Part 27 (2/2)
”Meaning, I suppose, the person whom we have been accustomed to call--Mr. Sabin?” Wolfenden remarked.
”Exactly!”
Wolfenden pushed an easy chair towards his visitor and produced some cigarettes.
”I must say,” he continued, ”that I should exceedingly like to know how the thing was done.”
Felix smiled.
”That, my dear friend,” he said, ”you will never know. No one will ever know the cause of Germany's suddenly belligerent att.i.tude, and her equally speedy climb-down! There are many pages of diplomatic history which the world will never read, and this is one of them. Come and lunch with me, Lord Wolfenden. My vow is paid and without bloodshed. I am a free man, and my promotion is a.s.sured. To-day is the happiest of my life!”
Wolfenden smiled and looked at the letter on the table before him; might it not also be the happiest day of his own life!
And it was! Punctually at four o'clock he presented himself at Grosvenor Square and was ushered into one of the smaller reception rooms. Helene came to him at once, a smile half-shy, half-apologetic upon her lips. He was conscious from the moment of her entrance of a change in her deportment towards him. She held in her hand a small locket.
”I wanted to ask you, Lord Wolfenden,” she said, drawing her fingers slowly away from his lingering clasp, ”does this locket belong to you?”
He glanced at it and shook his head at once.
”I never saw it before in my life,” he declared. ”I do not wear a watch chain, and I don't possess anything of that sort.”
She threw it contemptuously away from her into the grate.
”A woman lied to me about it,” she said slowly. ”I am ashamed of myself that I should have listened to her, even for a second. I chanced to look at it last night, and it suddenly occurred to me where I had seen it. It was on a man's watch-chain, but not on yours.”
”Surely,” he said, ”it belongs to Mr. Sabin?”
She nodded and held out both her hands.
”Will you forgive me?” she begged softly, ”and--and--I think--I promised to send for you!”
They had been together for nearly an hour when the door opened abruptly, and the young man whom Wolfenden had seen with Helene in the barouche entered the room. He stared in amazement at her, and rudely at Wolfenden. Helene rose and turned to him with a smile.
”Henri,” she said, ”let me present to you the English gentleman whom I am going to marry. Prince Henri of Ortrens--Lord Wolfenden.”
The young man barely returned Wolfenden's salute. He turned with flas.h.i.+ng eyes to Helene and muttered a few hasty words in French-- ”A kingdom and my betrothed in one day! It is too much! We will see!”
He left the room hurriedly. Helene laughed.
”He has gone to find the d.u.c.h.ess,” she said, ”and there will be a scene! Let us go out in the Park.”
They walked about under the trees; suddenly they came face to face with Mr. Sabin. He was looking a little worn, but he was as carefully dressed as usual, and he welcomed them with a smile and an utter absence of any embarra.s.sment.
”So soon!” he remarked pleasantly. ”You Englishmen are as prompt in love as you are in war, Lord Wolfenden! It is an admirable trait.”
Helene laid her hand upon his arm. Yes, it was no fancy; his hair was greyer, and heavy lines furrowed his brow.
”Uncle,” she said, ”believe me that I am sorry for you, though for myself--I am glad!”
He looked at her kindly, yet with a faint contempt.
”The Bourbon blood runs very slowly in your veins, child,” he said. ”After all I begin to doubt whether you would have made a queen! As for myself--well, I am resigned. I am going to Pau, to play golf!”
”For how long, I wonder,” she said smiling, ”will you be able to content yourself there?”
”For a month or two,” he answered; ”until I have lost the taste of defeat. Then I have plans--but never mind; I will tell you later on. You will all hear of me again! So far as you two are concerned at any rate,” he added, ”I have no need to reproach myself. My failure seems to have brought you happiness.”
He pa.s.sed on, and they both watched his slim figure lost in the throng of pa.s.sers-by.
”He is a great man,” she murmured. ”He knows how to bear defeat.”
”He is a great man,” Wolfenden answered; ”but none the less I am not sorry to see the last of Mr. Sabin!”
CHAPTER XL.
THE WAY TO PAU.
The way to Pau which Mr. Sabin chose may possibly have been the most circuitous, but it was certainly the safest. Although not a muscle of his face had moved, although he had not by any physical movement or speech betrayed his knowledge of the fact, he was perfectly well aware that his little statement as to his future movements was overheard and carefully noted by the tall, immaculately dressed young man who by some strange chance seemed to have been at his elbow since he had left his rooms an hour ago. ”Into the lion's mouth, indeed,” he muttered to himself grimly as he hailed a hansom at the corner and was driven homewards. The limes of Berlin were very beautiful, but it was not with any immediate idea of sauntering beneath them that a few hours later he was driven to Euston and stepped into an engaged carriage on the Liverpool express. There, with a travelling cap drawn down to his eyes and a rug pulled up to his throat, he sat in the far corner of his compartment apparently enjoying an evening paper--as a matter of fact anxiously watching the platform. He had taken care to allow himself only a slender margin of time. In two minutes the train glided out of the station.
He drew a little sigh of relief--he, who very seldom permitted himself the luxury of even the slightest revelation of his feelings. At least he had a start. Then he unlocked a travelling case, and, drawing out an atlas, sat with it upon his knee for some time. When he closed it there was a frown upon his face.
”America,” he exclaimed softly to himself. ”What a lack of imagination even the sound of the place seems to denote! It is the most ignominious retreat I have ever made.”
”You made the common mistake,” a quiet voice at his elbow remarked, ”of many of the world's greatest diplomatists. You underrated your adversaries.”
Mr. Sabin distinctly started, and clutching at his rug, leaned back in his corner. A young man in a tweed travelling suit was standing by the opposite window. Behind him Mr. Sabin noticed for the first time a narrow mahogany door. Mr. Sabin drew a short breath, and was himself again. Underneath the rug his fingers stole into his overcoat pocket and clasped something cold and firm.
”One at least,” he said grimly, ”I perceive that I have held too lightly. Will you pardon a novice at necromancy if he asks you how you found your way here?”
Felix smiled.
”A little forethought,” he remarked, ”a little luck and a sovereign tip to an accommodating inspector. The carriage in which you are travelling is, as you will doubtless perceive before you reach your journey's end, a species of saloon. This little door”--touching the one through which he had issued--”leads on to a lavatory, and on the other side is a non-smoking carriage. I found that you had engaged a carriage on this train, by posing as your servant. I selected this one as being particularly suited to an old gentleman of nervous disposition, and arranged also that the non-smoking portion should be reserved for me.”
Mr. Sabin nodded. ”And how,” he asked, ”did you know that I meant to go to America?”
Felix shrugged his shoulders and took a seat.
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