Tales of Mystery & Suspense: 25+ Thrillers in One Edition. E. Phillips Oppenheim

how unsuitable, my dear,” she exclaimed, “if you are really in earnest! What is the use of your thinking of an Englishman? He is quite nice, I know. His mother and my mother were friends, and we met once or twice. He was very kind to me in Paris, too. But for a serious affair—”

      “Well, it may not come to that,” Anna interrupted, “but there it is. I suppose that it is partly for his sake that I feel this depression.”

      “I should have thought that he himself would have been a little out of sympathy with his country just now,” the Princess remarked. “They tell me that the Foreign Office ate humble pie with the Kaiser for that affair shockingly. They not only removed him from the Embassy, but they are going to give him nothing in Europe. I heard for a fact that the Kaiser requested that he should not be attached to any Court with which Germany had diplomatic relations.”

      Anna nodded. “I believe that it is true,” she admitted, “but I am not sure that he realises it himself. Even if he does, well, you know the type. He is English to the backbone.”

      “But there are Englishmen,” the Princess insisted earnestly, “who are amenable to common sense. There are Englishmen who are sorrowing over the decline of their own country and who would not be so greatly distressed if she were punished a little.”

      “I am afraid Mr. Norgate is not like that,” Anna observed drily. “However, one cannot be sure. Bother! I thought people were very kind to leave us so long in peace. Dear Prince, how clever of you to find out our retreat!”

      The Ambassador stood bareheaded before them.

      “Dear ladies,” he declared, “you are the lode-stones which would draw one even through these gossamer walls of lace and chiffons, of draperies as light as the sunshine and perfumes as sweet as Heine’s poetry.”

      “Very pretty,” Anna laughed, “but what you really mean is that you were looking for two of your very useful slaves and have found them.”

      The Ambassador glanced around. Their isolation was complete.

      “Ah! well,” he murmured, “it is a wonderful thing to be so charmingly aided towards such a wonderful end.”

      “And to have such complete trust in one’s friends,” Anna remarked, looking him steadfastly in the face.

      The Prince did not flinch. His smile was perfectly courteous and acknowledging.

      “That is my happiness,” he admitted. “I will tell you the reason which directed my footsteps this way,” he added, drawing a small betting book from his pocket. “You must back Prince Charlie for the next race. I will, if you choose, take your commissions. I have a man waiting at the rails.”

      “Twenty pounds for me, please,” the Princess declared. “I have the horse marked on my card, but I had forgotten for the moment.”

      “And the same for me,” Anna begged. “But did you really come only to bring us this valuable tip, Prince?”

      The Ambassador stooped down.

      “There is a dispatch on its way to me,” he said softly, “which I believe concerns you. It might be necessary for you to take a short journey within the next few days.”

      “Not back to Berlin?” Anna exclaimed.

      Their solitude had been invaded by now, and the Princess was talking to two or three men who were grouped about her chair. The Ambassador stooped a little lower.

      “To Rome,” he whispered.

      CHAPTER XXIV

       Table of Contents

      Back from the dusty roads, the heat and noise of the long day, Anna was resting on the couch in her sitting-room. A bowl of roses and a note which she had read three or four times stood on a little table by her side. One of the blossoms she had fastened into the bosom of her loose gown. The blinds were drawn, the sounds of the traffic outside were muffled and distant. Her bath had been just the right temperature, her maid’s attention was skilful and delicate as ever. She was conscious of the drowsy sweet perfume of the flowers, the pleasant sense of powdered cleanliness. Everything should have conduced to rest, but she lay there with her eyes wide-open. There was so much to think about, so much that was new finding its way into her stormy young life.

      “Madame!”

      Anna turned her head. Her maid had entered noiselessly from the inner room and was standing by her side.

      “Madame does not sleep? There is a person outside who waits for an interview. I have denied him, as all others. He gave me this.”

      Anna almost snatched the piece of paper from her maid’s fingers. She glanced at the name, and the disappointment which shone in her eyes was very apparent. It was succeeded by an impulse of surprise.

      “You can show him in,” she directed.

      Selingman appeared a few moments later—Selingman, cool, rosy, and confident, on the way to his beloved bridge club. He took the hand which Anna, without moving, held out to him, and raised it gallantly to his lips.

      “I thought it was understood, my crockery friend,” she murmured, “that in London we did not interchange visits.”

      “Most true, gracious lady,” he admitted, “but there are circumstances which can alter the most immovable decisions. At this moment we are confronted with one. I come to discuss with you the young Englishman, Francis Norgate.”

      She turned her head a little. Her eyes were full of enquiry.

      “To discuss him with me?”

      Selingman’s eyes as though by accident fell upon the roses and the note.

      “Ah, well,” she murmured, “go on.”

      “It is wonderful,” Selingman proceeded, “to be able to tell the truth. I speak to you as one comrade to another. This young man was your companion at the Cafe de Berlin. For the indiscretion of behaving like a bull-headed but courageous young Englishman, he is practically dismissed from the Service. He comes back smarting with the injustice of it. Chance brings him in my way. I proceed to do my best to make use of this opportunity.”

      “So like you, dear Herr Selingman!” Anna murmured.

      Selingman beamed.

      “Ever gracious, dear lady. Well, to continue, then. Here I find a young Englishman of exactly the order and position likely to be useful to us. I approach him frankly. He has been humiliated by the country he was willing to serve. I talk to him of that country. ‘You are English, of course,’ I remind him, ‘but what manner of an England is it to-day which claims you?’ It is a very telling argument, this. Upon the classes of this country, democracy has laid a throttling hand. There is a spirit of discontent, they say, among the working-classes, the discontent which breeds socialism. There is a worse spirit of discontent among the upper classes here, and it is the discontent which breeds so-called traitors.”

      “I can imagine all the rest,” Anna interposed coolly. “How far have you succeeded?”

      “The young man,” Selingman told her, “has accepted my proposals. He has drawn three months’ salary in advance. He furnished me yesterday with details of a private conversation with a well-known Cabinet Minister.”

      Anna turned her head. “So soon!” she murmured.

      “So soon,” Selingman repeated. “And now, gracious lady, here comes my visit to you. We have a recruit, invaluable if he is indeed a recruit at heart, dangerous if he has the brains and wit to choose to make himself so. I, on my way through life, judge men and women, and I judge them—well, with few exceptions, unerringly, but at the back of my brain there lingers something of mistrust of this young man. I have seen others in his position accept similar proposals. I have seen the struggles of