Part 44 (1/2)

Mr. Fentolin's tone was gently sympathetic. He changed the subject a moment or two later, however.

”Nero fiddles to-night,” he said, ”while Rome burns. There are hundreds in our position, yet it certainly seems queer that we should be sitting here so quietly when the whole country is in such a state of excitement.

I see the press this morning is preaching an immediate declaration of war.”

”Against whom?” Mrs. Fentolin asked.

Mr. Fentolin smiled.

”That does seem to be rather the trouble,” he admitted. ”Russia, Austria, Germany, Italy, and France are all a.s.sisting at a Conference to which no English representative has been bidden. In a sense, of course, that is equivalent to an act of hostility from all these countries towards England. The question is whether we have or have not a secret understanding with France, and if so, how far she will be bound by it.

There is a rumour that when Monsieur Desch.e.l.les was asked formally whom he represented, that he replied--'France and Great Britain.' There may be something in it. It is hard to see how any English statesman could have left unguarded the Mediterranean, with all that it means, trusting simply to the faith of a country with whom we have no binding agreement.

On the other hand, there is the mobilisation of the fleet. If France is really faithful, one wonders if there was need for such an extreme step.”

”I am out of touch with political affairs,” Hamel declared. ”I have been away from England for so long.”

”I, on the other hand,” Mr. Fentolin continued, his eyes glittering a little, ”have made the study of the political situation in Europe my hobby for years. I have sent to me the leading newspapers of Berlin, Rome, Paris, St. Petersburg, and Vienna. For two hours every day I read them, side by side. It is curious sometimes to note the common understanding which seems to exist between the Powers not bound by any formal alliance. For years war seemed a very unlikely thing, and now,” he added, leaning forward in his chair, ”I p.r.o.nounce it almost a certainty.”

Hamel looked at his host a little curiously. Mr. Fentolin's gentleness of expression seemed to have departed. His face was hard, his eyes agleam. He had almost the look of a bird of prey. For some reason, the thought of war seemed to be a joy to him. Perhaps he read something of Hamel's wonder in his expression, for with a shrug of the shoulders he dismissed the subject.

”Well,” he concluded, ”all these things lie on the knees of the G.o.ds. I dare say you wonder, Mr. Hamel, why a poor useless creature like myself should take the slightest interest in pa.s.sing events? It is just the fascination of the looker-on. I want your opinion about that champagne.

Florence dear, you must join us. We will drink to Mr. Hamel's health. We will perhaps couple that toast in our minds with the sentiment which I am sure is not very far from your thoughts, Florence.”

Hamel raised his gla.s.s and bowed to his host and hostess. He was not wholly at his ease. It seemed to him that he was being watched with a queer persistence by both of them. Mrs. Fentolin continued to talk and laugh with a gaiety which was too obviously forced. Mr. Fentolin posed for a while as the benevolent listener. He mildly applauded his sister-in-law's stories, and encouraged Hamel in the recital of some of his reminiscences. Suddenly the door was opened. Miss Price appeared.

She walked smoothly across the room and stood by Mr. Fentolin's side.

Stooping down, she whispered in his ear. He pushed his chair back a little from the table. His face was dark with anger.

”I said not before ten to-night,” he muttered.

Again she spoke in his ear, so softly that the sound of her voice itself scarcely travelled even as far as where Hamel was sitting. Mr. Fentolin looked steadfastly for a moment at his sister-in-law and from her to Hamel. Then he backed his chair away front the table.

”I shall have to ask to be excused for three minutes,” he said. ”I must speak upon the telephone. It is a call from some one who declares that they have important news.”

He turned the steering-wheel of his chair, and with Miss Price by his side pa.s.sed across the dining-room, out of the Oasis of rose-shaded lights into the shadows, and through the open door. From there he turned his head before he disappeared, as though to watch his guest. Mrs.

Fentolin was busy fondling one of her dogs, which she had raised to her lap, and Hamel was watching her with a tolerant smile.

”Koto, you little idiot, why can't you sit up like your sister? Was its tail in the way, then! Mr. Hamel,” she whispered under her breath, so softly that he barely caught the words, although he was only a few feet away, ”don't look at me. I feel as though we were being watched all the time. You can destroy that piece of paper in your pocket. All that it says is 'Leave here immediately after dinner.'”

Hamel sipped his wine in a nonchalant fas.h.i.+on. His fingers had strayed over the silky coat of the little dog, which she had held out as though for his inspection.

”How can I?” he asked. ”What excuse can I make?”

”Invent one,” she insisted swiftly. ”Leave here before ten o'clock.

Don't let anything keep you. And destroy that piece of paper in your pocket, if you can--now.”

”But, Mrs. Fentolin--” he began.

She caught up one of her absurd little pets and held it to her mouth.