Part 20 (1/2)
”Tell me the man's name.”
”Why?”
”I will get you the letter.”
”He would not give it you. You could not make him.”
Wolfenden's eyes flashed with a sudden fire.
”You are mistaken,” he said. ”The man who holds for blackmail over a woman's head, a letter written twenty years ago, is a scoundrel! I will get that letter from him. Tell me his name!”
Lady Deringham shuddered.
”Wolfenden, it would bring trouble! He is dangerous. Don't ask me. At least I have kept my word to him. It was not my fault that we were disturbed. He will not molest me now.”
”Mother, I will know his name!”
”I cannot tell it you!”
”Then I will find it out; it will not be difficult. I will put the whole matter in the hands of the police. I shall send to Scotland Yard for a detective. There are marks underneath the window. I picked up a man's glove upon the library floor. A clever fellow will find enough to work upon. I will find this blackguard for myself, and the law shall deal with him as he deserves.”
”Wolfenden, have mercy! May I not know best? Are my wishes, my prayers, nothing to you?”
”A great deal, mother, yet I consider myself also a judge as to the wisest course to pursue. The plan which I have suggested may clear up many things. It may bring to light the real object of this man. It may solve the mystery of that impostor, Wilmot. I am tired of all this uncertainty. We will have some daylight. I shall telegraph to-morrow morning to Scotland Yard.”
”Wolfenden, I beseech you!”
”So also do I beseech you, mother, to tell me that man's name. Great heavens!”
Wolfenden sprang suddenly from his chair with startled face. An idea, slow of coming, but absolutely convincing from its first conception, had suddenly flashed home to him. How could he have been so blind? He stood looking at his mother in fixed suspense. The light of his knowledge was in his face, and she saw it. She had been dreading this all the while.
”It was Mr. Sabin!--the man who calls himself Sabin!”
A little moan of despair crept out from her lips. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
CHAPTER x.x.x.
THE GATHERING OF THE WAR-STORM.
Mr. Sabin, entering his breakfast-room as usual at ten o'clock on the following morning, found, besides the usual pile of newspapers and letters, a telegram, which had arrived too late for delivery on the previous evening. He opened it in leisurely fas.h.i.+on whilst he sipped his coffee. It was handed in at the Charing Cross Post Office, and was signed simply ”K.”:-- ”Just returned. When can you call and conclude arrangements? Am anxious to see you. Read to-night's paper.--K.”
The telegram slipped from Mr. Sabin's fingers. He tore open the St. James's Gazette, and a little exclamation escaped from his lips as he saw the thick black type which headed the princ.i.p.al columns:-- ”EXTRAORDINARY TELEGRAM OF THE GERMAN EMPEROR TO MOENIG! GERMAN SYMPATHY WITH THE REBELS! WARs.h.i.+PS ORDERED TO DELAMERE BAY! GREAT EXCITEMENT ON THE STOCK EXCHANGE!”
Mr. Sabin's breakfast remained untasted. He read every word in the four columns, and then turned to the other newspapers. They were all ablaze with the news. England's most renowned ally had turned suddenly against her. Without the slightest warning the fire-brand of war had been kindled, and waved threateningly in our very faces. The occasion was hopelessly insignificant. A handful of English adventurers, engaged in a somewhat rash but plucky expedition in a distant part of the world, had met with a sharp reverse. In itself the affair was nothing; yet it bade fair to become a matter of international history. Ill-advised though they may have been, the Englishmen carried with them a charter granted by the British Government. There was no secret about it--the fact was perfectly understood in every Cabinet of Europe. Yet the German Emperor had himself written a telegram congratulating the State which had repelled the threatened attack. It was scarcely an invasion--it was little more than a demonstration on the part of an ill-treated section of the population! The fact that German interests were in no way concerned--that any outside interference was simply a piece of gratuitous impertinence--only intensified the significance of the incident. A deliberate insult had been offered to England; and the man who sat there with the paper clenched in his hand, whilst his keen eyes devoured the long columns of wonder and indignation, knew that his had been the hand which had hastened the long-pent-up storm. He drew a little breath when he had finished, and turned to his breakfast.
”Is Miss Sabin up yet?” he asked the servant, who waited upon him.
The man was not certain, but withdrew to inquire. He reappeared almost directly. Miss Sabin had been up for more than an hour. She had just returned from a walk, and had ordered breakfast to be served in her room.
”Tell her,” Mr. Sabin directed, ”that I should be exceedingly obliged if she would take her coffee with me. I have some interesting news.”
The man was absent for several minutes. Before he returned Helene came in. Mr. Sabin greeted her with his usual courtesy and even more than his usual cordiality.
”You are missing the best part of the morning with your Continental habits,” she exclaimed brightly. ”I have been out on the cliffs since half-past eight. The air is delightful.”
She threw off her hat, and going to the sideboard, helped herself to a cup of coffee. There was a becoming flush upon her cheeks--her hair was a little tossed by the wind. Mr. Sabin watched her curiously.
”You have not, I suppose, seen a morning paper--or rather last night's paper?” he remarked.
She shook her head.
”A newspaper! You know that I never look at an English one,” she answered. ”You wanted to see me, Reynolds said. Is there any news?”
”There is great news,” he answered. ”There is such news that by sunset to-day war will probably be declared between England and Germany!”
The flush died out of her cheeks. She faced him pallid to the lips.
”It is not possible!” she exclaimed.
”So the whole world would have declared a week ago! As a matter of fact it is not so sudden as we imagine! The storm has been long brewing! It is we who have been blind. A little black spot of irritation has spread and deepened into a war-cloud.”
”This will affect us?” she asked.
”For us,” he answered, ”it is a triumph. It is the end of our schemes, the climax of our desires. When Knigenstein came to me I knew that he was in earnest, but I never dreamed that the torch was so nearly kindled. I see now why he was so eager to make terms with me.”
”And you,” she said, ”you have their bond?”
For a moment he looked thoughtful.
”Not yet. I have their promise--the promise of the Emperor himself. But as yet my share of the bargain is incomplete. There must be no more delay. It must be finished now--at once. That telegram would never have been sent from Berlin but for their covenant with me. It would have been better, perhaps, had they waited a little time. But one cannot tell! The opportunity was too good to let slip.”
”How long will it be,” she asked, ”before your work is complete?”
His face clouded over. In the greater triumph he had almost forgotten the minor difficulties of the present. He was a diplomatist and a schemer of European fame. He had planned great things, and had accomplished them. Success had been on his side so long that he might almost have been excused for declining to reckon failure amongst the possibilities. The difficulty which was before him now was as trifling as the uprooting of a hazel switch after the conquest of a forest of oaks. But none the less for the moment he was perplexed. It was hard, in the face of this need for urgent haste, to decide upon the next step.
”My work,” he said slowly, ”must be accomplished at once. There is very little wanted. Yet that little, I must confess, troubles me.”
”You have not succeeded, then, in obtaining what you want from Lord Deringham?”
”No.”
”Will he not help you at all?”