Her Majesty's Minister Part 5

"Farewell," she faltered.

Then I turned, and, bowing, went forth into the glaring suns.h.i.+ne of the boulevard.

She had virtually admitted a close acquaintance with a man upon whom distinct suspicion rested, and her actions had been those of a guilty woman. My thoughts were full of that interview and its painful ending as I walked back towards the Emba.s.sy.

CHAPTER FOUR.

A CURIOUS STORY.

There was war in the air. At the Emba.s.sy we could not conceal from ourselves the seriousness of the situation. From hour to hour we were living in dread lest diplomatic negotiations should be broken off with the French Republic. We had discovered what seemed very much like a conspiracy against England, and as an energetic protest it appeared quite possible that the Marquess of Malvern might order my Chief to leave Paris. This would mean a rupture of diplomatic relations, and in all probability war.

Never in the history of modern Europe had there been a day so critical as that blazing, well-remembered one in mid-July. There were ugly rumours of complications in the Transvaal. The fate of certain nations trembled in the balance. In every capital diplomatists were active, some striving to force war, others endeavouring to prevent it. A diplomatist's life is a.s.suredly no sinecure. The British public, as I have said before, little dreams of the constant anxiety and terrible tension which are parts of the daily life of its faithful servants abroad.

On my return to the Emba.s.sy I found that some important despatches had been brought from London by Anderson, the foreign service messenger.

He was sitting in my room smoking a cigarette, and awaiting me in order to obtain the receipt for his despatch-box. A tall, round-faced, merry man of middle age, he was an especial favourite in all the emba.s.sies as far as Teheran. A thorough cosmopolitan and man of the world, he had resigned his commission in the Scots Greys to become one of that half-dozen of the greyhounds of Europe known as Queen's messengers.

"Well, Anderson," I exclaimed, shaking his hand on entering, "what's the news from Downing Street?"

"Oh, nothing very fresh," he laughed, sinking back in his chair again, and pa.s.sing me over the receipt for signature. "Old Tuite, of the Treaty Department, has retired on his pension this week. That's about all that's new. The Chief, however, seems busy. I'm loaded with despatches."

"Where for?"

"Vienna and Constantinople. I leave by the Orient express in an hour's time," he answered, with a glance at his watch.

"Then you're getting over a little ground just now?" I laughed.

"A little ground!" he echoed. "Well, I've been two trips to Petersburg this month, twice here to Paris, and once to Vienna. I've only slept one night in London since the 1st."

"You're a bit sick of it, I should think," I observed, looking at the round face lit up by its pair of merry grey eyes. He was an easy-going fellow; his good-humour never seemed ruffled.

"Oh, it agrees with me," he laughed lightly. "I don't care as long as I get the monthly run to Teheran now and then. That's a bit of a change, you know, after these everlasting railways, with their stuffy sleeping-cars and abominable arrangements for giving a man indigestion."

I examined the box to see that the seals affixed in Downing Street were intact, then signed the receipt and handed it back to him.

Of the corps of Queen's messengers--nicknamed "the greyhounds" because of the badge which each wears suspended round his neck and concealed beneath his cravat, a silver greyhound surmounted by the Royal arms-- Captain Jack Anderson was the most popular. A welcome guest at every emba.s.sy or legation, he was on friendly terms with the whole staff, from the Amba.s.sador himself down to the hall-porter, and he carried the gossip of the emba.s.sies to and fro across Europe. From him we all gathered news of our old colleagues in other capitals--of their joys and their sorrows, their difficulties and their junketings. His baggage being by international courtesy free from Customs' examination, he oft-times carried with him a new frock for an amba.s.sador's wife or daughter--a service which always put him high in the good graces of the feminine portion of the diplomatic circle.

"Kaye seems bobbing about pretty much," he observed, handing me his cigarette-case. Anderson's cigarettes were well known for their excellence, for he purchased them at a shop in Petersburg, and often distributed a box in one or other of the emba.s.sies. "I met him a week ago on board the Calais boat, and two days later I came across him in the buffet down at Bale. He was, however, as close as an oyster."

"Of course. It isn't likely that he'd talk very much," I remarked.

"His profession is to know everything, and at the same time to affect ignorance. He went to Berlin last night."

"We had breakfast together in the early morning at Bale, and he questioned me closely about a friend of yours."

"Who?"

"A lady--Mademoiselle de Foville. You remember her in Brussels, don't you?"

"Mademoiselle de Foville!" I echoed. The denunciation of her as a secret agent instantly flashed through my mind.

"Yes, you were extremely friendly with her in Brussels," he went on.

"Don't you recollect that you introduced me to her one evening at an al-fresco concert in the Vauxhall Gardens, where we sat together for quite a long time chatting?"

"I remember distinctly," I responded. Every detail of that balmy summer night in those gaily illuminated gardens came back to me in that moment.

I loved Yolande in those long-past days. "And what did Kaye want to know regarding her?"

"He asked me whether I had ever met her, and I told him that you had once introduced us."

"Well?"

"Oh, nothing much else. He remarked how very charming she was--a verdict in which we both agreed. Have you seen her lately?"

I hesitated for a moment.

"Yes, she's here, in Paris."

He bent forward quickly, regarding me curiously.

"That's strange. How long has she been here?" he inquired with a rather puzzled look.

"Only a few days. I did not know that she was here till yesterday," I replied with affected carelessness.

"Ah, I thought she could not have been here long."

"Why?"

"Because only a week ago she travelled in the same compartment as myself between Berlin and Cologne."

"And did you claim acquaintance with her?" I inquired quickly.

"No. She had a companion with her--a pimply-faced, ugly Johnnie, whom I took to be a German. They spoke in German all the time."

Could it be, I wondered, that Yolande and her companion had travelled with Anderson with some evil intent?

"Didn't you speak to them?"

"The man tried to open a conversation with me, but I pretended to be Italian, without any knowledge of German or English, so he didn't get very far. To affect Italian is generally a sure game, for so few people speak it in comparison with those who know other Continental languages."

"You wanted to overhear their conversation--eh?"

"I wanted to ascertain what their game was," answered the Queen's messenger. "They eyed my despatch-box very curiously; and it was to me an extremely suspicious circ.u.mstance that although they joined the train at Berlin they did not enter my compartment until an hour later, when the express stopped to change engines."

"You were alone?"

"Yes, and it was at night," he answered, adding: "To me it was also a curious circ.u.mstance that only three days afterwards Kaye should become so deeply interested in her. I had never seen her from that night in Brussels until we had met in the train, but I've a good memory for faces. I can swear I was not mistaken."

"You speak as though you suspected her," I said, looking straight into his ruddy countenance, which had grown unusually serious while we had been speaking.