Affairs of State - Burton E. Stevenson
"But how _can_ they be? I thought things were at a stand-still until
Lord Vernon got--got well enough to take them up again."
"So did I--that is what one would naturally suppose. Yet it seems that
an undercurrent has set in against us. I fear that I made a mistake," he
added, gloomily, "in agreeing with Lord Vernon not to proceed further
for a week, though, under the circumstances, I could scarcely refuse. He
seems well enough," and he glanced around, "to hear what I have to say."
"He _is_ well enough!" cried Sue, indignantly; and certainly at that
moment, talking eagerly to Nell, that gentleman appeared quite the
reverse of an invalid. "_I_ will speak to him--I am under no promise--I
believe--"
She stopped, fearing that she might say too much--after all, she could
not betray Lord Vernon; she could only appeal to him, warn him.
"Yes?" her companion encouraged her, his eyes on her face.
"I believe that I can help you," she concluded, a little lamely. "I want
to help--the people. Of course, we Americans believe that a people ought
to choose their own rulers--but where that isn't possible, the next best
thing is to give them the best available. I should be proud to help do
that!"
"But you are taking my word for it," he protested. "You ought to hear
the other side. Perhaps they might convince you--"
"No, they wouldn't!" cried Susie. "Your word is all I need; you've
explained things so clearly."
"Thank you," he said, in a vibrant voice, still looking at her.
"Besides," she added, with a glance upward, "dad agrees with you, and
I've a great deal of faith in dad."
"I shall be very glad of your help on any terms," he said, refusing to
be cast down.
"And you will tell me if anything unexpected happens? I may be able to
help you more than you think."
"Yes," he promised, "I will tell you the moment I have any news."
"You haven't any real news--about the undercurrent, I mean? You don't
_really_ know--"
"No; it is just in the air; I do not know where the rumours come from,
but my aunt has heard them also. There is a vague impression that we
are losing."
"But you shan't lose!" cried Susie. "You shan't lose; not even if I have
to--to--"
"Not even if you have to--?" prompted the Prince, eagerly, as she
stammered and stopped.
"To play my trump card," she finished, with a little unsteady laugh.
"Don't ask me what it is, but it's a good one!"
* * * * *
Meanwhile, as she walked beside the invalid chair, Nell was making her
confession.
"Lord Vernon," she began, in a low voice, "for a time last night, I
feared that I had utterly ruined your cause."
He glanced up at her quickly.
"In what way?" he asked.
"You remember the note you wrote m--us the first day?"
"Perfectly," he answered, noting the stammer, and understanding it,
with a quick leap of the heart.
"I should, no doubt, have destroyed it at once, but I thought it would
be perfectly safe in my desk."
"And it was stolen? No matter, Miss Rushford. It isn't worth worrying
about. I'm sick of the whole affair, anyway--I shall rather welcome the
catastrophe. You've lost sleep over it," he continued, looking at her
keenly. "It has made you almost ill! I shall never forgive myself!"
"Thank you," she said, softly, her lips trembling, her eyes very bright.
"It is beautiful of you to be so generous. But fortunately the note was
not stolen. I found it afterwards among some note-paper, where it had
somehow found its way."
"And you destroyed it?"
"No," she said, and took it from her bosom. "I thought I would better
restore it to you, so that you yourself could destroy it. Here it is,"
and she held it out to him with fingers not wholly steady.
He took it, his eyes still on her face.
"It has caused us enough trouble," he said, and made as though to tear
it into bits.
But Nell laid her hand upon his arm.
"Without looking at it?" she protested.
"You are right," he agreed, and opened it and glanced at the contents.
His hands were trembling slightly as he folded it again.
"On second thought," he said, and there was a certain thickness in the
words which Nell was too agitated to notice, "I believe that I shall
keep it. It is the only souvenir I have, you know, of our first
meeting."
And he smiled up at her--such a smile as Meiamoun must have bent upon
Cleopatra as he drained the poisoned cup.
CHAPTER XIV
A Bearding of the Lion
Susie Rushford was of that temperament which, so far from avoiding
difficulties, rather rushes to meet them, welcoming "each rebuff that
turns earth's smoothness rough," to quote again from her favourite poet.
So, when they reached the end of the promenade, it was she who commanded
a change of partners and who took her place resolutely beside the
invalid chair. Perhaps Lord Vernon scented danger, or it may be that he
merely resented the change of companions: at any rate, as they started
back, he contented himself with a dignified silence. But Sue was not to
be so easily put off.
"The Prince of Markeld has been telling me a few things about the
succession," she began, resolutely. "You will pardon me, Lord Vernon,
when I say I don't think you're treating him quite fairly."
"I don't think so myself, Miss Rushford," returned the occupant of the
chair, curtly.
"His branch of the house seems to be really, in every way, the more
deserving."
"I haven't the least doubt of it."
"And the one which the people of Schloshold-Markheim prefer."
"That, too, is very probably the case. We threshed all that out
yesterday, didn't we?"
"Not so thoroughly as I should like to do," said Susie. "I've been
thinking over the story you told me yesterday, and I believe I've
guessed who the man with the pistol is."
"I thought very probably you would guess."
"Did you? Then you won't mind telling me if I've guessed rightly. It's
the German Emperor, isn't it?"
"It is."
"Thank you. But I'm awfully obtuse, for I must confess that I haven't
as yet been able to perceive the pistol."
"Haven't you? I thought you'd guess that, too. I had forgotten that
American women aren't interested in public events."
"Now you're growing sarcastic!" cried Susie. "You see, I never before
knew how interesting they were," she added, in self-defence. "I'm trying
to turn over a new leaf--"
"And you want my help?"
"I always like to understand things. Even as a child I hated riddles.
And I think, too, that nations ought to be like individuals--only more
so--always ready, anxious even, to help their friends."
"Even to the point of disregarding the pistol?"
"You'll have to show me the pistol."
"I'll try to, Miss Rushford," said Vernon, with the air of a man staking
his last louis, "since you seem to doubt that it exists. Let us look at
the matter for a moment from the outside, without question of our
personal likes or dislikes. England, just at this moment, has her hands
full in South Africa, and it isn't in the least unlikely that the German
Emperor would put a finger in that pie, if we gave him an excuse--a
great many of his advisers are trying to get him to interfere without
waiting for the excuse, but he's not quite willing to go that far. So
our business is not to give him any excuse--not even the very
slightest. Suppose we meddle in this affair of Schloshold-Markheim,
which is really his dependency--don't you see, he might easily, and
quite logically, claim that as a precedent for meddling in the affairs
of the Transvaal, which we claim as our dependency. Now I hope that you
perceive the pistol, and see, too, that it isn't in the least a toy
affair, but a very dangerous and effective weapon."
"I do see," said Susie, quickly.
"Besides," Vernon added, anxious to vindicate himself still further,
since, after all, Susie was Nell's sister, "Schloshold-Markheim is a
very insignificant corner of this earth; not so big, in fact, as many of
our English shires. Self-preservation is the first law of nations. Why
should England imperil herself? You see, the whole question reduces
itself to that old, heartless, but very sane doctrine of the greatest
good of the greatest number."
"Why not say all that frankly to the Prince of Markeld?" suggested Sue.
"Because, my dear young lady, before we can say anything, we have to
give him a chance to say his say. And he would very probably state
certain truths which it would be very embarrassing for us to hear, and
still more embarrassing to answer. All Europe would be listening. We're
between the devil and the deep sea."
"Well, and what are you going to do about it?" asked Susie, plump out.
"We're going to wait," said Lord Vernon, gloomily.
"To wait?"
"Yes--until the sea subsides a little or the devil gets tired and goes
away and gives us a chance to escape. We dare neither fight the devil
nor brave the ocean. Our hands are tied."
Susie walked along a moment in silence, trying to distinguish the wrong
and the right of this very intricate question.
"All that you have been telling me may be true," she said, at last; "I
haven't the least doubt that it is true; but yet it doesn't quite excuse
tricking the Prince of Markeld as you are doing."
"I know it doesn't," admitted Vernon, instantly. "It doesn't excuse it
in the least. I don't like it any more than you do, Miss Rushford. But
the ways of diplomacy are devious past understanding; and then, again,
when one has entered upon a line of action, it is sometimes very hard
to change it or let go. It's like a hot iron or a charged wire--one
never realises one's mistake until it is too late. After all, a few days
will end it."
"A few days! Then the Prince was right!"
"Right?"
"He told me that an undercurrent of some sort seemed to be setting in
against him. I warn you, Lord Vernon, that I have become his ally."
"Even to the point of giving me away?" he inquired, half humourously,
looking at her in evident enjoyment.
"Even to the point of giving you away, if you don't play fairly," she
answered, in deadly earnest. "At your suggestion, he consented to a
truce for a week--"
"It was Collins who suggested it."
"No matter; it is all the same; the proposal came from your side. One
can't honourably employ a truce in laying mines for one's enemy."
Lord Vernon was looking straight ahead. There was now no trace of
amusement in his face.
"You are quite right, Miss Rushford," he said. "I release you from any
engagement with either me or Collins to keep our secret. Let me tell
you, I've protested more than once, but I'm no longer a free agent in
regard to this thing, and I have to see it through. The very worst
moment of all was when Markeld came up to my rooms and apologised for
suspecting me. I tell you, I felt like a worm, and a particularly nasty
one, at that. It will be my turn to apologise before long; and I won't
feel quite easy in my conscience till I do."
Susie had listened wide-eyed, and had stolen a glance, once or twice, at
his set face. There could be no doubting his utter sincerity, and it
softened her, as sincerity always softens a woman.
"Of course," she said, more gently, "I shan't give you away unless I
see that the Prince is being treated unfairly. Let things drift for a
week, since he has consented to a truce--don't do anything against him."
The words were spoken almost pleadingly.
"Oh, it isn't I who will do anything," retorted Lord Vernon, sharply.
"I'm not quite such a cur as that. Don't you understand, Miss
Rushford--the thing is out of my hands--is quite beyond my control. I'm
not the one responsible for the undercurrent, if there is one. If
anything happens, it won't be through any act of mine--it will be in
spite of me."
"But I thought--"
"You thought the foreign secretary was the whole thing? Well, he isn't!
There's a dozen other members of the cabinet, more or less, to mix in,
and, when all's said, the premier has to approve, and after that the
Queen. And all of us are more or less afraid of the press, to say
nothing of the House of Commons, where the opposition is always trying
to put us in an awkward corner. So our motives are usually pretty mixed,
and it's very rarely that we can do just as we'd like to do."
"Then," said Susie, slowly, "I think that I must tell the Prince."
"Do so, by all means," retorted her companion, a little impatiently. "I
give you full permission, if you care to take the responsibility. But, I
assure you, it's a heavy one."
"Oh, not so awfully heavy!" said Susie, sceptically. "You have already
told me what a little place Schloshold-Markheim is."
"It _is_ little; but so is the pivot that a great piece of machinery
swings on. Collins said yesterday that the peace of Europe may hang upon
this question. I laughed at him then, but it's not at all impossible
that he may be right. Of course, with a little thing like the peace of
Europe, every schoolgirl has the right to meddle! A million of human
beings, more or less--what do they amount to? Let us slaughter them,
maim them, outrage them, burn their houses, destroy their crops! Let us
put great armies in the field, and fight great battles and think only of
the glory! Don't look at the shapeless things beneath the hoofs of the
horses, nor think of the women waiting at home--waiting for the lists of
dead and missing! Let us release the spring that will set all this in
motion--it requires only a touch, the merest touch! And think, we should
be making history! Besides, our honour requires it! We must be jealous
of our honour--it is of so much more importance than the peace of
Europe!"
And Vernon, having arrived at the hotel entrance, bade them good-bye and
was wheeled to the lift, leaving his companion rather breathless.
CHAPTER XV
"Be Bold, Be Bold"
Lord Vernon, no doubt, would have spoken with less acerbity but for the
fact that his nerves were jangling badly. The lift was started promptly,
but it required all his self-control to remain seated in his chair
during the slow progress upward of the great machine of which Monsieur
Pelletan was so proud. Scarcely had the door of his apartment closed
behind him, when he threw aside the invalid wrappings with a perfect
fury, sprang from his chair, and hastened into the inner room. Collins
and Blake were seated at a table there, labouring with a telegram in
cipher.
"What's the matter now?" demanded Collins, sharply, as he looked up and
saw Vernon's disordered face.
For answer, Vernon took from his pocket a folded paper and tossed it on
the table.
Collins picked it up, opened it, and read its contents.
"Well?" he said, looking up with a sigh of relief. "If this is the note
you wrote those Rushford girls, I must say I think you've done a mighty
wise thing to get it back. It was a dangerous thing to have lying
around. Have you had a quarrel?" and he grinned a little maliciously.
"Collins," said Vernon, coldly, "you have the poorest conception of good
taste of any man I know, and I know some awful bounders. But I won't
quarrel with you now, for you'll be grinning on the other side of that
ugly mouth of yours anyway in about a minute. Will you kindly examine
this piece of paper?" and he tore a leaf from his notebook.
"Be Bold, Be Bold"
Collins, biting his lips until they bled, took it and looked it over
with frowning and puzzled countenance.
"Well?" he asked, at last.
"The note I sent the Misses Rushford," said Vernon, quietly, "was
written on a leaf from the notebook, which I tore out just as I did that
one you have in your hand," and he sat down and stared out the window,
across the gray dunes and the gray sea to the gray horizon.
Collins, with compressed lips, held the two pieces of paper up to the
light and compared their texture. Then he got out a small pocket
magnifying glass and examined through it the writing on the note.
"It's a tracing," he said, at last, "and a mighty clever piece of work.
The paper, too, is very like."
"But it's not the same," put in Vernon.
"Oh, no, it's not the same."
"Do you mean this is a forgery?" burst out Blake, hoarsely, snatching
up the note and staring at it.
"Undoubtedly," answered Collins, coolly, but his face was very dark.
"The forger, clever as he was, could scarcely expect to be so fortunate
as to duplicate the paper. And then, of course, he couldn't foresee that
it would be turned over to you. But he did very well. Now let's have the
story."
"Miss Rushford had the note in her desk," said Vernon, shortly. "She
missed it last night and went to tell her sister of the theft. When she
returned to her room and began a systematic search, she found it slipped
among some note-paper in the drawer where she had placed it. She
returned it to me this morning."
"Without suspecting that it was a forgery?"
"Certainly."
"And you didn't tell her?"
"No."
Collins sat for a moment staring down at the note.
"Which reminds me," he remarked, at last, "that Markeld spent the
evening with the Rushfords."
"Well, what of it?" demanded Vernon, sharply, wheeling around. "What is
it you mean to insinuate?"
"My dear sir," answered Collins, suavely, "I insinuate nothing. I was
merely remarking upon the coincidence. If I did not happen to know all
the circumstances, I might have been led to suggest that, as only one
Miss Rushford is devoted to you--"
Vernon sprang to his feet with such wrath in his face that Collins
stopped abruptly.
"It was well you stopped," said Vernon, savagely. "Another word, and by
heaven--"
"Don't be a fool!" Collins broke in. "I'm not afraid of you nor your
threats. This forgery, of course, is the work of that French spy--"
A servant tapped at the door and handed in a card.
Collins took it, glanced at it, and looked up with a little smile of
satisfaction.
"It's Tellier," he said. "I was expecting him; he was certain to come to
us. Leave him to me," and he went out, closing the door behind him.
Monsieur Tellier was even more effulgent than usual. There was upon his
face a smile of supreme self-satisfaction. He had reason to believe that
he had achieved a good stroke, and he was resolved to make the most of
it. He had dreamed dreams and seen visions--one vision in particular
which included within the same circumference himself and a certain frail
fairy of the Robiniere who had always regarded him with disdain. Now all
that was to be changed! So he greeted Collins with a self-assurance and
aplomb quite removed from his ordinary manner.
Collins confronted him with the card still between his fingers, and
returned his greeting with the utmost coldness.
"You wished to see me?" he asked.
"Pardon," corrected Tellier, "it is Lord Vernon I wish to see."
"Lord Vernon is ill and sees no one."
Tellier gave his mustachios a supercilious twirl.
"You still maintain that farce?" he queried. "I assure you that for me
it has long since lost its novelty."
Collins took a step toward the door.
"Shall I show you out?" he asked.
"No--not yet," and Tellier smiled provokingly.
"You would really better let me show you out," said Collins, quietly.
"In another moment, I shall probably kick you out."
Tellier's face turned a deep purple and his white teeth gleamed behind
his moustache.
"Have a care!" he said, hoarsely. "That expression will cost you dear!"
Collins smiled contemptuously.
"Oh," he retorted; "so it's blackmail! I might have known from your
appearance. Well, my dear sir, you have mistaken your men. You have
nothing which we care to buy. You would better go."
A purple vein stood out across Tellier's forehead, as he came a step
nearer.
"Do not be too sure, monsieur," he said. "You play a bold game, but it
does not for an instant deceive me. Lord Vernon is no more ill than I.
It is useless to deny it--I have that here which proves it--written with
his own hand--yes, pardie, written in my presence!" and with trembling
fingers he took from his pocketbook a folded slip of paper.
"Indeed?" said Collins, with mild curiosity. "This is truly wonderful,"
and he held out his hand.
But Tellier drew back a step, unfolded the note and held it open between
his fingers.
"You may read it," he said, his eyes flashing with triumph. "But come no
nearer."
Collins leisurely got out his monocle, polished it with his
handkerchief, adjusted it, and scanned the note.
"Really," he said, "unless you can hold it a little steadier, I fear I
can't read it."
Tellier steadied his hand by a mighty effort, and watched him, his eyes
shining. But the face of the Englishman did not change--not in a single
line, not by the merest shadow.
"Very interesting, no doubt," said Collins, dropping his glass, "to
those who care for backstairs intrigue. Is it this note that you wish to
sell?"
"Oh, not that," corrected Tellier, with a little offended gesture, his
self-assurance back in an instant. "You mistake me--I am not of that
sort at all. On the other hand, it is friendship for you which has
brought me here. I have no wish to injure you, monsieur, and you
yourself, of course, perceive fully what a disaster it would be should
this note be placed in certain hands."
"To what adventure does the note refer?" queried Collins.
"It refers to the adventure of Lord Vernon with the two Americans on the
afternoon of his arrival. He has, no doubt, mentioned it to you."
"Lord Vernon has had no adventure since his arrival here," retorted
Collins, coldly. "But go ahead with your story."
"As I was saying," continued Tellier, "I am a poor man. I have my future
to consider--I cannot afford to throw away this opportunity which chance
has placed in my hands. I will be reasonable, however--I will not ask
too much--a hundred thousand francs--"
"Tellier," Collins interrupted, with a gesture of weariness, "I have not
the least idea what you mean. But I do know that you have been hoaxed,
that you are the victim of some deception, that somebody is making a
fool of you. A hundred thousand francs! And for that note! Why, man, you
are mad or very, very drunk! We don't want the note. We have no concern
in it!"
"No concern in it!" shrieked Tellier. "When it is written by Lord
Vernon!"
"Lord Vernon did not write it," retorted Collins, coolly.
"I saw it--with my own eyes I saw it!"
"Then your eyes deceived you. Evidently you are not acquainted with Lord
Vernon's writing, my friend. Shall I show you a sample? Wait."
He went to a desk, got out a despatch-box, unlocked it, and ran rapidly
through its contents, while Tellier watched him with bloodshot eyes.
"This will do," Collins said, at last. "A note to Monsieur Delcasse,
with which you are perhaps familiar, since it has recently been made
public. Look at it."
Tellier almost snatched it--one glance was enough. There was absolutely
no resemblance between that tall, angular hand and the writing of the
note. He looked at the signature, at the seal--there could be no
doubting them. His lips were quivering, his fat cheeks hanging flaccid,
as he handed the paper back.
"You are playing with me," he said, thickly. "What I have seen, I have
seen. What I know, I know. You cannot trick me. I will go to the Prince
of Markeld--to Prince Ferdinand himself--"
"To whomever you please," interrupted Collins, "only go at once," and
he snatched open the door.
Tellier hesitated an instant, glanced at the other's face, and went.
And Collins, closing the door behind him, mopped the perspiration from
his forehead.
"Well done, my friend," he said; "exceedingly well done!"
And with that, he turned back to the inner room.
* * * * *
"Dad," began Susie Rushford, that evening, gently but firmly taking away
the paper over which her father was engaged, "I wish you would devote
that massive brain of yours to this Schloshold-Markheim muddle for a few
moments, and give me the benefit. It's quite beyond me, and I'm nearly
worried to death over it. I want your advice. Now, in the first place,
why should Lord Vernon play off sick? It seems such a little thing to
do."
"'Tall oaks from little acorns grow,'" quoted her father. "This little
thing may have big consequences."
"I didn't mean little that way," explained Susie. "I meant little in a
moral way."
"Well, my dear," said her father, reflectively, "everything is fair in
love, war, and diplomacy. Your diplomat, when he is busy at his trade,
seems to lose sight of fine moral distinctions. Even the greatest of
them have sometimes stooped to acts decidedly small, and yet in private
life they were doubtless honourable men. It's a good deal like a
political campaign in the United States, where men who are usually
honest will lie about the other side, without any twinges of
conscience--there's even a loop-hole in the libel law for them to crawl
through, made, it would seem, especially for their benefit. So, I think,
we may pass up the moral objection."
"But what does he hope to accomplish, dad?" persisted Susie. "What
_can_ he accomplish by merely sitting still?"
"A great many things may be accomplished by sitting still," said her
father, puffing his cigar reflectively. "It is one of those simple
things which are sometimes very difficult to do. I've found that out,
more than once, in the course of my checkered career."