even such a one must have failed unless +equally at home in German and in English. + +Aside from these occasional and circumspect voices, and the busy rustle +of a steel pen in the hand of Sturm, the quiet of the room had a +tolerably constant background of sound in a subdued whisper punctuated +by muffled clicks, emanating from the bronze casket that housed the +telautographic apparatus. + +From time to time, as this noise temporarily suspended, Victor would +get up, read what the mechanical stylus had inscribed, tear off the +paper, and return to his chair. + +Some of the messages thus received he made known to Sturm, who +invariably acknowledged this courtesy with effusive gratitude, +sometimes adding a few words of contented comment. Other messages +Victor chose to keep to himself, silently setting fire to them and +adding their brittle ashes to those of their predecessors on the brazen +tray provided for the purpose. At such times Sturm would bend lower +over his work. But Victor was well able to guess what resentment +glimmered in the eyes so studiously averted; and his cold, sardonic +smile more than once commented, unknown to Sturm, upon the accuracy +with which he read the mean workings of his “secretary’s” mind. + +The buzz of a muted bell presently interrupted the even tenor of their +industry, causing Sturm to start sharply, drop his pen, and slue round +in his chair, turning to Victor a livid face in which his dark eyes of +a fanatic were live embers of excitement. + +Without a sign to show he shared or even was aware of Sturm’s emotion, +Victor deliberately fished from beneath the table a telephone +instrument, unhooked the receiver, and pronounced a conventional phrase +of greeting. To this he added a short “Yes,” and after listening +quietly for some seconds, “Very good—in twenty minutes, then.” Wasting +no more time on the author of the call, he hung up, returned the +telephone to its place of concealment, and helped himself to a +cigarette before deigning to acknowledge Sturm’s persistent stare. + +Then, elevating his eyebrows in mild impatience, he made the laconic +announcement: + +“Eleven.” + +Sturm’s mouth twitched nervously, his eyes burned with a keener fire. + +“Coming here? To-night?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then”—a gaunt hand described a gesture of agitation—“the hour +strikes!” + +Victor looked bored. + +“Who knows?” he replied, as who should say: “Does it matter?” + +“But—Gott in Himmel—!” + +“Sturm,” Victor interposed, critically, “if you Bolsheviki were a +trifle more consistent, one might repose greater faith in your +sincerity. But when one hears you deny the Deity in one breath and call +on him by name in the next—!” + +“A mere mode of speech,” Sturm muttered. + +“If you must invoke a spiritual patron, why not Satan? Or don’t you +believe in the Powers of Darkness, either?” + +“I believe in you.” + +“As temporal viceroy of Lucifer? Many thanks! But you were about to +say—?” + +“Nothing. That is—I was envying your poise, Excellency. You take things +so coolly.” + +“Why not?” + +“With Eleven coming here to tell us when we are to strike?” + +“Why not?” Victor repeated. “We are prepared to strike at any hour. +What matters whether to-night or a week from to-night—since we cannot +fail?” + +“If that were only certain!” + +“It rests with you.” + +“That’s just it,” Sturm doubted moodily. “Suppose _I_ fail?” + +“Why, then—I suppose—you will die.” + +“I know. And so will all of us, Excellency.” + +“Oh, no. Undeceive yourself, my friend. I shall survive. You will +surely die, and perhaps many others with you; but I would not be Number +One if I had turned my hand to this scheme without discounting failure +first of all. My way of escape is sure.” + +“I believe you,” Sturm grumbled. + +With a languid hand Victor found and pressed a button embedded in the +table near the edge. + +“You have reason. Whatever my shortcomings, my good Sturm, they do not +include hypocrisy; I do not pretend, like your noble Bolsheviki, I am +in this business for the sake of humanity or anything but my own +selfish ends—power, plunder”—a slight wait prefaced one final word, +spoken in a key of sombre passion—“revenge.” + +“Revenge?” Sturm echoed, staring. + +“I have more than one score to pay out before I can cry even with life +... one above all!” + +Studying intently that darkened face, and misled by its look of +abstraction, Sturm was guilty of the indiscretion of his malicious +smile. + +“The Lone Wolf?” + +Victor turned weary eyes his way, and under their black and lustreless +regard the smile merged swiftly into a grin of nervous apology. + +“You are shrewd,” Victor observed, thoughtfully. “Be careful: it is a +dangerous gift.” + +The man Nogam gently opened the door and approached the table, stopping +just outside the area of illumination shed by the shaded lamp. But +since Victor continued to smoke absently, paying no attention, Nogam +resigned himself to wait with entire patience: the perfect pattern of a +servant tempered by long servitude to the erratic winds of employers’ +whims; efficient, assiduous, mute unless required to speak, +long-suffering. + +Victor addressed him suddenly, in a sharp voice that drew from Sturm a +glitter of eager spite. + +“Nogam!” + +“Yes, sir?” + +“Where is the Princess Sofia?” + +“In ’er apartment, sir.” + +“And Mr. Karslake?” + +“In ’is.” + +“Then be good enough to send Shaik Tsin to me.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“And, Nogam!”—the servant checked in the act of turning—“I shan’t need +you again to-night.” + +“’Nk you, sir.” + +When Nogam had left the room, Sturm, remarking the slight frown that +knitted Victor’s brows, ventured an impertinence couched in a form of +respectful enquiry: + +“Excellency, perhaps you trust that fellow too much, hein?” + +“You think so?” + +“He is too perfect, if you ask me—never makes a false move.” + +“Either he is what he seems, in which event a false move would be +against nature; or he is not, and knows one slip would mean his death.” + +“Still, I maintain you trust him too much.” + +“With what?” + +“The freedom of your house, the opportunity to spy, to get to know who +comes to see you and when, to listen at doors.” + +“You have caught him listening at doors?” + +“Not yet. But in time—” + +“I think not. I don’t think he has to.” + +“You mean,” Sturm stammered, perturbed, “you think he knows—suspects?” + +“I think he is one thing or the other: merely Nogam, or one of the +greatest of living actors. In either case he is flawless—thus far. But +if not merely Nogam, he will have a subtler means of eavesdropping than +by listening at doors.” + +“The dictograph?” + +“Make your mind easy about that. This room is searched regularly by +Shaik Tsin. So is Nogam’s. It is certain there is neither a dictograph +installed here nor any means at Nogam’s disposal for connecting with a +dictograph installation. Indeed, so closely is Nogam watched, and by +more cunning eyes than mine—sometimes I begin to be afraid he is simply +what he seems.” + +“Then you do suspect him!” + +“My good Sturm, I suspect everybody.” + +Sturm pondered this before pressing his point again. + +“Karslake found the fellow for you,” he suggested at length. + +“True.” + +“And Karslake—” + +“Has been guilty of nothing more treacherous than falling in love with +Sofia.” + +“Your daughter, Excellency!” + +“The young woman seems content to call herself that.... Can’t say I +blame Karslake.” + +“But do you forgive him?” + +“Ah, that is another matter. Mine is not a forgiving nature, Sturm—not +even toward excessive shrewdness.” + +Victor took up a docket of papers, and Sturm, mumbling an apology, gave +himself up to jealous brooding till he forgot the broad hint he had +received. + +“If I can satisfy you that Nogam is untrustworthy—” he began, meaning +to continue: _Karslake will stand his proved accomplice_. + +But Victor would not let him finish. “Nothing could please me more,” he +interrupted. “Do so, by all means—if you can—and earn my everlasting +gratitude.” + +Sturm questioned him with puzzled eyes. + +“I ask no greater service of any man,” Victor elucidated with a smile +that made Sturm shiver, “than proof that Nogam is what I suspect him of +being.” A hand extended upon the table unclosed and closed slowly, with +fingers tensed, like a murderous claw. “I want no greater favour of +Heaven or Hell—!” + +He broke off abruptly. Having entered noiselessly in his padded shoes, +Shaik Tsin now stood before Victor, offering a low obeisance. + +“You took your time,” Victor grumbled. And Shaik Tsin smiled serenely. +“I want you to tend the door to-night,” Victor pursued. “Eleven is +expected at any moment. You need not announce him, simply show him in.” + +“Hearing is obedience.” + +“Wait”—as the Chinaman began to bow himself out—“Karslake is still in +his room, I suppose?” + +“Yes, master.” + +“And Nogam?” + +“Has just gone to his.” + +“When did you last search their quarters?” + +“During dinner.” + +“And of course found nothing?” Shaik Tsin bowed. “Make sure neither +leaves his room to-night. Set a watch outside each door.” + +“I have done so.” + +Victor gave a sign of dismissal. + + + + +XIII +THE TURNIP + + +In a spacious chamber beneath the eaves, hideously papered and +furnished with cheerless, massive relics of the early Victorian era, +the man Nogam pursued methodical preparations for bed. + +Spying eyes, had there been any—and for all Nogam knew, there +were—would have seen him follow step by step a programme from whose +order he had departed by scarcely as much as a single gesture on any +night since his first installation in the house near Queen Anne’s Gate. + +Loosening the waistcoat of his evening livery, he freed the heavy +silver watchchain from its buttonhole, drew from its pocket an +old-fashioned silver watch of that obese style which first earned the +portable timepiece its nickname of “turnip,” and opening its back +inserted a key attached to the other end of the chain. Its winding was +a laborious process, prodigiously noisy. Once finished, Nogam shut the +back with a loud click, and reverently deposited the watch on the +marble slab of the black walnut bureau. + +Then he hung coat and waistcoat over the back of a chair which stood +between the foot of his bed and the door. Sheer chance may have decreed +selection of this chair for the purpose on Nogam’s first night in the +room; whether or no, it was not in character that, having established +this precedent, Nogam should depart from it. And in any event, the +coat-draped chair effectually eclipsed a possible keyhole view of the +room. + +Notwithstanding, Nogam pursued his bedtime rites with precisely the +same deliberation and absence of perceptible self-consciousness as +before. One never knew: there might be other peepholes in the walls. + +His trousers, neatly folded, he laid out on the seat of the chair. Then +he pulled off square-toed boots with elastic inserts in their uppers, +put on a pair of worn slippers, carried the boots to the door and set +them outside, closed the door, and turned the key in its lock. + +If aware that, by so doing, he made his privacy just as secure as if he +had fastened the door with a bent hair-pin, he gave evidence of no +uneasiness in the knowledge. A clear conscience is the best of nerve +tonics. + +Throughout, his features preserved their mild, subdued, dull habit with +which the household was familiar. Nogam off duty was in no way +different from the unthinking creature of habit who performed +belowstairs the prescribed functions of his office. + +Having donned a nightshirt of coarse cotton, he knelt for several +minutes in a devout attitude by the side of his bed, then rising opened +the window, took the turnip from the bureau, and snuggled it beneath +his pillow, inserted his bare shanks between the sheets, and opened at +a marked place a Bible bound in black cloth. + +On the table by his shoulder a battered electric standard with a frayed +cord and a dingy shade remained alight long enough to permit Nogam to +spell out a short chapter. Then he put the Bible aside, yawned wearily, +and switched out the lamp. + +Profound darkness now possessed the room, immaterially modified by the +light-struck sky beyond the windows. And in this grateful obscurity +Nogam permitted himself the luxury of ceasing to be Nogam. A light +suddenly flashed upon his face would have discovered a keen and alert +intelligence transfiguring the apathetic mask of every day. Also, it +would have rendered Nogam’s probable duration of life an interesting +speculation. + +Under cover of the darkness, furthermore, he did a number of things +which Nogam, qua Nogam, would never have dreamed of doing. + +His first act was to withdraw from under his pillow the turnip, his +next to re-open the back of its silver case and then the inner +lid—something which a deft thumbnail accomplished without a sound. + +From the roomy interior of the case—whose bulky ancient works had been +replaced by a wafer-thin modern movement, leaving much useful space +back of the dial—sensitive fingers extracted a metal disk about the +size and thickness of a silver dollar. One face of this disk was +generously perforated, the other, solid, boasted a short blunt post +round which several feet of extremely fine wire had been coiled. + +Unwinding the wire and bending the free end into the form of a rude +hook, the man attached this last to the cord of his bedside lamp at a +point, located by sense of touch, where a minute section of electric +light wire had been left naked by defective insulation. + +Direct connection now being established with a microphone secreted in +the base of the brass lamp on the study table, three floors below, and +the perforated side of the microphone detector serving as an earpiece, +one could hear every word uttered by the conspirators. + +The man in bed contributed a broad smile to the kind darkness—sheer +luxury to facial muscles cramped and constrained to the cast of Nogam +for eighteen hours a day. He was now at last to reap the reward of +three months of preparation and three weeks of ingenious, but +necessarily spasmodic, and at all times desperately dangerous, +tampering with the house wiring system. + +He lay very still for a long time, listening ... + + + + +XIV +CONFERENCE OF THE DAMNED + + +An Irish voice was making the hush of the study musical with mellow +cadences. + +“This week-end sure, your Excellency—within the next three nights—the +little Welshman will be after summoning the Cabinet to sit in secret in +Downing Street, with His Most Gracious Majesty attending in person; the +emergency extraordinary being thoughtfully provided by this shindig me +amiable but spirited fellow-countrymen are kicking up across the +Channel—God bless the work!” + +The speaker laughed lightly, flashing white teeth at Prince Victor +across the width of the paper-strewn table. + +“In more Parliamentary language, by the Irish Question. But we’ll hear +no more of that, I’m thinking, once we’ve proclaimed the Soviet +Government of England.” + +Victor bowed in grave assent. + +“You have my word as to that,” he said; and after a moment of +thoughtful consideration: “You speak, no doubt, from the facts?” + +“I do that. It’s straight I’ve come from the House of Commons to bring +you the news without an hour’s delay. There’s more than one advantage +in being an Irish Member these days.” + +“On the other hand, Eleven”—Victor stressed the numeral as if to remind +the Irishman that even a Member of Parliament for Ireland held no +higher standing in his esteem than any other underling in his +association of anonymous conspirators—“even so, it appears you are +uncertain as to the night.” + +“I’m after telling you it’ll be to-morrow night or more likely +Saturday—Sunday at the latest.” A mildly impatient accent alone +betrayed resentment of the snub. “I’ll know in good time, long before +the hour appointed; and that ought to do, providing you on your part +are prepared.” + +“An hour’s notice will be ample,” Victor agreed. “We have been ready +for days, needing only the knowledge you bring us—or will, when you +have it definitely.” + +The Irishman chuckled. + +“It’s hard to believe. Not that I’d dream of doubting your statement, +sir—but yourself won’t be denying you must have worked fast to organize +England for revolution in less than three weeks.” + +“I have been busy,” Victor admitted. “But the work was not so difficult +... Seeds of revolution are easily sown in land thoroughly tilled by +forces of discontent. And what land has been better tilled? To vary the +figure: England is all seething beneath a thin crust of custom and +established habit whose integrity a conservative and reactionary +government has ever since the war been struggling desperately to +preserve. The blow we shall strike within three days will shatter that +crust in a hundred places.” + +“And let Hell loose!” the Irishman added with a nervous laugh. + +In a dry voice Victor commented: “Precisely.” + +“Omelettes,” Sturm interjected, assertively, “are not made without +breaking eggs.” + +“And all rivers, no doubt, flow to the sea? What a lot you know, Herr +Sturm! Is it the Portfolio of the Minister of Education you’ve picked +out for your very own, after the explosion comes off—if it’s a fair +question?” + +“You Irish are all mad,” the German complained, sourly—“mad about +laughing. Even me you will laugh at, while you trust your very life to +me, while you trust to my genius to make Soviet England possible and +Ireland free.” + +“Faith! you’re away off there, me friend. If it was you and your genius +I had to trust, it’s meself would turn violent reactionary and advise +Ireland to be a good dog and come to England’s heel and lick England’s +hand and live off England’s leavings. I’ll trust nobody in this black +business but himself—Number One.” + +“You have changed your tune since that night at the Red Moon,” Sturm +reminded him, angrily. + +“I had me lesson then and there,” Eleven agreed, cheerfully. “And I +don’t mind telling you, the next time I’m taken with a fancy to call me +soul me own, I’ll be after asking himself first for a license.” + +Victor put a period to the passage with a dispassionate “By your leave, +gentlemen—that will do.” To the Irishman he added: “You understand the +danger, I believe, of remaining within the condemned area—that is to +say, except in the open air?” + +“Can’t say I do, altogether.” + +“It is simple: no person in any house supplied by the mains of the +Westminster gas works will be safe for hours after the formula of +Thirteen has begun its work. My advice to you is to keep out of the +district entirely.” + +“Faith, and I’ll do that! But how about yourself in this house?” + +“I shall spend the week-end outside of London,” Victor replied, “not +too far away, of course, and”—the shadow of his satiric smile was +briefly visible—“prepared at any moment to answer the call of my +stricken country.... The few who remain here will be provided with the +essentials for their protection. Furthermore, a general warning will be +sent out to all who can be trusted.” + +“And the others—?” + +“With them it must be as Fate wills.” + +“Women and children, potential sympathizers and supporters of all +classes?” the Irishman persisted in incredulous horror—“all?” + +“All,” Victor affirmed, coldly. “We who deal in the elemental passions +that make revolutions, that is to say, in Life and Death, cannot afford +qualms and scruples. What are a few lives more or less in London? These +British breed like rabbits.” + +“I see,” said Eleven, indistinctly. He stared a moment and swallowed +hard, then glanced hastily at his watch. “I’ll be after bidding you +good-night,” he said, “and pleasant dreams. For meself, I’m a fool if I +go to bed this night sober enough to dream at all, at all!” + +Victor rang for Shaik Tsin to show him out. + +“One question more, if you won’t take it amiss,” Eleven suggested, +lingering. And Victor inclined a gracious head. “Have you thought of +failure?” + +“I have thought of everything.” + +“Well, and if we do fail—?” + +“How, for example?” + +“How do I know what hellish accident may kick our plans into a cocked +hat? Anything might happen. There’s your friend, the Lone Wolf, for +instance ...” + +“Have you not forgotten him yet?” Victor enquired in simulated +surprise. “Have you neglected to remark that since the blunderer failed +to find the Council Chamber that night, when his raid at the Red Moon +netted him only a handful of coolie gamblers and drug-addicts, he has +left us to our own devices?” + +“That’s what makes me wonder what the divvle’s up to. His sort are +never so dangerous as when apparently discouraged.” “Be reassured. I +promised you three weeks ago his interference would not continue beyond +that night. It has not. Lanyard knows I have his daughter, that any +blow aimed at me must first strike her.” + +“Doubtless yourself knows best....” + +With the Irishman gone, Prince Victor turned to Sturm. + +“You will want a good night’s sleep,” he suggested with pointed +solicitude. “Who knows but that to-morrow will bring your night of +nights, my friend?” + +He lapsed immediately into remote abstraction, sitting with chin bent +to the tips of his joined fingers, his eyes downcast, motionless. + +Disgruntled, but afraid to show it, the German cleared away the litter +of papers, assorting them into huge portfolios, and took himself off. +Shaik Tsin replaced him, moving noiselessly about the room, restoring +the reference books to the shelves and stowing the portfolios away in a +massive safe hidden behind a lacquered screen. This done, he stationed +himself before his master, awaiting his attention, a shape of affable +placidity, intelligent, at ease; his attitude not entirely lacking a +suggestion of familiarity. + +Without changing his pose by so much as the lifting of an eyelash, +Victor spoke in Chinese: + +“To-morrow afternoon, late, I shall motor down into the country with +the girl Sofia. I shall be gone three days—perhaps. I will leave a +telephone number with you, to be used only in emergency. As soon as I +have left, you will dismiss all the English servants, with a quarter’s +wage in advance in lieu of notice. Karslake will provide the money.” + +“He does not accompany you?” + +“No.” + +“And the man Nogam?” + +Victor appeared to hesitate. “What do you think?” he enquired at +length. + +“What I have always thought.” + +“That he is a spy?” + +“Yes.” + +“But with no tangible support for your suspicions?” + +“None.” + +“You have not failed to watch him closely?” + +“As a cat watches a mouse.” + +“But—nothing?” + +“Nothing.” + +“Yet I agree with you entirely, Shaik Tsin. I smell treachery.” + +“And I.” + +“Nogam shall go with me as my bodyservant. Thus I shall be able to keep +an eye on him. Let Chou Nu be prepared to accompany us as maid to the +girl Sofia. In my absence you will be guided by such further +instructions as I may leave with you. These failing, consider the man +Sturm, my personal representative. In the contingency you know of, +Sturm will warn you in time to clear the house.” + +“Of everybody?” + +“Of all servants except those whom you may need to guard the man +Karslake. These and yourself will be provided with means of +self-protection by Sturm.” + +“And Karslake?” + +“I have not yet made up my mind.” + +“Hearing is obedience.” + +Victor relapsed into another reverie which lasted so long that even the +patience of Shaik Tsin bade fair to fail. In the end the silence was +broken by two words: + +“The crystal.” + +From a cabinet at the end of the room Shaik Tsin brought a crystal ball +supported on the backs of three golden dragons standing tail to tail, +superbly wrought examples of Chinese goldsmithing. This he placed +carefully on the black teakwood surface at Victor’s elbow. + +“And now, inform the girl Sofia I wish to see her.” + +“And if she again sends her excuses?” + +“Say, in that event, I shall be obliged to come to her room.” + + + + +XV +INTUITION + + +She had not thought, of course, of going down to dinner; she had, +instead, sent Victor word simply that she begged to be excused from +joining him for that meal. Then, unable longer to endure Chou Nu’s +efforts to comfort or distract her, Sofia had stepped out of her street +frock and into a négligée and, dismissing the maid, returned to the +chaise-longue upon which, in vain hope of being able to cry out the +wretchedness of her heart, she had thrown herself on first gaining the +sanctuary of her room. + +For hours, she did not guess how many, she scarcely stirred. Neither +was the blessed boon of tears granted unto her. Alone with her immense +and immitigable misery, she lay in darkness tempered only by the dim +skyshine that filtered through the window draperies; hating life, that +had no mercy; hating the duplicity that had led Karslake into making +untrue love to her, but inexplicably not hating Karslake himself, or +the enshrined image that wore his name; hating herself for her facile +readiness to give love where all but the guise of love was lacking, and +for knowing this deep hurt where she should have felt only scorn and +anger; but hating, most of all, or rather for the first time +discovering how well she hated, him to whom unerring intuition told her +she owed this brimming measure of heartbreak and humiliation, the man +who called himself her father. + +For if Karslake had done her a cruel wrong in winning her avowal of the +love that had been growing in her heart these many weeks, while he was +merely amusing himself or serving a secret purpose—whose was the +initial blame for that? + +Who had egged Karslake on, as he had asserted, “to win her confidence,” +leaving to him the choice of means to that end? + +And—_why_? + +The formulation of this question marked the turning point in Sofia’s +descent toward the nadir of shame and anguish; from the moment its +significance was clearly apprehended (but it took her long to reach +this stage) the complexion of her thoughts took on another colour, and +the smart of chagrin was soothed even as the irritation excited by +critical examination of Victor’s conduct grew more acute. + +Why should the self-styled author of her being have thought it +necessary, or even wise or kind, to commission a paid employee to win +his daughter’s confidence? + +What had rendered the conquest of her confidence so needful in his +sight? + +What had made him think Sofia would prove loath to resign it to him, or +more likely to give it to another? + +Why had Victor hesitated to bid for her confidence with his own tongue, +on his own merits? + +One would think that, if he were her father— + +If! + +_Was_ he? + +Sofia sat up sharply, her young body as taut as her temper. Pulses and +breathing quickened, intent eyes probed the shadows as if she thought +to wrest from them a clue to the mystery of her status in the household +of Victor Vassilyevski. + +What proof had she that he was her father? + +None but his word.... Well, and Karslake’s.... None that would stand +the test of skepticism, none that either sentiment or reason could +offer and support. Certainly she resembled Prince Victor in no respect +that she could think of, not in person, not in mould of character, not +in ways of thought. From the very first she had been perplexed, and +indeed saddened, by her failure, her sheer inability, to react +emotionally to their alleged relationship. And surely there must exist +between parent and child some sort of spiritual bond or affinity, +something to draw them together—even if neither had never known the +other. Whereas she on her part had never been conscious of any sense of +sympathy with Victor, but only of timidity and reluctance which had +latterly manifested in unquestionable aversion. And then there was his +attitude toward her, raising a question so repugnant to her +understanding that never before to-night had Sofia admitted its +existence and given it the freedom of her thoughts. + +She had seen men, in the Café des Exiles, toast their mistresses with +such looks as Victor Vassilyevski reserved for the girl whom he claimed +as his child. + +What, then, if he were not her father? + +What if he had only pretended to paternal rights in furtherance of some +deep scheme of his?—perhaps thinking to use her as a pawn in that dark +plot which he was forever brewing in his study (with canaille like +Sturm for collaborators!) that mysterious “research work” that +flavoured the atmosphere of the house with a miasmatic reek of +intrigue, stealth, and fear—perhaps (more simply and terribly) +designing in his own time and way to avenge himself upon the daughter +for the admitted slights he had suffered at the hands of the mother, +that poor dead woman whose fame he never ceased to blacken while still +her memory was potent to kindle fires in those eyes otherwise so +opaque, impenetrable, and lightless! + +Now Sofia found herself unable to sit still; only through action of +some sort could she hope to win any measure of ease for brain and +nerves. A thought was shaping, claiming precedence over all others, the +thought of flight; bred of the feeling that, as long as she remained in +ignorance of the exact truth concerning their relationship, it was +impossible for her to remain longer under Victor’s roof, eating his +bread and salt, schooling herself to suffer his endearments whose good +faith she could not help challenging, who inspired in her only +antipathy, fear, and distrust. + +It seemed clear beyond dispute that she must leave his protection, this +very night, before he could guess her mind and move to check her. + +Sofia swung her feet down to the floor. One of her silken mules had +fallen off. Semi-consciously she groped for it with stockinged toes. As +the inanimate will, the mule eluded recapture with impish ease. But +beneath her foot something rustled and crackled lightly. She bent over +and picked it up: a square white envelope, sealed. + +Switching on a lamp near by, she examined her find. It carried no +address. How it could have got there she could not imagine ... unless +Chou Nu had dropped it by inadvertence, which seemed as far-fetched as +to suppose she had left it there by design; for that would mean Chou Nu +had been bribed to convey a surreptitious note to her mistress; and +Sofia knew that the Chinese girl was at once too loyal to her +“second-uncle,” and too much in awe of “Number One,” to be corruptible. + +None the less, there the envelope was; and nobody but Chou Nu had +entered the room since Sofia had come straight from the study to it, +late in the afternoon. + +It was just possible, however—Sofia’s eyes measured the distance—that a +deft hand and a strong wrist might have slipped the envelope under the +door and sent it skimming across the floor to the foot of the +chaise-longue. + +But nobody would have dared do that without a powerful motive for +wishing to communicate secretly with Sofia. + +She tore the flap and withdrew a single sheet of notepaper penned in a +hand she knew too well. Her heart leapt.... + +I implore you, of your charity, do not condemn me without a hearing +because of anything you may have overheard me say. After you left us in +the study I saw his eyes watching the door while we talked, and knew +from his look that something to please him had happened behind my back. +And in the temper he was in only one thing could possibly have pleased +him. + +I said what I said to him, dear, because I had to—or lose the right, +dearer to me than life, to be near you, to serve and protect you. I +lied to him because I loved you. But I have never lied to you about my +love—and only once, through necessity, about anything else. Perhaps you +can guess what that lie was, somehow I rather think you do; at least, I +am sure, you are beginning to wonder if I told the truth—or knew it, +then. + +If this sound cryptic, I can only beg you to be patient and charitable +until I find opportunity to clear away this one lie which stands +between us—and which is, by comparison, almost immaterial, since all +that matters is the one great truth in my life, that I love you beyond +all telling. + +R.K. + +If questions trouble your mind, I beg you do not let him know it. Your +only safety now lies in his continuing to believe that you are +unsuspicious. Above all, do your best to seem to fall in with his +wishes, however strange or unreasonable they may seem. It will be only +a few days more before I can claim you for my own, and laugh at his +pretensions. + +A curious love-letter; yet it was Sofia’s first. If it made her +thoughtful, it made her illogically happy as well. If it put the issue +to her squarely, of loyalty to Prince Victor or loyalty to Karslake, +she was unaware that she had any choice of courses. When Shaik Tsin +thumped the panels of her door, she crushed the note into the bosom of +her négligée before answering. + +When one is of an age to love, it is never the parent who gets the +benefit of a doubt. + + + + +XVI +THE CRYSTAL + + +Like some shy, sad shade summoned up by the malign genius of a haunted +chamber, a slender shape of pallor in softly flowing draperies slipped +through the silent door and, advancing a few reluctant steps into the +soundless gloom, paused and in apprehensive diffidence awaited the +welcome that was for a time withheld. + +For minutes Victor gave no sign or stir; and in all the room nothing +moved but ghostly whorls of smoke writhing slowly upward from a pungent +censer of beaten gold. + +The great lamp of brass was dark, and there was no other light than a +solitary bulb, whose hooded rays were concentrated upon the crystal +ball, so that the latter shone with a dead-white glare, somehow +baleful, like an elfin moon deeply lost in a sea of sombre enchantment. + +Bending forward in his chair, an elbow planted on the table, his +forehead resting upon the tips of long, white fingers, Victor’s gaze +was steadfast to the crystal. Refracted light sculptured with curious +shadows that saturnine face intent to immobility. + +Too young, too inexperienced and sensitive to be insusceptible to the +spell of the theatrical, the girl was conscious of a steady ebb of her +new-found store of fortitude, skepticism, and defiance, together with +an equally steady inflow of timidity and uneasiness. That sinister +figure at the table, absorbed in study of the inscrutable sphere—what +did he see there, to hold his faculties in such deep eclipse? Adept in +black arts of the Orient as he was said to be, what wizardry was he +brewing with the aid of that traditional tool of the necromancer? What +spectacle of divination was in those pellucid depths unfolding to his +rapt vision? And what had this consultation of the occult to do with +the man’s mind concerning herself? + +Sofia was shaken by a tremor of dread.... + +And as if her emotion were somehow communicated, arousing him to +knowledge of her presence, Victor started, sat back, and with a sigh +passed a hand across his eyes. When the hand fell, his face wore its +habitual look for Sofia, modified by a slightly apologetic and weary +smile. + +“My child!” he exclaimed in accents of contrite surprise, “have I kept +you waiting long?” + +“Only a few minutes. It doesn’t matter.” + +But her voice seemed sadly small and thin in comparison with Victor’s +rotund and measured intonations. + +“Forgive me.” Victor rose, nodding to indicate the shining crystal. “I +have been consulting my familiar,” he said with a light laugh. “You +have heard of crystal-gazing? A fascinating art that languishes in +undeserved neglect. The ancients were more wise, they knew there was +more in Heaven and Earth.... You are incredulous? But I assure you, I +myself, though far from proficient, have caught strange glimpses of +unborn events in the heart of that transparent enigma.” + +He took her hands and cuddled them in his own. + +She quivered irrepressibly to his touch. + +“But you are trembling!” he protested, solicitous, looking down into +her face—“you are wan and sad, my dear. Tell me you are not ill.” + +“It is nothing,” Sofia replied—again in that faint, stifled voice. She +added in determined effort to subdue her trembling and turn their talk +to essentials: “You sent for me—I am here.” + +“I am so sorry. If I had guessed ...” Enlightenment seemed to dawn all +at once. “But surely it isn’t because of that stupid business with +Karslake? Surely you didn’t take him seriously?” + +“How should I—?” + +“It is too absurd. The poor fool misconstrued my instructions to make +himself agreeable—I am so taken up with the gravest matters at present, +I didn’t want you to feel lonely or neglected—and, it appears, felt it +incumbent upon him to flirt with you as a matter of duty. I am out of +temper with him, but not unreasonable; I shan’t dispense with his +services altogether, without more provocation, but will find other work +to keep him busy and out of your way. You need fear no more annoyance +from that quarter.” + +“I was not annoyed,” Sofia found heart to contend. “I—like him.” + +“Nonsense!” Victor’s laugh was rich with derision. “Don’t ask me to +believe you were actually touched by the fellow’s play-acting. You—my +daughter—wasting emotion on a mere commoner! The thing is too +ridiculous. Oblige me by thinking no more about it. I have better +things in store for you.” + +“Better than—love?” the girl questioned with grave eyes. + +“When the time comes for that, you shall find a worthier parti than +poor Karslake, well-meaning though he may be. Moreover, you +heard—forgive me for reminding you—there was not an ounce of sincerity +in all his philandering for you to hold in sentimental recollection. +So—forget Karslake, please. It is a duty you owe your own pride and my +dignity; it is, furthermore, my wish.” + +She bowed her head, that he might not see the reflection in her face of +the glow that warmed her bosom, where Karslake’s letter nestled. But +Victor took the nod for the word of submission, and patted her shoulder +with an indulgent hand, guiding her to a chair close by his. + +“Sit down, my dear. I want to explain why I asked you to come to me at +this late hour—never dreaming my message would find you so +overwrought.... You quite see how needless it was to permit yourself to +be upset by such a trifling matter, don’t you?” + +“Oh, quite,” Sofia murmured, with gaze fixed on the interlacing fingers +in her lap. + +“That is sensible.” Offering her shoulder one last accolade of +approbation, Victor moved toward his own chair. “And now that you are +here, we may as well have our little talk out,” he continued, but broke +off to stipulate: “If, that is, you are sure you feel up to it?” + +“Yes,” Sofia assented, but without moving. + +“I am not so sure. Perhaps a glass of wine might do you good.” + +“Oh, no!” the girl protested—“I don’t need it, really.” + +But Victor wouldn’t listen; and disappearing into shadowed distances, +returned presently with a brimming goblet. + +“Drink this, dear. It will make you feel quite fit again.” + +Obediently, Sofia raised the goblet to her lips. + +“You have never tasted a wine like that,” Victor insisted, smiling down +at her. + +It was true enough, what he claimed; though it had something of +character of a sound old Madeira, this wine had more, a surpassing +richness, a fruitiness in no way cloying, a peculiarly aromatic taste +and fragrance, elusive and provoking, with a hint of bitterness never +to be analyzed by the most experienced palate. + +“What is it?” Sofia asked after her first sip. + +“You like it, eh? An old wine of China, unknown to Western Europe.” +Victor gave it a musical name in what Sofia took to be Chinese. +“Outside my cellars, I’ll wager there’s not another bottle of it this +side of Constantinople. Drink it all. It will do you good.” + +He seated himself. “And now my reason for wishing to talk with you +to-night.... A note came by the last delivery from Lady Randolph West. +You met her, I understand, through Sybil Waring, a few days ago. She +was apparently much taken with you.” + +“She is very kind.” + +Victor had found a sheet of notepaper and, bending to the light, was +searching its scrawled lines with narrowed eyes. + +“‘Too lovely,’ she calls you—and quite justly, my dear. Yes; here it +is: ‘Too lovely for words.’ And she wants me to bring my ‘charming +daughter’ down to Frampton Court for this week-end.” + +Sofia said nothing, but put her half-empty glass aside. The wine had +done her good, she thought. She felt better, stronger, mentally more +alert, and at the same time curiously soothed. + +Victor refolded the note and tapped the table with it, holding Sofia +with speculative eyes. + +“It should be amusing,” he said, thoughtfully, “a new experience for +you. Elaine—I mean Lady Randolph West, of course—is a charming hostess, +and never fails to fill Frampton Court with delightful people.” + +“I’m sure I should love it.” + +“I am sure you would. And yet ... I may have been a little premature, +since I have already written accepting the invitation.” He indicated an +addressed envelope face up on the table. “But on second thoughts, it +seemed perhaps wiser to consult you first.” + +“But if it is your wish, I must go,” Sofia replied, mindful of +Karslake’s injunction not to oppose Victor. “What have I to say—?” + +“Everything about whether we accept or do not—or if not everything, at +least the final word. I must abide by your decision.” + +“But I shall be only too glad—” + +“Think a moment. It might be wiser not to go. You alone can say.” + +“I don’t quite understand ...” + +Victor sighed. “It is a painful subject,” he said, slowly—“one I +hesitate to reopen. But we can never profit by closing our minds to +facts; I mean, to the reality of the danger which is always with us, +since it is within us.” + +“What danger?” Sofia enquired, sullenly, knowing the answer too well +before it was spoken. + +“The danger of sudden temptation to indulge the lawless appetites with +which heredity has endued us—me from the nameless forebears whom I +never knew, you directly from parents both of whom boasted criminal +records.” + +“I don’t believe it!” Sofia declared, passionately—“I can’t believe it, +I won’t! Even if you are—” + +She was going on to say “if you are my father,” but caught herself in +time. Had not Karslake warned her in his note: “_Your only safety now +lies in his continuing to believe that you are unsuspicious._” She +continued in a tempest of expostulation whose fury covered her break: + +“Even if you were once a thief and my mother—my mother!—everything +vile, as you persist in trying to make me believe—God knows why!—it is +possible I may still have failed to inherit your criminal tendencies; +and not only possible, but true, if I know myself at all. For I have +never felt the temptation to steal that you insist I must have +inherited from you—nor any other inclination toward things as mean, +contemptible, and dishonourable as they are dishonest!” + +With only his slow, forbearing smile by way of comment, Victor heard +her out, but when she paused to reassort her thoughts, lifted a +temporizing hand. + +“Not yet, perhaps,” he said, gently. “There is always the first time +with every rebel against man-made laws. But, where the predisposition +so indubitably exists, it is inevitable, soon or late it must come to +you, my dear—the time when the will is too weak, temptation too strong. +Against it we must be forever on our guard.” + +“I am not afraid,” Sofia contended. + +“Naturally; you will not be before the hour of ordeal which shall prove +your strength or your weakness, your confidence in yourself, or my +loving fears for you.” + +Sofia gave a gesture of weariness and confusion. What did it matter? If +he would have it so, let him: it couldn’t affect the issue in any way, +what he believed, or for his own purposes pretended to believe. Had not +Karslake promised ... + +She tried to recall precisely what it was that Karslake had promised, +but found her memory of a sudden singularly sluggish. In fact, her mind +seemed to have lost its marvellous clarity of those first moments after +tasting the wine of China. Small wonder, when one remembered the +emotional strain she had experienced since early evening! + +“Still,” she argued, stubbornly, “I don’t see what all this has to do +with Lady Randolph West’s invitation.” + +“Only that to accept means to expose you to the greatest temptation one +can well imagine.” + +Sofia stared blankly. Her wits were working even more slowly and +heavily than before. And the glare in her eyes from the luminous sphere +of crystal was irritating. Almost without thinking, she lifted her +glass again; when she put it down it was empty. + +“The jewels of Lady Randolph West,” Victor went on to explain without +her prompting, “are considered the most wonderful in England; always +excepting, of course, the Crown jewels.” + +“What is that to me?” + +Resentment sounded in her tone. She was thinking more readily once +more, thanks to that second magical draught, but was nevertheless +conscious of a general failing of powers drained by her great fatigue. +She wished devoutly that Victor would have done and let her go.... + +“Elaine is very careless, leaves her jewels scattered about, hardly +troubles to put them away securely at night. If you should be tempted +to appropriate anything, she might not discover her loss for days; and +then, again, she might. And if you were caught—consider what shame and +disgrace!” + +“I think I see,” the girl said, slowly, after some difficult thinking. +“You don’t want me to go.” + +“To the contrary, I do—but I want more than anything else in the world +that my daughter should be sure of herself and fall into no irreparable +error.” + +“But I am sure of myself—I have told you that.” + +“Then let us fret no more about it, but accept, and go prepared to +enjoy ourselves. I will send the letter.” + +Victor rang, and Shaik Tsin presented himself so quickly that Sofia +wondered dully where he could have been waiting. In the room with them, +perhaps? It wasn’t impossible. The Chinaman’s thick soles of felt +enabled him to move about without making the least noise. + +“Have this posted immediately.” + +Shaik Tsin bowed deeply, and backed away with the letter. Unless she +turned to watch him, Sofia could not say whether he left the room or +not. + +She offered to rise. + +“If that is all ...” + +“Not quite. There are certain details to be arranged; and I may not see +you again before we leave to-morrow afternoon. We will motor down to +Frampton Court—it’s not far, little more than an hour by train—starting +about half after four, if you can be ready.” + +“Oh, yes.” + +“Sybil Waring will tell you what to take, and Chou Nu will see to your +packing. Both, by the way, will accompany us. Sybil’s maid will follow +by train. For myself, I am taking Nogam—having found that English +servants do not take kindly to my Chinese valet.” + +“Yes ...” Sofia uttered, listlessly, wondering why this information +should be considered of interest to her. + +“And one thing more: I am forgiven? You are not cross with me?” + +“Why should I be?” + +“Because of what happened this afternoon—when I scolded Karslake for +making love to you.” + +“Oh,” said Sofia with a good show of indifference—she was so +tired—“that!” + +“Believe me, little Sofia”—Victor put out a hand to hers, and held her +eyes with a compelling gaze—“boy-and-girl romance is all very well, but +there is a greater destiny reserved for you than marriage to a hired +secretary, however amiable, personable, and well-meaning. You must +prepare yourself to move in a world beyond and above the common +hearthstone of bourgeois domesticity.” + +The girl shook a bewildered head. + +“It is a riddle?” she asked, wearily. + +“A riddle?” Victor echoed. “Why, one may safely term it that. Is not +the Future always a riddle? Nature knows the Future as the Past, but +Nature holds it secret, lest man go mad with too much knowledge. Only +to the few, the favoured, does she grant rare glimpses through media +which she has provided for the use of the initiate—such as this crystal +here, in which I was studying your future, when you came in, the high +future I plan for you.” + +“And—you won’t tell me?” + +“I may not. It is forbidden. Nature deals unkindly with those who +violate her confidence. But—who knows?” + +He checked himself as if struck by a new turn of thought, and studied +the girl’s face intently. + +“Who knows?” he repeated, as if to himself. + +“What—?” + +“It is quite within the bounds of possibility,” Victor mused, “that you +should have inherited some of the psychic power which was born in me. +Perhaps—who knows?—to you as well Nature will be supple and disclose +her secrets.... If you care to seek her favour?” + +“But—how?” + +“By consulting the crystal.” + +Sofia’s eyes sought that coldly burning stone. Her head was so heavy, +she hesitated, oppressed by misgivings without shape that she could +name, phases of formless timidity having rise in some source which she +was too tired to search out. + +But she lingered and continued to stare at the crystal. + +“Why not?” Victor’s accents were gently persuasive. “At worst, you can +only fail. And if you do not fail, it will make me happy to think that +you have been given a little insight into my dreams for you.” + +“Yes,” Sofia assented in a whisper—“why not?” + +Victor drew her forward by the hand. + +“Look,” he said “look deep! Divest your mind as nearly as you can of +all thought—let the crystal give up its message to a mind devoid of +prejudice, its receptiveness unimpaired. Think of nothing, if you can +manage it—simply look and see.” + +Automatically to a degree the girl obeyed, already in a phase of +crepuscular hypnosis, her surface senses dulled by the potent “wine of +China.” And watching her closely, Victor permitted himself a smile of +satisfaction as he noted the rapidity with which she yielded to the +hypnogenic spell of the translucent quartz; how her breathing +quickened, then took on a measured tempo like that of a sleeper; how a +faint flush warmed the unnatural pallor of her cheeks, how her dilate +eyes grew fixed in an unwinking stare, and slightly glassed.... + +Under her regard the goblin sphere took on with bewildering rapidity +changing guises. Its rotundity was first lost, it assumed the semblance +of a featureless disk of pallid light, which swiftly widened till it +obscured all else, then seemed to advance upon and envelope her bodily, +so that she became spiritually a part of it, an atom of identity +engulfed in a limpid world of glareless light, light that had had no +rays and issued from no source but was circumambient and universal. +Then in its remote heart a weird glow of rose began to burn and grow, +pulsing through all the colours of the spectrum and beyond. Toward this +she felt herself being drawn swiftly, attracted by an irresistible +magnetism, riding the wings of a great wind, whose voice boomed without +ceasing, like a heavy surf thunderously reiterating one syllable, +“_Sleep_!” ... And in this flight through illimitable space toward a +goal unattainable, consciousness grew faint and flickered out like a +candle in the wind. + +Behind her chair the placid yellow face of Shaik Tsin appeared, as if +materialized bodily out of the shadows. With folded arms he waited, +dispassionately observant. Presently Prince Victor nodded to him over +the head of the girl. Immediately the Chinaman moved round her chair +and, employing both hands, in one instant switched off the hooded bulb +and reilluminated the lamp of brass. + +As the light died out in the crystal Sofia sighed heavily, and relaxed. +Leaden eyelids closed down over her staring eyes, she sank back into +the chair, simultaneously into plumbless depths.... + +Victor made a sound of gratification. Shaik Tsin enquired briefly: + +“It is accomplished, then?” + +Victor nodded. “She yielded more quickly than I had hoped—worn out +emotionally, of course.” + +“She sleeps—” + +“In hypnosis, in absolute suspense of every faculty and function save +those concerned solely with the maintenance of existence—in a state, +that is, comparable only to the pre-natal life of a child.” + +“It is most interesting,” Shaik Tsin admitted. “But what is the use? +That is what interests me.” + +“Wait and see.” + +Bending close to the girl, Victor called in a strong voice of command: +“Sofia! Sofia! It is I, Prince Victor, your father. Waken and attend!” + +A slight spasm shook the slender body, the lips parted, respiration +became hurried and broken, the long lashes fluttered on the cheeks. + +“Do you hear me? I, Victor, command you: Waken and attend!” + +Another struggle, more brief and sharp, ended with the opening of the +eyes, which sought and remained steadfast to Victor’s, yet without +intelligence or animation. + +“Do you hear me, Sofia?” + +A voice like a sigh rustled on the parted lips, whose stir was +imperceptible: + +“I hear you....” + +“Then heed what I say. My will is your law. You know that?” + +Faintly the voice breathed: “Yes.” + +“Tell me what it is you know.” + +“Your will is my law.” + +“You will not resist my will, you cannot. Tell me that.” + +“I will not resist your will, I cannot.” + +“Good. I, Prince Victor Vassilyevski, am your father. You believe that. +Do you understand? Tell me what you believe.” + +“I believe that you, Prince Victor Vassilyevski, are my father.” + +“You will not forget these things?” + +“I shall not forget.” + +“In all things.” + +“I will obey you in all things.” + +“Without question or faltering.” + +“Without question or faltering.” + +“You recall what arrangements we made this afternoon for to-morrow?” + +“I remember.” + +“Listen carefully. Memorize my wishes with respect to our visit to +Frampton Court, remembering that I communicate my will, which you must +obey.” + +The girl remained silent, waiting. Victor took a moment to marshall his +thoughts, then proceeded: + +“After arriving at Frampton Court, you will make occasion quietly to +find out how your room is situated in relation to the boudoir of Lady +Randolph West. You will do this without knowing why you do it. You +understand?” + +“Yes.” + +“At night, on going to bed, you will go promptly to sleep. After an +hour you will wake up, put on a dressing gown and slippers, and proceed +to Lady Randolph West’s boudoir, taking care not to be observed. Is +that clear?” + +“Yes.” + +“Once in the boudoir, you will proceed to the safe where Lady Randolph +West keeps her jewels. It will not be locked, she is careless in such +matters. Having found the safe, you will open it, take whatever jewels +you find therein, and return to your room. All this you will perform +with utmost circumspection, taking all pains not to make any noise. In +your room you will hide the jewels in your dressing-case. Then you will +go back to bed and to sleep. Have you committed all this to memory?” + +The sleeping girl answered in the affirmative. Then, to the injunction, +“Tell me what you are to do to-morrow night?” she repeated in a +toneless voice every item of the programme outlined for her, while +Victor nodded in undisguised delight, and Shaik Tsin grinned blandly +over her head. + +“On waking up to-morrow morning, you will remember nothing of my +instructions, but you will carry them precisely as memorized in your +subconciousness, and you will carry them out without thought of +opposition to my will, understanding that you are without will of your +own in this matter. Finally, on waking up on the morning following your +abstraction of the jewels, you will remember nothing of the affair +until reminded of it by me, and then only this much: That in obedience +to irresistible impulse, you stole the jewels. Is that clear? Repeat +...” + +Without a mistake the woman in hypnosis iterated the commands imposed +upon her. + +The impish grin of the latent savage broke through the habitual +austerity of Victor’s countenance. + +“There is no more,” he said, “but this: Sleep now, and do not waken +before noon to-morrow—_sleep_!” + +With a quavering sigh, the girl reclosed her eyes and instantly +relapsed into the sleep of trance which was insensibly in the course of +the night to merge into natural slumber. + +Victor ironed out his grimace, and signed to Shaik Tsin. + +“Bear her back to her room. Instruct Chou Nu to put her to bed and not +to wake her up before noon.” + +“Hearing is obedience.” + +The Chinaman bent over, gathered the inert body into his arms, and +without perceptible effort stood erect. But in the act of turning away +he paused and, continuing to hold the girl as easily as if she weighed +no more than a child, interrogated the man he served. + +“You believe she will do all you have ordered?” + +“I know she will.” + +“Without error?” + +“Barring accidents, without flaw from beginning to end.” + +“And in event of accidents—discovery—?” + +“So much the better.” + +“That would please you, to have her caught?” + +“Excellently.” + +Shaik Tsin nodded in grave yet humorous comprehension. “Now I begin to +understand. If she is caught, that gives you a power over her?” + +“Precisely.” + +“And if she is not, when the robbery becomes known, your power over her +will be still more strong?” + +“And over yet another stronger still.” + +“The Lone Wolf?” + +Victor inclined his head. “To what lengths will he not go to cover up +his daughter’s shame, if it threatens to become public that she is a +thief? I do nothing without purpose, Shaik Tsin.” + +“That is to say, you have to-night taken out insurance against +punishment if this other business fails.” + +“If it fail, others may suffer, but if necessary the Lone Wolf himself +will arrange my escape from England.” + +“To serve so wise a man is an honour my unworthiness can never hope to +merit.” + +“As to that, Shaik Tsin,” Victor said without a smile, “our minds are +one. Go now. Good-night.” + + + + +XVII +THE RAISED CHEQUE + + +While the Princess Sofia, Sybil Waring, and Prince Victor motored down +from London in the lilac dusk of that dim September day, and the maid +Chou Nu accompanied them, riding in front beside a newly engaged +Chinese chauffeur, the man Nogam made the journey to Frampton Court by +train, and alone. + +Alone, at least, in the finer shading of that adjective; aside from the +usual assortment of self-contained fellow-travellers in the third-class +carriage, he had no company other than his thoughts; a gray and meagre +crew, if that pathetic face of middle-age furnished trustworthy +reflection of his mind.... So absolute was the submergence of that +ardent adventurer who, overnight, had lain awake for hours, a +dictograph receiver glued to his ear, eavesdropping upon the traffic of +those malevolent intelligences assembled in Prince Victor’s study, and +alternately chuckling and cursing beneath his breath, aflame with +indignation and chilled by inklings of atrocities unspeakable abrew! + +If he surmised that he travelled alone in appearance only, it was with +no evident concern or astonishment. If his mind was uneasy, oppressed +by a nightmarish burden of half-knowledge, guesses, and premonition, it +was not apparent to the general observer. His most eloquent gesture was +when, from time to time, he tamped an ancient wooden pipe with a +fingertip that wasn’t as calloused as he could have wished, +philosophically sucked in strangling fumes of rankest shag and, +ignoring his company in the carriage as became a British-made +manservant, returned jaded, gentle eyes to those darkling vistas of +autumnal landscape that were forever radiating away from the window +like spokes of a gigantic wheel. + +Alighting in the first dark of evening at the station for Frampton +Court, he suffered himself to be herded, with a half-score more, into +the omnibus provided for other bodyservants to arriving guests. Even to +these compeers he found little to say: a loud lot, imbued with the +rowdy spirit of the new day; whereas Nogam was hopelessly of the old +school—in the new word, he dated—though his form was admittedly +unimpeachable. And if because of this he was made fun of more or less +openly, to an extent that added shades of resignation to his +countenance, secretly he commanded considerable respect. + +Neither was Victor, with all the ill-will in the world, able to find +fault with Nogam’s services in his new office. The most finished of +self-effacing valets, he knew just what to do and did it without being +told; and when he spoke it was only because he had been spoken to or +commissioned to convey a message. + +Victor watched him from every angle, overt and covert, but had his +trouble for his pains; Nogam, observed in a mirror, when Victor’s back +was turned, went about his business with no more betrayal of personal +feeling or independent mentality than when waiting upon his master face +to face. Victor could have kicked him for sheer resentment of his +pattern virtues. When all was said and done, it _was_ damned +irritating. . . . + +In the servants’ hall he religiously kept his ears open and his mouth +shut. And, listening, he learned. For some things said in his hearing +were distinctly not pretty, and made one wonder if Prince Victor’s +deep-rooted confidence in an England mortally cankered with social +discontent were not grounded in a surprising familiarity with +backstairs morale. Other observations, again, were merely ribald, some +were humorous, while all were enlightening. + +Not a few of the company had seen domestic service in great houses +before the war; they knew what was what and—more to the point—what +wasn’t. One gathered that this pretentious country home fell within the +latter classification. Here, it was stated, anybody could buy his way +into favour: the more bounding the bounder the brighter his chances of +success at Frampton Court. + +War, the ironic, had caused this noble property to pass into the +keeping of a distant and degenerate branch of an old and honoured +house; and its present lord and lady, having failed to win the social +welcome they had counted on too confidently, were doing their silly, +shabby best to squander a princely fortune and dedicate a great name to +lasting disrepute by fraternizing with a motley riffraff of +profiteering nouveaux riches. Other than bad manners and worse morals, +the one genuine thing in the whole establishment was, it seemed, the +historic collection of family jewels. + +This information explained away much of Nogam’s perplexity on one +score. + +After dinner, when the house party began to settle into its stride, he +made occasion, aping the other servants, to peep in at a door of the +great ballroom, where an impromptu dance had been organized; and was +rewarded by sight of the Princess Sofia circling the floor in the arms +of a boldly good-looking young man whose taste was as poor in +flirtation as in self-adornment. + +To Nogam the young girl looked wan and wistful—as if she were missing +somebody. And he wondered if Mr. Karslake knew what a lucky young devil +he was. + +He wondered still more about the present whereabouts and welfare of Mr. +Karslake. Prince Victor must have contrived some devious errand to get +the young man out and away early that day; for by the time Nogam had +looked for him in the morning, Karslake was nowhere to be found; +neither had he returned when the party left for Frampton Court—a +circumstance which Nogam regretted most bitterly. Watched as he was, it +hadn’t been possible, that is to say it would have been fatally +ill-advised, to have left any sort of message or to have attempted +communication through secret channels; and all the while, hours heavy +with, it might be, the destiny of England were wasting swiftly into +history. + +Perhaps it was nervousness bred of this anxiety that, in the end, made +Nogam’s hand slip. Or perhaps the impatient nature of the man who lay +so closely secret within the husk of Nogam decided him upon a desperate +gamble. In either event, this befell: + +About the middle of the evening Prince Victor happened to look up from +an interesting tête-à-tête in the brilliant drawing-room with his +handsome and liberal-minded hostess opportunely to espy Nogam staring +at him from the remote recesses of the entrance hall. + +It was the merest of glimpses; for Victor’s casual glance had barely +identified the servant when Nogam started guiltily and in a twinkling +disappeared; but a glimpse was enough for eyes and a mind alike quick +with distrust, enough to assure Victor that Nogam’s face had worn an +indescribably furtive and hangdog expression, most unlike its ordinary +look of amiable stupidity, and widely incongruous with the veniality of +his fault. + +What the deuce, then, was the fellow up to, that he should glower and +dodge like a sleuth in a play? + +Promptly Victor became deaf, blind, and numb to the fascinations so +generously paraded by Lady Randolph West; and presently excusing +himself, left her and sought his rooms. + +As he went up the stairs, he saw the door to his bedchamber cautiously +opened far enough to permit one eye to spy out and discover his +approach. Immediately then the door swung wide, and Nogam ambled into +view with an envelope on a salver and an air of childlike innocence, an +assumption of ease so transparent, indeed, that only the vision of a +child could have been cheated by it. + +“Just coming to look for you, sir,” he announced, glibly. “Telegram, +sir—just harrived.” + +“Thanks,” said Victor, shortly, taking the envelope and marching on +into his rooms. + +His manner toward his servants was always abrupt. No need to be alarmed +by this manifestation of it. Blinking mildly, Nogam trotted at his +heels. + +Seating himself at an escritoire, Victor opened the envelope with a +display of languid interest. Curiosity about the contents of a telegram +is ordinarily acute. Victor, on the contrary, sat for a long moment +staring thoughtfully at nothing and absently turning the envelope over +and over in his hands; while Nogam with specious nonchalance found +something unimportant to do in another quarter of the room. + +The envelope was damp and warm to the touch. True: nightfall had +brought with it a thick drizzle, and Frampton Court was more than a +mile from the post-office. On the other hand, the night was as cold as +charity; and an envelope recently steamed open might be expected to +hold the heat for a few minutes. + +Victor thumbed the flap. It lifted readily, without tearing, its gum +was wet and more abundant than usual—in fact, it felt confoundedly like +library paste, a pot of which, in an ornamental holder, was among the +fittings of the escritoire. On the desk pad of blotting paper, too, +Victor detected marks of fresh paste defining the contour of the flap. + +With a countenance whose inscrutability alone was a threat, Victor took +out and conned the telegraph form. + +“CONSULTATION SET FOR MIDNIGHT TO-NIGHT TAKING YOUR ADVICE SHALL NOT +ATTEND BUT LEAVE FOR BRIGHTON ELEVEN P.M.” + +A message ostensibly so open and aboveboard that it hadn’t been thought +worth while to hide its wording under the cloak of a code. + +There was no signature—unless one were clever or wise enough to +transpose the two final letters and take them in relation to the word +immediately preceding. “Eleven, M.P.”, however, could mean nothing to +anybody but Victor—except a body clever enough to hide a dictograph +detector in a turnip. So Victor saw no reason to believe that Nogam, +although undoubtedly guilty of the sin of prying, had been able to read +the meaning below the surface of this communication. + +Nevertheless, undue inquisitiveness on the part of a servant in the pay +of Victor Vassilyevski could have but one reward. + +“Nogam!” + +“Sir?” + +“Fetch me an A-B-C.” + +“Very good, sir.” + +With Nogam out of the way, Victor enclosed the telegram in a new +envelope and addressed it simply to _“Mr. Sturm—by hand.”_ Then he took +a sheet of the stamped notepaper of Frampton Court, tore it roughly, at +the fold, and on the unstamped half inscribed several characters in +Chinese, using a pencil with a fat, soft lead for this purpose. This +message sealed into a second envelope without superscription, he +lighted a cigarette and sat smiling with anticipative relish through +its smoke, a smile swiftly abolished as the door re-opened; though +Nogam found him in what seemed to be a mood of rare sweet temper. + +Taking the railway guide, Victor ruffled its pages, and after brief +study of the proper table remarked: + +“Afraid I must ask you to run up to town for me to-night, Nogam. If you +don’t mind ...” + +“Only too glad to oblige, sir.” + +“I find I have left important papers behind. Give this to Shaik +Tsin”—he handed over the blank envelope—“and he will find them for you. +You can catch the ten-fifteen up, and return by the twelve-three from +Charing Cross.” + +“Very good, sir.” + +“Oh—and see that Mr. Sturm gets this, too, will you? If he isn’t in, +give it to Shaik Tsin to hand to him. Say it’s urgent.” + +“Quite so, sir.” + +“That is all. But don’t fail to catch the twelve-three back. I must +have the papers to-night.” + +“I shan’t fail you, sir—D.V.” + +“Deo volente? You are a religious man, Nogam?” + +“I ’umbly ’ope so, sir, and do my best to be, accordin’ to my lights.” + +“Glad to hear it. Now cut along, or you’ll miss the up train.” + +Long after Nogam had left the memory of their talk continued to afford +Victor an infinite amount of private entertainment. + +“A religious man!” he would jeer to himself. “Then—may your God help +you, Nogam!” + +Some thought of the same sort may well have troubled Nogam’s mind as he +sat in an otherwise untenanted third-class compartment blinking +owlishly over the example of Victor’s command of the intricacies of +Chinese writing. + +He was happily free of surveillance for the first time in his waking +hours of many days. The Chinese chauffeur had driven him to the +station, and had furthermore lingered to see that Nogam did not fail to +board it. And Nogam felt reasonably safe in assuming that he would not +approach the house near Queen Anne’s Gate without seeing (for the mere +trouble of looking) a second and an entirely gratuitous shadow attach +itself to him with the intention of sticking as tenaciously as that +which God had given him. But the next hour was all his own. + +His study of the Chinese phonograms at length resulted in the +transformation of his careworn face by a slowly dawning smile, the +gleeful smile of a mischief-loving child. And when he had worked for a +while on the message, touching up the skillfully drawn characters with +a pencil the mate to that which Victor had used, he sat back and +laughed aloud over the result of his labours, with some appreciation of +the glow that warms the cockles of the artist’s heart when his deft pen +has raised a cheque from tens to thousands, and he reviews a good job +well done. + +The torn envelope which had held the message to Shaik Tsin lay at his +feet. Nogam had not bothered to worry it open so carefully that it +might be resealed without inviting comment; though that need not have +been a difficult matter, thanks to the dampness of the night air. + +Of the envelope addressed to Sturm, however, he was more considerate; +to violate its integrity and seal it up again was an undertaking that +required the nicest handling. Nor was it accomplished much before the +train drew into Charing Cross. + +Outside the station taxis were few and drivers arrogant; and all the +’buses were packed to the guards with law-abiding Londoners homeward +bound from theatres and halls. So Nogam dived into the Underground, to +come to the surface again at St. James’s Park station, whence he +trotted all the way to Queen Anne’s Gate, arriving at his destination +in a phase of semi-prostration which a person of advancing years and +doddering habits might have anticipated. + +Such fidelity in characterization deserved good reward, and had in it a +rare stroke of fortune; for as he drew up to it, the door opened, and +Sturm came out, saw Nogam, and stopped short. + +“Thank ’Eaven, sir, I got ’ere in time,” the butler panted. “If I’d +missed you, Prince Victor wouldn’t ’ave been in ’arf a wax. ’E told me +I must find you to-night if I ’ad to turn all Lunnon inside out.” + +Pressing the message into Sturm’s hand, he rested wearily against the +casing of the door, his body shaken by laboured breathing, and—while +Sturm, with an exclamation of excitement, ripped open the +envelope—surveyed the dark and rain-wet street out of the corners of +his eyes. + +Across the way a slinking shadow left the sidewalk and blended +indistinguishably with the crowded shadows of an areaway. + +In a voice more than commonly rich with accent, Sturm demanded sharply: + +“What is this? I do not understand!” + +He shook in Nogam’s face the half-sheet of notepaper on which the +Chinese phonograms were drawn. + +“Sorry, sir, but I ’aven’t any hidea. Prince Victor didn’t tell me +anything except there would be no answer, and I was to ’urry right back +to Frampton Court.” Nogam peered myopically at the paper. “It might be +’Ebrew, sir,” he hazarded, helpfully—“by the looks of it, I mean. I +suppose some private message, ’e thought you’d understand.” + +“Hebrew, you fool! Damn your impudence! Do you take me for a Jew?” + +“Beg pardon, sir—no ’arm meant.” + +“No,” Sturm declared, “it’s Chinese.” + +“Then likely Prince Victor meant you to ask Shaik Tsin to translate it +for you, sir.” + +“Probably,” Sturm muttered. “I’ll see.” + +“Yes, sir. Good-night, sir.” + +Without acknowledging this civility, Sturm turned back into the house +and slammed the door. Nogam lingered another moment, then shuffled +wearily down the steps and toward the nearest corner. + +Across the street the voluntary shadow detached itself from cover in +the areaway, and skulked after him. He paid no heed. But when the +shadow rounded the corner, it saw only a dark and empty street, and +pulled up with a grunt of doubt. Simultaneously something not unlike a +thunderbolt for force and fury was launched, from the dark shelter of a +doorway near by, at its devoted head. And as if by magic the shadow +took on form and substance to receive the onslaught. A fist, that +carried twelve stone of bone and sinew jubilant with realization of the +hour for action so long deferred, found shrewdly the heel of a jawbone, +just beneath the ear. Its victim dropped without a cry, but the impact +of the blow was loud in the nocturnal stillness of that bystreet, and +was echoed in magnified volume by the crack of a skull in collision +with a convenient lamppost. + +Followed a swift patter of fugitive feet. + +Tempered by veils of mist, the lamplight fell upon a face upturned from +a murmurous gutter, a yellow face, wide and flat, with lips grinning +back from locked teeth and eyes frozen in a staring question to which +no living man has ever known the answer. + +The pattering footsteps grew faint in distance and died away, the +street was still once more, as still as Death.... + +In the study of Prince Victor Vassilyevski the man Sturm put an +impatient question: + +“Well? What you make of it—hein?” + +Shaik Tsin looked up from a paper which he had been silently examining +by the light of the brazen lamp. + +“Number One says,” he reported, smiling sweetly, while his yellow +forefinger moved from symbol to symbol of the picturesque writing: +_‘“The blow falls to-night. Proceed at once to the gas works and do +that which you know is to be done.’”_ + +“At last!” The voice of the Prussian was full and vibrant with +exultancy. He threw back his head with a loud laugh, and his arm +described a wild, dramatic gesture. + +“At last—der Tag! To-night the Fatherland shall be avenged!” + +Shaik Tsin beamed with friendliest sympathy Sturm turned to go, took +three hurried steps toward the door, and felt himself jerked back by a +silken cord which, descending from nowhere, looped his lean neck +between chin and Adam’s apple. His cry of protest was the last +articulate sound he uttered. And the last sounds he heard, as he lay +with face hideously congested and empurpled, eyeballs starting from +their deep sockets, and swollen tongue protruding, were words spoken by +Shaik Tsin as that one knelt over him, one hand holding fast the ends +of the bowstring that had cut off forever the blessed breath of life, +the other flourishing a half-sheet of notepaper. + +“Fool! Look, fool, and read what vengeance visits a fool who is fool +enough to play the spy!” + +He brandished the papers before those glazing eyeballs. + +In an eldritch cackle he translated: + +_“‘He who bears this message is a Prussian dog, police trained, a spy. +Let his death be a dog’s, cruel and swift.—Number One.’”_ + + + + +XVIII +ORDEAL + + +Reviewing the day, as she undressed and prepared for bed, Sofia told +herself she had never yet lived through one so wearing, and thought the +history of its irksome hours all too legible in the lack-lustre face +that looked back from the mirror when Chou Nu uncoifed her hair and +brushed its burnished tresses. + +Though she had slept late, in fact till noon and something after, her +sleep had been queerly haunted and unhappy, she could not remember how +or why, and she had awakened already ennuyé, with a mind incoherently +oppressed, without relish for the promise of the day—in a mood +altogether as drear as the daylight that waited upon her unclosing +eyes. + +Main strength of will had not availed to dispel these vapours, neither +did their melancholy yield to the distraction provided by first +acquaintance with ways of a world unique alike in Sofia’s esteem and +her experience. + +She who had theretofore known only in day-dreams the life of light +frivolity and fashion which found feverish and trumpery reflection at +Frampton Court, was neither equipped nor disposed to be hypercritical +in the first hours of her début there; and at any other time, in any +other temper, she knew, she must have been swept off her feet by its +exciting appeal to her innate love of luxury and sensation. But the sad +truth was, it all seemed to her unillusioned vision an elaborate sham +built up of tinsel, paste, and paint; and the warmth of her welcome at +the hands, indeed in the very arms, of Lady Randolph West, and the +success her youth and beauty scored for her—commanding in all envy, +admiration, cupidity, or jealousy, according to age, sex, and temporal +state of servitude—did nothing to mitigate the harshness of those first +impressions. + +If anything her depression grew more perversely morbid the more she was +catered to, courted, flattered, and cajoled. Something had happened, +she could never guess what, perhaps some mysterious reaction effected +through the chemistry of last night’s slumber, to turn her vivid zest +in life to ashes in her mouth, so that nothing seemed to matter any +more. + +Thoughts of Karslake as her lover, recollection of her first deep joy +in his avowal and her subsequent passion of shame and regret, +re-perusal of his note, that last night had seemed so sweet a thing, +precious beyond compare—found her indifferent to-day, and left her so. +Try as she would, she failed to recapture any sense of the reality of +those first raptures. And yet, somehow, she didn’t doubt he loved her +or that, buried deep beneath this inexplicable apathy, love for +Karslake burned on in her heart; but she knew no sort of comfort in +such confidence, their love seemed as remote and immaterial an issue as +the menu for day after to-morrow’s dinner. Nothing mattered! + +She was able even to meet Prince Victor without her customary shiver of +aversion; and when she recalled the persistence and enthusiasm with +which she had reasoned herself into believing, last night, that he +might be another than her father, she came as near to mirth as she was +to come that day; but it was mirth bitter with self-derision. Of course +he was her father, she had been a ninny ever to dream contrariwise, or +that it mattered. + +Nor had she met with more success in efforts to find a cause for this +drab humour; unless, indeed, it were simply the farthest swing of the +pendulum from yesterday’s emotional crises, a long swing out of sunlit +spaces swept by the brave winds of young romance into a gloomy zone of +brooding torpor, whose calm was false, surcharged with unseizable +disquiet, its atmosphere electrical with formless apprehensions, its +sad twilight shot with lurid gleams no sooner glimpsed than gone. + +In this state Sofia’s sensibilities were less benumbed than bound in a +palsy of suspense not wholly destitute of dread; beneath the lethargic +shallows of consciousness lay soundless deeps troubled by sinister +premonitions.... + +Now, retracing stage by stage the record of the day, Sofia became aware +that its most poignant moment for her was actually the present, with +its keen wonder that she had contrived to survive such exquisite +tedium. + +She perceived that she had moved throughout like an automaton swayed by +a will outside its own; functioning rather than living; performing +appointed business, executing prescribed gestures, uttering +foreordained observations, and making dictated responses, all without +suggestion of spontaneity, and all without meaning other than as means +to bridge an empty space of waiting. + +Waiting for what? + +Sofia could not guess.... + +She went to bed presently, hoping only to find surcease of boredom; and +her head no sooner touched the pillow than oblivion closed down upon +her faculties like a dense, dark cloud. + +Discreet and well-instructed, Chou Nu turned the night-light down to a +glimmer, placed on and under a chair adjacent to the bed a robe of +cashmere that wouldn’t rustle, and slippers of fine felt with soles of +soft leather, in which footfalls must be inaudible—and glided gently +from the room. + +For sixty minutes its deep hush was unbroken; the even respiration of +the girl made no sound, she rested without tossing, without moving a +finger. + +Then, sleep having held her for precisely one hour by the clock, Sofia +opened her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and at once sat up on the side +of the bed. + +The memory of that hour was not to leave the girl while life was in +her; nor was the question it raised ever to be answered in a fashion +satisfactory to her intelligence. When later she heard it stated with +authority, by men reputed to be versed in psychic knowledge, that a +subject in hypnosis cannot be willed to act contrary to the instincts +of his or her better nature, she held her peace, but wondered. Was +Victor right, then, and the crime he had willed her to commit in final +analysis not repugnant to her instincts? Or was it some secret faculty +of the soul, telepathy or of its kin, that roused and sent her to keep +her rendezvous with destiny? + +A riddle never to be read: Sofia only knew that, finding herself awake, +she got up, donned négligée and slippers, and set her feet upon the way +appointed without its occurring to her that the way was strange, +without stopping to question why or whether. + +If independent volition, sensible or subliminal, were absent, it could +hardly have been apparent. Sofia herself was not aware of its suspense +or supersession. She knew quite well what she was doing, her every +action was direct and decided, the goal alone remained obscure. She +only knew that somewhere, somehow, something was going wrong without +her, and her presence was required to set it right. + +Letting herself out into the corridor, she drew the door to behind her, +but left it unlatched; with what object, she did not know. But the +lateness of the hour, the stillness of the sleeping household, made it +seem quite in order that she should pause to look cautiously this way +and that and make sure that nobody else was astir to spy upon her or +challenge the purpose of this as yet aimless nocturnal flitting. + +There was nobody that she could see. + +Down the corridor, then, never asking why that way, like a ghost in +haste she sped, but as she drew near to a certain door found her pace +faltering. Sofia knew that door; through it Lady Randolph West herself +had introduced the girl to her boudoir, not two hours since, when +chance, or Fate, or the smooth working out of malicious mortal +machinations had moved the two women simultaneously to seek their +quarters for the night. And in the boudoir Sofia had spent the quarter +of an hour before going on to her own room and bed, civilly attending +to vapid chatter and admiring as in duty bound the admirable jewels of +the family. + +Now she saw the door a few inches ajar with, beyond it, a dim glow. The +circumstance seemed singular, because—now that she remembered—when +Sofia had expressed perfunctory curiosity concerning what precautions +were taken to safeguard the jewels, Lady Randolph West had airily +informed her that she considered insurance to their appraised value +plus a stout lock on the boudoir door better than any strong-box as yet +devised by the ingenuity of man. + +“There’s the safe they’re kept in, of course,” the lady had +declared—“but, my dear, a cardboard box will do as well when any +burglar who knows his business makes up his mind to get at my trinkets. +I never even trouble to lock the thing. I’d rather lose the jewels—and +collect the insurance money—than be frightened out of my wits by +hearing it blown open. No, thanks ever so: any cracksman skillful +enough to pick the lock on the door may bag his loot and go in peace +for all of me!” + +Impulse, at least she called it that, moved Sofia to approach and +cautiously open the door still wider. + +Upon the antique writing-desk that housed the safe burned a single lamp +of low candle-power. A door that led to the adjoining bedchamber was +tightly shut. Sofia’s mistrustful eyes reconnoitred every corner of the +room, and reckoned it empty. Again obedient to undisputed impulse, she +stepped inside and shut the door. The spring-latch of the American lock +found its socket with a soft click. Thereafter, silence, no sound in +the boudoir, none from the room beyond. But to Sofia the hurried +beating of her heart reverberated on the stillness like the rolling of +a drum. + +Without clear appreciation of how she had got there, she found herself +standing over the writing-desk, and discovered what the indifferent +light had till now kept hidden, that a false panel in the front of the +desk had been thrust back, exposing the face of the safe, and that this +last was not even closed. + +At the same time she grew conscious that her hands were shaking +violently, that her every limb, her whole body indeed, was agitated by +desperate trembling. And dully asked herself why this should be ... But +didn’t hesitate. + +Her actions now more than ever resembled those of an unthinking puppet, +although she knew quite well what she was doing; and her gestures might +have been the fruit of long lessoning at the hands of some master of +stage melodrama, so true were they to theatrical convention. + +With furtive, frightened glances toward both doors, Sofia dropped to +her knees before the safe.... + +When she stood up again her hands were filled with jewellery, her two +hands held a treasure of incalculable price in precious stones. + +She paused for a little, staring at them with dilate eyes dark in a +pale, rapt face. Her lips were parted, but only her quickened breathing +whispered past them. She was trembling more painfully than ever. But +she seemed unable to think of anything but the jewels, her gaze was +held in fascination by their coruscant loveliness as revealed by the +light of the little lamp. + +Hers for the taking! + +Then, without warning, a tremendous convulsion laid hold on her body +and soul, and she was racked and shaken by it, and at its crisis her +outstretched hands opened and showered the top of the desk with jewels, +then flew to her head and clutched her throbbing temples. + +She cried out in a low voice of suffering: _“No!”_ + +And of a sudden she was reeling back from the desk, toward the corridor +door, repeating over and over on an ascending scale: _“No! no! no! no! +no!”_ + +Her quaking legs blundered against a chair, her knees gave, she +tottered to fall; strong arms caught her, held her safe, a voice she +knew yet didn’t know in its guarded key muttered in her ear: “Thank +God!” + +She made no struggle, but her eyes of pain and terror sought the +speaker’s face, and saw that he was the man Nogam. In extremity of +amazement she spoke his name. He shook his head. + +“No longer Nogam,” he said in the same low accents, and smiled—“but +your father, Michael Lanyard!” + + + + +XIX +UNMASKING + + +One more instant the girl rested passive in uncomprehending +astonishment; then abruptly she exerted herself to break free from the +supporting embrace, but found the effort wasted for lack of opposition, +so that her own violence sent her reeling away half a dozen paces, to +bring up against the desk; while Lanyard, making no move more than to +drop his rejected arms, remained where she had left him, and requited +her indignant stare with a broken smile of understanding, a smile at +once tender, tolerant, and sympathetic, with a little quirk of rueful +humour for good measure. + +“My father!” Sofia repeated in a gasp of disdain—“_you!_” + +He gave a slight shrug. + +“Such, it appears, is your sad fortune.” + +“A servant!” + +“And not the proud prince you were promised? Rather a come down, one +must admit.” Lanyard laughed low, and moved nearer. “I’m sorry, I mean +I might be (for myself, too) if Nogam were less a fraud than that +pretentious mountebank, Prince Victor—or for the matter of that, if you +were as poor of spirit as you would seem on your own valuation, if you +were not at heart your mother’s daughter, and mine, my child by a woman +whom I loved well, and who long ago loved me!” + +He paused deliberately to let her grasp the full sense of his words, +then pursued: + +“It may help you get your bearings to know that I am truly the Michael +Lanyard to whom Messieurs Secretan & Sypher addressed their +advertisement—you remember—as this should prove.” + +He offered a slip of paper, and after another moment of dumb staring, +the girl took it and read aloud the message which Victor had dictated +following Sofia’s flight to him from the Café des Exiles. + +_“‘To Michael Lanyard, Intelligence Division, the War Office, +Whitehall—’”_ + +“That is to say,” Lanyard interpreted, “of the British Secret Service.” + +“You!” + +He bowed in light irony. “One regrets one is at present unable to offer +better social standing. To-morrow, it may be ... But who knows?” + +Sofia shook her head impatiently, and in a murmur of deepening +amazement resumed her reading of the note: + +_“‘Your daughter Sofia is now with me.. Your own intelligence must tell +you nothing could be more fatal than an attempt to communicate with +her’”_ + +To the interrogation eloquent in her eyes Lanyard replied: + +“Dictated by Victor to Karslake, who passed it on to me, the night he +brought you to the house from the Café des Exiles.” + +“You knew—you, who claim to be my father—yet permitted him—?” + +“You were in the house before I knew I had a daughter; Karslake had no +chance to consult me before fetching you. Furthermore, if he had +hesitated to carry out Victor’s orders just then, not only would he +have nullified all our preparations to secure evidence enough to +convict the man, or at least run him out of England—” + +“Prince Victor? What was he doing, that you should—?” + +“Dabbling in all manner of infamy, from financing a thieves’ fence to +organizing an association of common criminals to bring it business; +from maintaining a corps of agitators to foment social discontent to +fostering this last, most imbecile scheme of all, which comes to naught +to-night, an attempt to overthrow the British Empire and set up in its +stead a Soviet England, with Victor Vassilyevski in the dual rôle of +Trotsky and Lenine!” + +The girl made a sign of bewilderment and incredulity. + +“What are you telling me? Are you mad?” + +“No—but Victor is, mad with lust for power, insane with illusions of +personal aggrandizement. You don’t believe? Listen to me, then, +appreciate to what demoniac lengths he was prepared to go to flatter +his insane ambitions:” + +“Sturm has invented a new poison gas, odourless, colourless, the most +deadly known, and easily manufactured in vast quantities by adding +simple ingredients to ordinary illuminating gas. Fanatic Bolshevist +that he was, Sturm offered his formula to Victor, to be used to clear +the way for social revolution; and Victor jumped at the offer—has spent +vast sums preparing to employ it. His money paid for the recent strike +at the Westminster works of the Gas Light and Coke Company, by means of +which Victor was able to smuggle a round number of his creatures into +its service. His money has corrupted servants employed in Downing +Street, the Houses of Parliament, in the homes of the nobility, even in +Buckingham Palace itself, men ready at a given signal secretly to turn +on gas jets in remote corners and flood the buildings with the very +breath of Death itself. And that signal was to have been given +to-night. Well, it will not be.” + +“But could any scheme be more grotesquely diabolical? Do you ask more +proof of the man’s madness? Do you require more excuse for my +permitting you to be deceived by Victor for a few weeks, rather than +wreck our plans to frustrate his, when all the while Karslake and I +were near you, watching over you, learning to love you—he in his +fashion, I as your father—and both ready at all times to die in your +protection, if it had ever come to that?” + +Lanyard had drawn so near that only a few inches separated them, and +had his voice in such control that at three paces’ distance a vague and +inarticulate murmur at most might have been heard; but in Sofia’s +hearing his accents rang with passionate sincerity, persuading her +against the reason which would have rejected his indictment of Victor +as too fantastic, too imaginative, and too hopelessly overdrawn to be +given credence. She believed him, knowing in her heart that he believed +his statements to the last word; and knowing more, that he was surely +what he represented himself to be, her father. + +Inscrutable the processes of human hearts: even as from the very first +Sofia had instinctively yet unconsciously recognized the intrinsic +falsity of Victor’s pretensions, so now she perceived the integral +honesty that informed Lanyard’s every word and nuance of expression, +and accepted him without further inquisition. + +To his insistent “Have I made you understand?” she returned a wan +wraith of a smile, pitiful with entreaty, while one of her hands found +the way to his. + +“I think so,” she replied in halting apology—“at least, I believe you. +But be a little patient with me. It is all so new and strange, what you +tell me, it’s hard at first to grasp, there’s so much I must accept on +faith alone, so much I don’t understand ...” + +“I know.” Lanyard pressed her hand gently. + +“But try to have faith; I promise you it shall be fairly rewarded. Only +a little longer now, an hour or two at most, and Karslake will be here +to prove the truth of all I have asserted. You will believe him, at +least.” + +“Of course,” the girl said, simply. “I love him. You knew that?” + +“I guessed, and I am glad, glad for both of you.” + +“But he is safe?” Sofia demanded in sudden access of alarm so strong +that her voice rose above the pitch of discretion. + +“Quietly. Yes, he is safe enough.” + +“You know that for a fact? How do you know—?” + +“I’ve seen him to-night, talked with him—not two hours since.” + +“You have been in London?” she questioned—“to-night?” + +“Rather! Victor sent me.” Lanyard laughed lightly. “You didn’t know, of +course, but—well, I gave him reason to suspect me, so he sent me up to +be assassinated by Shaik Tsin. As it turned out, however, Herr Sturm +most obligingly understudied for me.... Before coming back, I looked +Karslake up. He’d been busy, playing a lone hand, ever since Victor +trumped up an errand to keep him out of your way all day. No need to go +into tedious details; I found Karslake had matters well in hand: the +gas works surrounded by a cordon of troops, the house under close +watch, and—best of all—a sworn confession from an Irish Member of +Parliament whom Victor had managed to buy with a promise to free +Ireland once Soviet England was an accomplished fact. So I left +Karslake to wind up loose ends in London, and posted back with my heart +in my mouth for fear I’d be too late.” + +“Too late?” Sofia queried with arching brows. + +“Need I remind you where we are?” + +A sweep of Lanyard’s hand indicated the boudoir; and Sofia started +sharply in perplexity and alarm. + +“Where we are!” she echoed in a frightened whisper. + +Of a sudden memory returned of what had passed in that room before +Lanyard had revealed himself to her, and knowledge of her peril so +narrowly escaped drove home like a knife to her heart. + +“What am I doing here?” she breathed in horror. “What have I done?” + +“Nothing more dreadful than prove yourself as true as you are fine, by +revolting in the end against the most powerful force known to man, the +force of suggestion implanted in hypnotism. You couldn’t know that it +was hypnotic not natural sleep you passed into last night, when Victor +tricked you with that damned crystal, or that, while you slept, he +willed you to do here to-night what, when it came to the final test, +your nature would not let you do.” + +“But he so often told me I had the instincts of a thief—!” + +“So often—_I_ know—that you were, against your will and reason, by dint +of the very iteration of it, coming to accept that lie as a truth whose +power there was no contesting. That is why, that you might prove +yourself by your own acts, I had to let you undergo your ordeal here +to-night, only standing by to make sure no ill came of it. Otherwise +you might have carried to your grave the fear instilled into your soul +by that blackguard. But now you know he lied, and will never doubt +again—or reproach your father for the dark record of his younger +years.” + +He checked, lifting hands of desolate appeal, then let them fall. + +“Dear, if you knew you would not judge me harshly. If only you could +know what I have fought up from, a foundling without a name abandoned +in a third-rate Parisian hotel, reared a scullion, butt and scapegoat, +with associates only of the lowest, scullions, beggars, pickpockets, +Apaches, and worse—!” + +“As if that mattered!” + +The girl turned a softly suffused face with shining eyes to Lanyard’s. +Now at last she knew him, now the romance of her dreams of yesterday +came true: through the mean masquerade of Nogam the man emerged, +identifying himself in her sight unmistakably with that splendid +stranger whom she had never quite forgotten since that old-time +afternoon when he had met Karslake in the Café des Exiles and talked so +intimately of his antecedents, hinting at a history of youthful years +strangely analogous with her own. + +Involuntarily her arms lifted and settled upon his shoulders. + +“I am so proud to think—” + +A shrill scream drowned out her words, a woman’s voice ranging swiftly +the staccato gamut of terror and cracking discordantly on its most +piercing note. + +Then with a bang that shook the flooring and must have been heard in +the farthest corners of the house, the bedchamber door was slammed +behind their backs. But beyond it the screaming went on in volume +imperceptibly muffled by its barrier, one ear-splitting caterwaul +following another with such continuity that the wonder was where Lady +Randolph West found breath to keep up that atrocious row, and whether +any dozen women of average lung-power could have rivalled it. + +In one sharp movement Lanyard and Sofia disengaged and fell apart, +their eyes consulting, hers in dismay, his in mixed exasperation and +remorse. + +“I ought to be shot,” he declared, bitterly—“who knew better!—to have +delayed here, exposing you to this danger—!” + +“It couldn’t be helped,” Sofia insisted; “you had to make me +understand. Besides, if I hurry back—” + +In quick strides Lanyard crossed to the corridor door, unlatched and +opened it an inch, peered out, and gave the sum of what he saw in a +gesture of finality, then leaving the door ajar turned swiftly back to +the girl. + +“Too late,” he said: “they’re swarming out into the hall like bees. In +another minute ...” + +Of a sudden he closed with Sofia, roughly clasping her body to him. + +“Struggle with me!” he pleaded—“get me by the throat, throw me back +across the desk—” + +“What do you mean? Let me go!” + +In answer to her efforts to wrench away, Lanyard only tightened his +hold and swung her toward the desk. + +“Do as I bid you! It’s the only way out. Let them think you heard a +noise, got up to investigate, found me here, rifling the safe—” + +“No,” she insisted—“no! Why should I save myself at your +expense?—betray you—my father—!” + +“Then give me the obedience of a daughter ... or let Victor succeed in +branding you a thief, the daughter of a thief!” + +He stilled the protest she would have uttered by placing fingers over +her lips. + +“Listen!” + +In the corridor an angry rumour of voices, alarmed calls and cries, +with thumps and scuffles of hasty feet, in the bedchamber the shrieks +persisting without the least hint of failing: as a damned soul might +bawl upon its bed of coals ... + +“Sofia, I implore you!” + +Still she hesitated. + +“But you—?” + +“Never fear for me, remember that I am of the Secret Service: two +minutes after I see the inside of the nearest police station, I shall +be free—and happy in the assurance that your name is without stain. +Then Karslake will come for you, bring you to me ... Now!” + +Lanyard caught the girl’s two wrists together and, throwing himself +bodily backward across the desk, carried her hands to his throat. + +With a simultaneous crash the door was flung back to the wall. Led by +Victor Vassilyevski a dozen men, guests and servants, in various stages +of dishabille, streamed into the room. + + + + +XX +THE DEVIL TO PAY + + +When it was all over, when the gravelled drive no longer crunched to +wheels that bore away the man Nogam to answer for his misdeeds, when +the household had quieted down and the most indefatigable +sensation-monger had wearied of singing the praises of the Princess +Sofia and, tossing off a final whiskey-and-soda, had paddled sleepily +back to bed, lights burned on brightly in two parts only of Frampton +Court, in the bedchambers tenanted respectively by Prince Victor +Vassilyevski and his reputed daughter. + +Alone, Prince Victor sat at the desk where he had, four hours earlier, +inscribed those characters which should have hurried Nogam into a +premature grave. That they had failed of their mission was something +that fretted Victor Vassilyevski, his mind and nerves, to a pitch of +exacerbation all but unendurable. + +What had become of that sentence to death? And what of that other, the +telegram which, forwarded by Nogam’s hand to Sturm, should long since +have set in motion the organized machinery of murder and demolition? + +Had Nogam, as he had meekly insisted on being questioned subsequent to +his subjugation, truly delivered the two messages as directed and, +miraculously escaping his fate decreed, returned to Frampton Court by +the twelve-three, likewise in strict conformance with instructions? + +This statement Nogam had neglected to amplify, and Victor had been +chary of too close questioning, lest it elicit too much in the hearing +of others. Once overpowered, Nogam had been philosophic about his bad +luck; but the eyes in his face of a stoic had held a gleam that Victor +didn’t altogether like, a light that seemed suspiciously malicious, a +suggestion of spirited humour deplorable to say the least in a +self-confessed sneak-thief caught in the very act, deplorable and +disturbing; in Victor’s sight a look constructively indicative of more +knowledge than Nogam had any right to possess. Take it any way you +pleased, something to think about ... + +Still more disquieting Victor thought the circumstance that nobody else +had seemed to notice that anomalous light in Nogam’s eyes; which of +course might mean merely that Victor had worked himself into such a +state of nerves that he was seeing things, but equally well that the +look was one reserved for Victor alone, intentionally or not holding +for him a message, if he had but had the wit to read it, of peculiarly +personal import. + +It might have implied, for example, that Victor’s half-hearted and +paltering distrust of Nogam had all along been only too well warranted. +In which case, the fat was already in the fire with a vengeance, and +Victor’s probable duration of life was dependent wholly upon the speed +with which he could quit Frampton Court and hurl his motor-car through +the night to the lower reaches of the Thames. + +Envisagement of the worst at its blackest being part of the holy duty +of self-preservation, Victor sat fully dressed, with every other +provision made for flight at the first flash of warning, only waiting +to make sure, and with what impatience was apparent in the working of +paste-coloured features, the wincing and shifting of slotted eyes, the +incessant shutting and unclosing of tensed fingers. + +All rested with the telephone that stood mockingly mute at the man’s +elbow, callous alike to his anxiety and the rancorous regard in which +he held it. His call for the house near Queen Anne’s Gate had now been +in for more than forty minutes; in that interval he had no less than +three times pleaded its urgency to the trunk-line operator. And still +the muffled bell beneath the desk was dumb. + +And the worst of it was, fatal though the delay might prove, he dared +not stir a hand to save himself until he _knew_.... + +In the taut torment of those long-drawn minutes a sound of circumspect +scratching was enough to bring Victor to his feet in one startled +bound. + +He stood for a moment, a-twitch, but intent upon the corridor door, +then composed himself with indifferent success, approached and opened +the door. The girl Chou Nu slipped in, offered a timid courtesy, and +awaited his leave to speak. + +“Well? What is it?” + +“Excellency: the Princess Sofia refuses to let me stay in the room with +her.” + +“Why? Don’t you know?” + +“I think she means to run away. She would not go back to her bed, but +walked up and down, till I ventured to urge her to take rest, when she +turned on me in a rage and bade me be gone. Then I came to you.” + +Victor took thought and finished with a dour nod. + +“You have done well. Return, keep watch, let me know if she leaves—” + +“The door is locked, Excellency: she will not let me in.” + +“Spy through the keyhole, then; or hide in one of the empty rooms +across the corridor, and watch—” + +A muted mutter from the direction of the desk dried speech on Victor’s +lips. He started hastily toward the source of the sound, midway +wheeled, and dismissed the maid with a brusque hand and +monosyllable—“Go!”—then fairly pounced upon the telephone. + +But all he heard, in the course of the ensuing five minutes, was the +voice of the trunk-line operator advising him, to begin with, that she +was ready to put him through to Westminster, then maddeningly +punctuating the buzz and whine of the empty wire with her call of a +talking doll—“Are you theah?... Are you theah?... Are you theah?” + +At length, however, the connection was established; and Victor, hearing +the falsetto of Chou Nu’s second-uncle cheerily respond to the +operator’s query, unceremoniously broke in: + +“Shaik Tsin? It is I, Number One. And the devil’s own time I’ve had +getting through. Why didn’t you answer more promptly? What’s the +matter? Has anything gone wrong?” + +“All is well, Excellency, as well as you could wish, knowing what you +know.” + +Profound relief found voice in a sigh from Victor’s heart. + +“You got my messages, then? Nogam delivered them?” + +“So I understand. I myself did not see him, Excellency. The man Sturm—” + +On that name the voice died away in what Victor fancied was a gasp that +might have been of either fright or pain. + +“Hello!” he prompted. “Are you there, Shaik Tsin? I say! Are you there? +Why don’t you answer?” + +He paused: no sound for seconds that dragged like so many minutes, then +of a sudden a deadened noise like the slam of a door heard afar—or a +pistol shot at some distance from the telephone in the study. + +Further and frantic importuning of the cold and unresponsive wire +presently was silenced by a new voice, little like that of Shaik Tsin. + +“Hello? Who’s there? I say: that you, Prince Victor?” + +Involuntarily Victor cried: “Karslake!” “What gorgeous luck! I’ve been +wanting a word with you all evening.” + +“What has happened? Why did Shaik Tsin—?” + +“Oh, most unfortunate about him—frightfully sorry, but it really +couldn’t be helped, if he hadn’t fought back we wouldn’t have had to +shoot him. You see, the old devil murdered Sturm to-night, for some +reason I daresay you understand better than I: we found a paper on the +beggar, written in Chinese, apparently an order for his assassination +signed by you. Half a mo’: I’ll read it to you ...” + +But if Karslake translated Victor’s message, as edited by the hand of +Nogam, it was to a wire as deaf as it was dumb. + + + + +XXI +VENTRE À TERRE + + +With exceeding care to avoid noise, Sofia unlocked the door and for the +second time since midnight let herself stealthily out into the darkened +corridor; but now with the difference that she did what she did in full +command of all her wits and faculties, with no subjective war of wills +to hinder and confuse her, and with a definite object clearly +visioned—a goal no less distant than the railway station. + +Lanyard had promised that Karslake should come for her within an hour +or two and take her away with him, back to London and the arms of the +father whom, although so recently revealed and accepted, she had +already begun to love; if indeed it were not true that she had in +filial sense fallen in love with Lanyard at first sight, through +intuition, that afternoon in the Café des Exiles so long, so very long +ago! + +Well: she might as well await Karslake at the station. It would be +simpler, she would be more at ease there, would breathe more freely +once she turned her back on Frampton Court and all its hateful +associations. Where Victor was, she could not rest. + +If she had feared the man before, now she hated him; but hatred had +added to her fear instead of replacing it, she remained afraid, +desperately afraid, so that even the thought of continuing under the +same roof with him was enough to make her prefer to tramp unknown roads +alone in the mirk of that storm-swept night. + +Though she went in trembling, she felt sure nobody spied upon her +going; and in this confidence crept to the great staircase, down to the +entrance hall, and on to the front doors; and a good omen it seemed to +find these not locked, but simply on the latch. And if the night into +which she peered was dark and loud with wind and rain, its countenance +seemed kindlier, more friendly far than that of the world she was +putting behind her. Without misgivings Sofia stepped out. + +It was like stepping over the edge of the universe into the eternal +night that bides beyond the stars. Neither did waiting seem to +habituate her vision to the lack of light. + +Still, the feel of gravel underfoot ought to guide her down the drive +to the great gateway; and once outside the park, clear of its +overshadowing trees, one would surely find mitigation of darkness +sufficient to show the public road. + +She took one tentative step out of the recessed doorway and into +Victor’s arms. + +That they were Victor’s she knew instantly, as much by the crawling of +her flesh as by the choking terror that stifled the scream in her +throat and froze body and limbs with its paralyzing touch. + +And then his ironic accents: + +“So good of you to spare me the trouble of coming for you!” + +Before she could reply or even think, other hands than his were busy +with her. A folded cloth was whipped over the lower half of her face, +sealing her lips, and knotted at the nape of her neck. Stout arms +clipped her knees and swung her off her feet, leaving her body helpless +in Victor’s tight embrace. And despite her tardy recovery and efforts +to struggle, she was carried swiftly away, a dozen paces or so, then +tumbled bodily in upon the floor of a motor-car. + +The door closed as she tried to pick herself up, the smooth purring of +the motor became a leonine roar while she was still on her knees, gears +clashed, and the car leaped with a jerk that drove her headlong against +the cushions of the seat. Then the dome light was switched on, and she +saw Victor with a bleak face sitting over her, an automatic pistol +naked in his hand. + +“Get up!” he said, grimly, “and if there’s any thought of fight left in +you, think better of it, remember your mother paid with her life the +price of defying me, and yours means even less to me. Up with you and +sit quietly beside me—do you hear?” + +He lent her a hand that wrenched her arm brutally and wrung a cry which +Victor mocked as Sofia fell upon the seat and cringed back into the +corner. + +For perhaps thirty seconds, while the car raced away down the drive, he +continued to hold her in the venom of her sneer; then his gaze veered +sharply, and leaning over he switched off the light. + +With the body of the car again the dwelling-place of darkness, objects +beyond its rain-gemmed glass—the heads of the Chinese maid and +chauffeur, the twin piers of the nearing gateway—attained dense relief +against the blue-white glare of two broad headlight beams, that of the +limousine boring through the gateway to intersect at right angles that +of another car approaching on the highroad but as yet hidden by the +wall of the park. + +In one breath and the same the lights of the second car swerved in +toward the gateway, and consternation seized hold of Sofia’s +intelligence and wiped it clear of all coherence. + +Already the strange lamps were staring blankly in between the piers—and +the momentum of Victor’s car was too great to be arrested within the +distance. The girl cried out, but didn’t know it, and crouched low; the +horn added a squawk of frenzy to a wild clamour of yells; all prefatory +to a scrunching, rending crash as, in the very mouth of the gateway, a +front fender of the incoming car ripped through the rear fender above +which Sofia was sitting. Thrown heavily against Victor, then instantly +back to her place, she felt the car, with brakes set fast, turn +broadside to the road, skid crabwise, and lurch sickeningly into the +ditch on the farther side. + +For an interminable time, while the ponderous fabric rocked and +toppled, threatening very instant to crash upon its side, the rear +wheels spun madly and the chain-bound tires tore in vain at greasy road +metal. + +Without clear comprehension of what was happening, Sofia heard shouts +from the other car, now at a standstill, and an oddly syncopated +popping. The window in the door on Victor’s side rang like a cracked +bell, shivered, and fell inward, clashing. With a growl of rage, Victor +bent forward and levelled an arm through the opening. From his hand +truncated tongues of orange flame, half a dozen of them, stabbed the +gloom to an accompaniment of as many short and savage barks. + +Then the chains at last bit through to a purchase, the car scrambled to +the crown of the road and lunged precipitately away; and the lights of +the other dropped astern in the space of a rest between heartbeats. + +Sitting back, Victor turned on the dome light again, and extracting an +empty magazine clip from the butt of his automatic pistol, replaced it +with another, loaded. + +From this occupation he looked up with lips curling in contempt of +Sofia’s terror. + +“Your friends,” he observed, “were a thought behindhand, eh? When you +come to know me better, my dear, you’ll find they invariably are—with +me.” + +Aftermath of fright made her tongue inarticulate; and Victor’s sneer +took on a colour of mean amusement. + +“Something on your mind?” + +She twisted her hands together till the laced fingers hurt. + +“Wha-what are you go-going to do with me?” + +“Make good use of you, dear child,” he laughed: “be sure of that!” + +“What do you mean?” + +“What do you think?” + +“I don’t know ...” + +“Really not? But there I think you do injustice to your admirable +intelligence.” + +The jeering laugh sounded as he put out the light again, in darkness +the derisive voice pursued: + +“If you must know in so many words—well, I mean to keep you by me till +the final curtain falls. As long as it lasts, yours will be an +interesting life—I give my word.” + +“And you call yourself my father!” + +“Oh, no! No, indeed: that’s all over and done with, the farce is played +out; and while I’m aware my rôle in it wasn’t heroic, I shan’t play the +purblind fool in the afterpiece—pure drama—upon which the curtain is +now rising. Neither need you. Oh, I’ll be frank with you, if you wish, +lay all my cards on the table.” + +A deliberate pause ended in a chuckle. + +“I have at present precisely two uses for my precious little Sofia: She +will serve excellently as insurance against further persecution on the +part of her accomplished and energetic father—with whom I shall deal in +my good leisure—and ... But need one be crudely explicit?” + +Sofia answered nothing to that, for a long time she said nothing, but +sat pondering.... + +And Victor was speedily provided with another interest which engrossed +him to the exclusion of further efforts to bait a victim defenseless +against his insolence. + +When for the third time after that narrow scrape at the gates the man +roused up to peer back through the rear window of the limousine, Sofia +heard a harshly sibilant intake of breath between shut teeth, and +surmised the discovery that the car which had so narrowly missed +blocking their escape had picked up the trail, and was now in hot +chase. + +Even youth, however, could distill but slender hope from this. The pace +was too terrific at which Victor’s car was thundering through the +night-bound countryside, it seemed idle to dream that another could +overhaul it, even though driven with as much skill and maniacal +recklessness. And Sofia returned to thoughts to which Victor’s innuendo +had given definite shape and colour, if with an effect far from that of +his intention. Threatened, the spirit of the girl responded much as +sane young flesh will to a cold plunge. She had forgotten to tremble, +and though still tense-strung in every fibre was able to sit still, +look steadily into the face of peril, and calculate her chances of +cheating it. + +Presently, in a tone so even it won begrudged admiration, she asked: + +“Where are you taking me?” + +“Do you really care?” + +“Enough to ask.” + +“But why should I tell you?” + +“No reason. I presume it doesn’t really matter, I’ll know soon enough.” + +“Then I don’t mind enlightening you. We’re bound for the Continent by +way of Limehouse. A launch is waiting for us in Limehouse Reach, a +yacht off Gravesend. Oh, I have forgotten nothing! By daybreak we’ll be +at sea.” + +“We?” + +“You and I.” + +“You deceive yourself, Prince Victor. I shan’t accompany you.” + +“How amusing! And is it a secret, how you propose to stand against my +will?” + +Sofia was silent for a little; then, “I can kill myself,” she said, +quietly. + +“To be sure you can! And when I tire of you, perhaps I’ll humour your +morbid inclinations—if they still exist.” + +“You are a fool,” Sofia returned, bluntly, “if you think I shall go +aboard that yacht alive.” + +“Brava!” Victor laughed, and clapped his hands. “Brava! brava!” + +He sat up for another look out of the rear window, sucked at his breath +even more sharply than before, and snatching up the speaking-tube +pronounced urgent words in Chinese. + +The head of the chauffeur, in stark silhouette against the leading +glow, bent toward the tube, and nodded rapidly. And to the +deep-throated roar of an unmuffled exhaust, the heavy car leaped, like +a spirited animal stung by whip and spur, and settled into a stride to +which what had gone before was as a preliminary canter to the +heartbreaking drive down to the home-stretch. + +Lights began to dot the roadside. Widely spaced at first, unbroken +ranks were soon streaking past the tear-blind windows. Outskirts of +London were being traversed; but neither driving sheets of rain against +which human vision failed, nor the chance of encountering belated +traffic, worked any slackening of the pace. Only when a corner had to +be negotiated did the car slow down, and then never to the point of +sanity; and the turn once rounded, its flight would again become +headlong, lunatic, suicidal. + +The stringed lamps wove a wavering luminous ribbon without end; a +breeze laden with the wet fragrance of London drove great gusts of rain +in stringing showers through the broken window. Turns and twists grew +more frequent, apparently favouring the pursuit. + +Victor now knelt constantly on the back seat, his face in the fitful +play of light and shadow uncannily resembling that of a hunted jungle +cat. On the polished steel of his pistol sinister gleams winked and +faded. From his snarling lips foul oaths fell, a steady stream, black +blasphemies spewed up from the darkest dives of the Orient—most of them +happily couched in the tongues of their origin and so unintelligible to +his one auditor. As it was, she heard and understood enough, too much. + +Nevertheless, the man was not too completely absorbed in watching the +shifting fortunes of the race to be unmindful of the girl. And when +once she sat up to ease cramped limbs, he misread her intention and, +catching her viciously by an arm, threw her back into her corner and +advised her not to play the giddy little fool. + +After that Sofia was at pains to stir as seldom as possible, and bided +her time quietly enough, but never for an instant relaxed her +watchfulness or lost heart. + +The shouldering houses that hedged their course discovered a profile, +ragged, black against a sky whose purple dimness held the first dull +presage of dawn. + +In the wild rush of a marauding tomcat the car crossed a broad public +square and sped up the graded approach to a bridge. The smell of the +Thames was unmistakable, the far-flung lamps of the Embankment were +pearls aglow upon violet velvet. + +Leaving the bridge, the limousine took a turn on two wheels, and +immediately something happened, seemingly some attempt to stop it was +made. Vociferous voices hailed it, only to induce an augmented bellow +of the exhaust with an instantaneous acceleration of impetus. Then +something was struck and tossed aside as a bull might toss a dog—a dark +shape whirling and flopping hideously; and an agonized screaming made +the girl cower, sick with horror, and cover her ears with her hands. + +Before she was able to forget those qualms many more minutes of frantic +driving had flung to the rear many a mile of silent streets. + +Of a sudden she heard an inhuman cry and, looking up, saw Victor dash +the butt of his pistol through the glass, then reversing the weapon +pour through the opening a fusillade whose effect was presumably +gratifying, for he laughed to himself when the pistol was empty, +laughed briefly but with vicious glee. + +That laugh levelled the last barrier of doubt and fear and nerved Sofia +finally to test the forlorn hope she had been nursing ever since Victor +had let her see a little way into his mind as to her fate. + +Until he could reload, only the tradition of the sexes lent him +theoretical superiority; whereas he was in fact a man well on the +thither side of middle-age, his virility sapped by long indulgence of +unbridled appetites; while Sofia was a woman in the fullest flush of +her first mature powers. + +Gathering herself together, she inched forward and made ready to +spring, bear him down, overpower him—by some or any means put him hors +de combat long enough for her to fling a door open and herself out into +the street.... + +With squealing brakes the car shaved an acute corner and slid on locked +wheels to a dead halt so unexpected that it was Sofia who plunged +floundering to the floor, while Victor only by a minor miracle escaped +catapulting through the front windows. + +The next instant, as Sofia struggled to her knees, the door behind her +was wrenched open from without and, at a sign from Victor, rough hands +laid hold of the girl and dragged her out bodily. + +In a passion of despair, she lost her senses for a time and like a +madwoman fought, shrieking, biting, kicking, clawing, scratching.... + +With returning lucidity she found herself, panting and dishevelled, +arms pinned to her sides, struggling on for all that, being hustled by +some half a dozen men across a narrow sidewalk of uneven flagstones. + +Simultaneously the shutter of perceptions snapped, photographing +permanently upon the super-sensitized film of conscious memory the +glimpsed vista of a grim, mean street whose repellent uglinesses +grinned through the boding twilight like lineaments of some monstrous +mask of evil. + +Then she tripped on a low stone step, stumbled, and was half-carried, +half-thrown into a narrow and malodorous hallway. + +Between her and the sweet liberty of the rain-washed air a door crashed +like the crack of doom. + + + + +XXII +THE SEVEN BRASS HINGES + + +Into a space perhaps four feet in width from wall to wall and seven +deep from the front door to the foot of a cramped flight of crazy +wooden stairs, some ten people were crowded, Sofia and the maid Chou Nu +in a knot of excited men. + +In the saffron glow of an ill-trimmed paraffin lamp smoking in a wall +bracket, desperate faces, yellow and brown and white, consulted one +another with rolling eyeballs and strange tongues clamorous. Sofia +heard the broken rustling of heavy respirations; she saw uncouth +gesticulations carve the shadows; her nostrils were revolted by +effluvia of unclean bodies, garments saturate with opium smoke and +curious cookery, breaths sour with alcohol. + +Two were busy at the door, under the direction of Prince Victor, +setting stout bars into iron sockets. When they had finished, Victor +elbowed them out of his way and thrust back the slide of a narrow +horizontal peephole, through which he reconnoitred. + +The tall, thin body stiffened as he looked, and without turning he +flung an open hand behind him and snapped a demand in Chinese. Somebody +slipped a revolver into his palm. Levelling it he sent a volley +crashing through the peephole. Yells responded, and in the hush that +fell upon the final shot a noise of fugitive feet scraping and +stumbling on cobbles. A bullet struck the door a sounding thump and all +but penetrated, raising a bump on the inner face of its thick oaken +panels; and Victor shut the slide and turned back. + +Subservient silence saluted him. He spoke in Chinese, issuing (Sofia +gathered) instructions for the defense of the house. One by one the men +designated dropped out of the group about her. Three shuffled off into +a room adjoining the hallway. Two others ran briskly up the stairs. A +sixth Victor directed to stand by the barred door. His chauffeur and +another Chinaman he told off for his personal attendance. + +The maid Chou Nu was left to shift for herself, and while Sofia could +see her she did not shift a finger from her pose of terror, flattened +to the wall. When Sofia came back that way, the girl had vanished, +however. Nor was she seen again alive. + +Her arms held fast, Sofia was partly led and partly dragged down the +hall, Victor herding the group on past the staircase and into a bare +room at the back of the house, where a solitary lamp burning on a deal +table discovered for all other furnishing broken chairs, coils of +tarred rope, a rack of ponderous oars and boat-hooks, a display of +shapeless oilskins and sou’westers on pegs. The windows were boarded up +from sills to lintels, the air was close and dank with the stale +flavour of foul tidal waters. + +Here Victor took charge of Sofia, the chauffeur holding the lamp to +light the other Chinaman at his labours with a trap-door in the floor, +a slab of woodwork so massive that, when its iron bolts had been drawn, +it needed every whit of the man’s strength to lift and throw it back +upon its hinges; and its crashing fall made all the timbers quake and +groan. + +Through the square opening thus discovered Sofia saw a ladder of +several slimy steps washed by black, oily waters that sucked and +swirled sluggishly round spiles green with weed and ooze. + +Down these steps the Chinaman crept gingerly, but halfway paused with a +cry, then cringed back to the head of the ladder, yellow face blanched, +slant eyes piteous with fear, as he exhibited an end of stout mooring +line whose other end was made fast to a ring bolt in one of the joists. + +With a smothered oath Victor snatched the rope’s end from the trembling +hand and examined it closely. Even Sofia could see that it had been +cleanly severed by a knife. + +Victor’s countenance was ablaze as he dropped the rope. Before the +tempest of his wrath the Chinaman bent like a reed, with faint, +protesting bleats and feebly weaving hands. + +But in full tide the tirade faltered, Victor seemed to forget his anger +or else to remind himself it was puerile in contrast with the mortal +issues that now confronted him. + +He turned to Sofia eyes of cold fire in a wintry countenance. + +“So,” he pronounced, slowly, “it appears you are to have your way, +after all, and more speedily than either of us reckoned. You are to +die, and so am I, this day—you in my arms. Well, it is time, I daresay, +when I permit myself to be duped and overreached by police spies like +your persevering father and lover. Yes; I am ready to pay the price of +my fatuity—but not until they had paid me for their victory—and dearly. +Come!” + +He motioned to the Chinese to reclose and fasten the trap-door, and +grasping Sofia’s wrist with cruel fingers hurried her back through the +hallway. + +Repeated breaks of pistol-fire guided them to the front room, a racket +echoed in diminished volume from the street. + +In an atmosphere already thick with acrid fumes of smokeless powder two +men held the windows, firing through loopholes in iron-bound blinds of +oak. At their feet a third squatted, reloading for them as occasion +required. As Sofia and Victor entered one man dropped his weapon and, +grunting, fell back from his window to nurse a shattered hand. +Releasing the girl without another word, Victor caught up the pistol +and took the vacant post. + +Instantly, on peering out, he fired once, then again. Evidently missing +both shots, he settled to await a better target, eyes intent to the +loophole. In the course of the next few minutes he changed position but +once, when, after firing several more shots, he tossed the empty weapon +to the man on the floor and received a loaded one in exchange. + +Seeing him thus employed, altogether forgetful, Sofia began to back +toward the hall, step by cautious step, keeping her attention fixed to +Victor throughout. But he seemed to be completely preoccupied with his +markmanship, and paid her no heed. + +Nevertheless, when she at length found courage to swing and dart away +through the door, Victor flung three curt words to the fellow at his +feet, who grunted, rose, and glided from the room in close chase. + +The guard at the front door was not so busy as Sofia had hoped to find +him, not too interested in the progress of siege operations outside to +note her approach and look round from his peephole with a menacing grin +of welcome; and his unmistakable readiness, as pistol in hand he took a +single step toward her, drove the girl back to the foot of the stairs. + +Then the other came swiftly after her, and Sofia swung in panic and +stumbled up the steps. There were others up above, two to her certain +knowledge, possibly many more of Victor’s creatures; but if only she +could find some sort of refuge in the uppermost fastnesses of the +rookery, perhaps ... + +Like a shape of smoke wind-driven, she sped up the first flight, then +the second, only pausing at the head of the third and last flight to +throw hunted glances right, left, and behind her. + +Overhead a skylight with dingy panes diffused a dull blue glimmer which +discovered a yawning door at her elbow, a pocket of black mystery +beyond, and on the uppermost steps of the staircase her patient yellow +shadow, his upturned eyes inscrutable but potentially revolting with +their very concealment of the intent behind them. + +Impossible that a worse thing could await her beyond that dark +threshold.... + +She crossed it in one stride, swung the door to, and set her shoulders +against it. + +Outside she heard the shuffling footfalls pause. The knob rattled. But +instead of the inward thrust against which she stood braced, there came +the least of outward pulls, as if to make sure that the latch had +caught; and after a brief pause a key grated in the lock, was +withdrawn, and the slippered feet withdrew in turn. + +When her lungs ceased to labour painfully, she took her courage in both +hands and began to explore, groping blindly through darkness, +encountering nothing till she blundered into a table which held a glass +lamp for paraffin oil, like those in use below. + +Fumbling over the top of the table, she found matches, struck one, and +set its fire to the wick. + +The flame waxed and grew steady in a crusted chimney, revealing a room +with a slant ceiling and two dormer windows, boarded; in one corner a +cot-bed with tumbled blankets, near this a low wooden stand, with a +pipe, spirit lamp, and other paraphernalia of an opium smoker—no +chairs, not another stick of furniture of any kind. + +Removing the lamp, the girl set it on the floor, and pushed the table +over against the door. By not so long as half a minute would its +reinforcement delay Victor when he made up his mind to get in. But in +such emergencies the human kind is not impatient of the most futile +expedients. + +There was nothing more she could do. She stood still, listening. The +rattle of pistol fire three floors below continued in fits and starts, +but the sound of it was oddly unreal, resembling more stammering +explosions of a string of firecrackers than snaps of the whiplash of +Death. + +She tried one of the windows without encouragement, but at the other +found a board with a loose end, which she pried aside, till through +begrimed glass she could see a ghastly, weeping sky of daybreak and, by +craning her neck, peer down into the dark gully of the street. + +At first she thought it empty; but presently her straining vision made +out two huddled shapes upon the farther sidewalk, close under the walls +of a public house whose sign she could just barely decipher: the Red +Moon. + +Then, about to draw back from the window, she saw five men, oddly +foreshortened figures from that lofty coign of view, leave the Red Moon +by one of its bar entrances, bearing between them a heavy beam of wood, +and with this improvised battering-ram aimed at the door to the +besieged house, charge awkwardly across the cobbles. + +The house spat fire from door and windows, a withering blast. In the +middle of the street the beam was abandoned, three of its fool-hardy +bearers took to their heels, each shaping an individual course, while +one lay still upon the wet black stones, and another, apparently +wounded in the legs, sought pitifully to drag himself by his arms, inch +by inch, out of the zone of fire. But presently his efforts grew +feeble, then he, too, lay stirless, prone in the sluicing rain. + +The girl shrank back from the window, hiding her eyes as if to blot out +that picture. + +The light, that is to say the absence of it in true sense, the angle of +view, and the distance, all had conspired to prevent her from making +sure that neither her father nor Karslake were of those four whose +broken bodies cluttered the street. But the fear and uncertainty were +maddening.... + +She wheeled suddenly toward the door: the ancient stairs were creaking +beneath a measured tread. She made an offer to add her weight to that +of the table, but checked and fell back immediately, seeing the folly +of sacrificing her strength, the wisdom of saving it to serve her when +finally.... + +The creaking ceased, the wards of the lock grated, the knob turned, the +door was thrust open—the table offering little hindrance if any. From +the threshold Victor eyed the girl with a twitching grin. + +“The time is at hand,” he announced with a parody of punctilio. “We +have beaten them off in the street, but they have found the tunnel from +the cellar of the Red Moon, and are attacking from the river besides. +So, my dear, it ends for us....” + +In silence, shoulders to the wall farthest from the door, Sofia watched +him unwinking. The lamp at her feet painted the tensely poised young +body and bloodless face with quaint, stagey shadows. + +Victor’s glance ranged the cheerless room. + +“I think you understand me,” he said. + +She might have been a waxwork dummy out of Madame Tussaud’s. + +A white blaze of madness transfigured Victor’s countenance. He took one +step toward Sofia. + +In movements so precisely coordinated that they seemed one and +instantaneous, the girl stooped, caught up the lamp, and threw it with +all her might. Victor ducked his head. The lamp sailed on, described a +descending curve through the open doorway into the well of the +staircase, struck, and exploded. In the clutches of the maniac, Sofia +was aware of the lurid glare, momentarily gaining strength, that filled +the rectangle of the doorway. + +In through this last, while iron hands tightened on her throat and +consciousness grew dark with closing shadows, a man’s shape passed, +then another.... + +The grip on her throat grew lax, the hands left it free. She reeled, +but somebody caught her up and bore her swiftly from the room, leaving +two who fought together like beasts on the floor, locked in each +other’s arms, rolling and squirming, rearing and flopping.... + +The scorch of flames stung her cheek, but she forgot that when their +broken light made visible the features of Karslake above the arms +wherein she lay cradled. + +Turning aside from the staircase, Karslake bore her to the ladder +leading to the skylight, whose broken glass crunched beneath his heels +at every step. + +In the open air he pulled up for a moment’s rest, but continued to hold +Sofia in his arms. The wind raved about them, buffeted them, tore their +breath away, rain pelted them like birdshot; but they clung to each +other and were unaware of reason for complaint. + +Presently, however, Karslake remembered, and anxiously endeavoured to +disengage from these tenacious arms. + +“Let me go, dearest,” he muttered. “I must go back—I left your father +to take care of Victor, and—” + +As if evoked by his very solicitude Lanyard emerged from the skylight +hatch, waved a hand in gay salute, then turned to stare down into the +flaming pit from which he had climbed. + +After a little he fell back a pace. Then slowly, with the laboured +movements of exhaustion, Victor worked head and shoulders through the +opening and dragged himself out upon the roof. + +On all fours he held in doubt, his head moving from side to side like +the head of a stricken beast, seeking his enemy with dazzled eyes. Then +he made Lanyard out and, pulling himself together for the supreme +effort, launched at his throat with the pounce of a great cat. + +Lanyard met him halfway, caught him in the middle of his bound, wound +wiry arms round the man and held him helpless. + +His voice rang clear above the crackle of flames: + +“Victor! have you forgotten how you threatened one night, twenty years +ago, to follow me to the very gates of Hell, and what I promised +you—that, if you did, I’d push you inside? Or did you think I would +forget?” + +He cast the man from him, backward, down into the hungry maw of that +inferno.... + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10496 *** |