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

tell you, my young Bosnian patriot, why I sent for you. Would you like to go back to your country, in the first place?”

      “It is impossible!” Henriote declared bitterly, “I am exile. I am forbidden to return under pain of death.”

      Selingman opened his pocket-book, and, searching among his papers, produced a thin blue one which he opened and passed across the table.

      “Read that,” he ordered shortly.

      The young man obeyed. A sudden exclamation broke from his lips. A pink flush, which neither the wine nor the food had produced, burned in his cheeks. He sat hunched up, leaning forward, his eyes devouring the paper. When he had finished, he still gripped it.

      “It is my pardon!” he cried. “I may go back home—back to Bosnia!”

      “It is your free pardon,” Selingman replied, “but it is granted to you upon conditions. Those conditions, I may say, are entirely for your country’s sake and are framed by those who feel exactly as you feel—that Austrian rule for Bosnia is an injustice.”

      “Go on,” the young man muttered. “What am I to do?”

      “You are a member,” Selingman went on, “of the extreme revolutionary party, a party pledged to stop at nothing, to drive your country’s enemies across her borders. Very well, listen to me. The pardon which you have there is granted to you without any promise having been asked for or given in return. It is I alone who dictate terms to you. Your country’s position, her wrongs, and the abuses of the present form of government, can only be brought before the notice of Europe in one way. You are pledged to do that. All that I require of you is that you keep your pledge.”

      The young man half rose to his feet with excitement.

      “Keep it! Who is more anxious to keep it than I? If Europe wants to know how we feel, she shall know! We will proclaim the wrongs of our country so that England and Russia, France and Italy, shall hear and judge for themselves. If you need deeds to rivet the attention of the world upon our sufferings, then there shall be deeds. There shall—”

      He stopped short. A look of despair crossed his face.

      “But we have no money!” he exclaimed. “We patriots are starving. Our lands have been confiscated. We have nothing. I live over here Heaven knows how—I, Sigismund Henriote, have toiled for my living with Polish Jews and the outcasts of Europe.”

      Selingman dived once more into his pocket-book. He passed a packet across the table.

      “Young man,” he said, “that sum has been collected for your funds by the friends of your country abroad. Take it and use it as you think best. All that I ask from you is that what you do, you do quickly. Let me suggest an occasion for you. The Archduke of Austria will be in your capital almost as soon as you can reach home.”

      The boy’s face was transfigured. His great eyes were lit with a wonderful fire. His frame seemed to have filled out. Norgate looked at him in wonderment. He was like a prophet; then suddenly he grew calm. He placed his pardon, to which was attached his passport, and the notes, in his breast-coat pocket. He rose to his feet and took the cap from the floor by his side.

      “There is a train to-night,” he announced. “I wish you farewell, gentlemen. I know nothing of you, sir,” he added, turning to Selingman, “and I ask no questions. I only know that you have pointed towards the light, and for that I thank you. Good night, gentlemen!”

      He left them and walked out of the restaurant like a man in a dream. Selingman helped himself to a liqueur and passed the bottle to Norgate.

      “It is in strange places that one may start sometimes the driving wheels of Fate,” he remarked.

      CHAPTER XXX

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      Anna almost threw herself from the railway carriage into Norgate’s arms. She kissed him on both cheeks, held him for a moment away from her, then passed her arm affectionately through his.

      “You dear!” she exclaimed. “Oh, how weary I am of it! Nearly a week in the train! And how well you are looking! And I am not going to stay a single second bothering about luggage. Marie, give the porter my dressing-case. Here are the keys. You can see to everything.”

      Norgate, carried almost off his feet by the delight of her welcome, led her away towards a taxicab.

      “I am starving,” she told him. “I would have nothing at Dover except a cup of tea. I knew that you would meet me, and I thought that we would have our first meal in England together. You shall take me somewhere where we can have supper and tell me all the news. I don’t look too hideous, do I, in my travelling clothes?”

      “You look adorable,” he assured her, “and I believe you know it.”

      “I have done my best,” she confessed demurely. “Marie took so much trouble with my hair. We had the most delightful coupe all to ourselves. Fancy, we are back again in London! I have been to Italy, I have spoken to kings and prime ministers, and I am back again with you. And queerly enough, not until to-morrow shall I see the one person who really rules Italy.”

      “Who is that?” he asked.

      “I am not sure that I shall tell you everything,” she decided. “You have not opened your mouth to me yet. I shall wait until supper-time. Have you changed your mind since I went away?”

      “I shall never change it,” he assured her eagerly. “We are in a taxicab and I know it’s most unusual and improper, but—”

      “If you hadn’t kissed me,” she declared a moment later as she leaned forward to look in the glass, “I should not have eaten a mouthful of supper.”

      They drove to the Milan Grill. It was a little early for the theatre people, and they were almost alone in the place. Anna drew a great sigh of content as she settled down in her chair.

      “I think I must have been lonely for a long time,” she whispered, “for it is so delightful to get back and be with you. Tell me what you have been doing?”

      “I have been promoted,” Norgate announced. “My prospective alliance with you has completed Selingman’s confidence in me. I have been entrusted with several commissions.”

      He told her of his adventures. She listened breathlessly to the account of his dinner in Soho.

      “It is queer how all this is working out,” she observed. “I knew before that the trouble was to come through Austria. The Emperor was very anxious indeed that it should not. He wanted to have his country brought reluctantly into the struggle. Even at this moment I believe that if he thought there was the slightest chance of England becoming embroiled, he would travel to Berlin himself to plead with the Kaiser. I really don’t know why, but the one thing in Austria which would be thoroughly unpopular would be a war with England.”

      “Tell me about your mission?” he asked.

      “To a certain point,” she confessed, with a little grimace, “it was unsuccessful. I have brought a reply to the personal letter I took over to the King. I have talked with Guillamo, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, with whom, of course, everything is supposed to rest. What I have brought with me, however, and what I heard from Guillamo, are nothing but a repetition of the assurances given to our Ambassador. The few private words which I was to get I have failed in obtaining, simply because the one person who could have spoken them is here in London.”

      “Who is that?” he enquired curiously.

      “The Comtesse di Strozzi,” she told him. “It is she who has directed the foreign policy of Italy through Guillamo for the last ten years. He does nothing without her. He is like a lost child, indeed, when she is away. And where do you think she is? Why, here in London. She is staying at the Italian Embassy. Signor Cardina is her cousin.