Part 13 (1/2)

In the various tasks he had set her she had acquitted herself well, more especially in the mysterious affair of Captain Solaro, the man who, to his cost, had fallen in love with her. At heart she hated herself for the despicable part she had been compelled to play, yet she had become Borselli's spy in order that she and her mother should receive that small but very necessary pension from the War Department.

In character she was one of those silent, watchful women whom nothing escapes, and who note every look and every gesture--one of the few women, indeed, who can keep a secret. Borselli, the man who used the Minister Morini as his cat's-paw, and was as cunning an adventurer as there was in all the length of Italy, had recognised these qualities as those of a secret agent of the most successful type, and therefore had resolved to turn to account his ascendency over her.

She had taken up her little fan and was fanning herself with quick nervousness. The evening was a stifling one in September, for in that month Bologna, with its long streets of stucco porticos, is a veritable oven.

”The address of your new mistress is here,” remarked the Under-Secretary, producing a card from his pocket-book, whereon was written in pencil in an English hand: ”Mrs Charles Fitzroy, 186, Brook Street, Grosvenor Square, W.”

”It is in the best and most fas.h.i.+onable part of London,” he added. ”And they have a fine place out in the country. The child whom you are to teach is aged eight--a little friend of mine. So you see I have arranged it all for you. You have only to go there and commence your duties.”

She shrugged her shoulders. The idea of taking a situation as governess did not appeal to her. She would, indeed, have refused point-blank if she dared, only refusal might mean the cessation of her mother's slender income.

She knew Angelo Borselli's wife and son, and had visited them in Rome.

The Signora Borselli was a stout woman of rather coa.r.s.e type, proud of her position, fond of crude colours and a dazzling show. Her carriage in Rome was painted a bright gra.s.s green, and the livery of her servants was a blue-grey with yellow c.o.c.kades. She dressed expensively, but without taste, as might be expected of one who was daughter of a straw hat manufacturer at Sancasciano. The son was aged eighteen, a superb young cub, who was now at the University of Ferrara studying law.

Filomena Nodari was of gentle birth, and therefore despised the woman who had treated her so patronisingly. She looked upon Angelo Borselli as her dead father's most devoted friend and her mother's benefactor, but the wife of the Under-Secretary she held in disdain as an uncouth countrywoman aspiring to a great position--as indeed she really was.

”England is a long way off, signore,” she remarked in a blank voice, after a long pause, the silence being unbroken save for the strains of the military band playing outside in the piazzi, as it does every evening in summer. ”Cannot you send someone else?” she begged.

”There is no one so well adapted as yourself,” he declared. ”You know English and French, and could act the part of governess to perfection.

I admit that to accept a menial office is not really pleasant, yet you must recollect that as a servant of the Ministry you are acting your part for the benefit of Italy--just as your poor father so valiantly acted his part through all his life.”

She sighed, and lapsed again into thought. Like a thousand other girls living at home upon slender means, she had often longed for a change of life and for sight of those foreign places about which she had read so much--and most of all of London. And here, he pointed out, was an opportunity of serving Italy abroad.

She believed all that he told her--how the information she furnished was necessary for the successful conduct of the Ministry in order to thwart the machinations of Italy's enemies. She had no idea that her actions and inquiries, directed by him, were always with one end in view--to oust from office the Minister himself.

On the one hand, Filomena Nodari was extremely clever and far-seeing, a veritable genius in the discovery of secrets, while on the other she was as wax in the hands of this man whom for so many years she had regarded as her friend.

”Am I to write to this person, my employer?” she asked with a slight sigh, still holding the card in her hand.

”Only to announce the day and hour of your arrival in London--at the station of Charing Cross, remember. I told Mrs Fitzroy who and what you are--that you are tired of sleepy Bologna, that you were an officer's daughter, and all the rest of it. Your wages are seven hundred francs a year, or twenty-four pounds in English money, with your railway fare paid to London, and your return fare if you don't suit.

But,” he added, with a meaning laugh, ”you will suit, signorina--you must suit, recollect?”

She shrugged her shoulders dubiously, saying--

”Of course, if it is really necessary, I will go. But I fear I may fail.”

”Not if you are determined to succeed,” he a.s.sured her. ”You have good looks, and they go such a very long way. That is why a pretty woman is so successful as a secret agent.”

She flushed slightly at his flattery.

”Well, and what am I to do? What information do you require?” she asked, speaking almost mechanically and gazing fixedly across the room.

”The facts, simply told, are these,” he said, tossing his cigarette into the ash-tray and halting before her. ”This Mrs Fitzroy is the wife of a Mr Charles Fitzroy, a London fur merchant, and Alderman of the City, and sister to a man named Morgan-Mason, a member of the English House of Commons. This man you must watch. Recollect his name. Although he is a bachelor and lives in an apartment in Westminster, he spends much of his time at his sister's house; hence you will have an opportunity of forming his acquaintance and keeping observation upon his movements. He is clever, crafty, and quite unscrupulous, therefore be cautious in all your movements. You must try and seize an opportunity to get a glimpse through his private papers if possible, and see if there are any doc.u.ments in Italian of an unusual character.”

”Then you suspect him to be an enemy of Italy?” she remarked seriously.

”We suspect that this blatant, pompous orator, who is now gathering such a following in the House of Commons, is forming certain plans to undermine our strength, to turn English opinion against an Italian alliance. Therefore it is necessary that we should be in possession of all the details, and you alone can obtain knowledge of the truth. He does not know Italian, a fact which gives you distinct advantage. Watch him very carefully, and report each week to Genoa; while, on my part, if I have any important instructions to send, I shall address the letter to the Poste Restante at Charing Cross--which is opposite the railway station. Your aim must be to find out all you can; to discover with whom this man is in a.s.sociation in Italy, remembering that whatever secret information, or more especially any doc.u.mentary evidence you can secure, will be of the utmost service to us. Go, my dear signorina,” he added, placing his hand upon her shoulder, ”go to London, and carry with you my very best wishes for success.”

The woman sat silent, thinking over his instructions, while through the open window on the evening air came the strains of military music.