Part 22 (1/2)
Julien laughed.
”My dear David!” he protested,--
”To tell you the truth, Julien,” Kendricks interrupted, ”there's some hidden trouble, some mysterious influence at work which seems to be upsetting the relations just now between France and England. To be frank with you, I know that Carraby, at a Cabinet meeting yesterday, suggested that you were at the bottom of it.”
Julien's eyes suddenly flashed fire.
”D--n that fellow!” he muttered. ”Does anybody believe it?”
Kendricks shrugged his shoulders.
”Scarcely. And yet, Julien, it pays to be careful. You can't afford to be seen in public places with the enemies of your country.”
”Is Carl Freudenberg an enemy of my country?”
Kendricks leaned back in his seat and laughed scornfully.
”Julien,” he exclaimed, ”there are times when you are very simple! Do you indeed mean that you would try to deceive even me? You would pretend that I, David Kendricks, of the _Post_, don't know that Herr Freudenberg and the Prince von Falkenberg, ruler of Germany, are one and the same person? Maker of toys, he calls himself! Maker of fools' palaces, if you like, builder of prison houses, if you will. No man was ever born with less of a conscience, more solely and wholly ambitious both for his country and for himself, than the man with whom you talked to-night. You knew him?”
”Naturally,” Julien answered. ”We met at Berlin.”
”The man is a great genius,” Kendricks continued. ”No one will deny him that. They speak of his weaknesses. They talk of his drinking bouts, of his plunges into French dissipation. The man hasn't a single dissipated thought in his mind. He moves through this world--this little Paris world--with one idea only. He gets behind the scenes. He comes here secretly, drops hints here and there as a private person, lets himself be considered a Parisian of Parisians. All the time he listens and he drops his cunning words of poison and he works. What are his ambitions?
Do you know, Julien?”
”Do you?” Julien asked.
”It seems to me that I have some idea,” Kendricks answered. ”This is your hotel, isn't it?”
Julien nodded.
”Are you going to stay here?”
Kendricks shook his head.
”I stay at a little hotel in the Rue Taitbout. I stay there because it is full of the weirdest set of foreigners you ever knew. This morning we breakfast together?”
”Come and see me when you will,” Julien invited, ”or I will come to you; not to breakfast, though--I am engaged.”
”To Herr Freudenberg?” Kendricks asked quickly.
”To the lady whom your little friend, the manicurist, sent me to visit,” Julien replied. ”Perhaps now you will tell me that she is an amba.s.sadress in disguise?”
”I'll tell you nothing about her this morning,” Kendricks said. ”I'll tell you nothing which you ought not to find out for yourself.”
”Do you think I may breakfast with her safely?” Julien inquired.
”Heaven knows--I don't!” Kendricks replied. ”No man is safe with such a woman as Madame Christophor. But let it go. We dine together to-night.
I'll tell you some news then. I'm going to unroll a plan of campaign.
There's work for you, if you like it;--nothing formulated as yet, but it's coming--perhaps hope--who knows?”