Her Royal Highness Part 30

He saw that General Cataldi, with the a.s.sistance of his dishonest secretary, could enforce a secret toll from every officer who obtained promotion. While nearly every member of the Cabinet was doing the same thing, and every Deputy was giving or accepting bribes, often quite openly, it was not likely that anyone would dare to come forward and denounce them.

The motto of the Minister in Italy is to make a fortune while the office lasts. And they certainly do--as is proved by the constant scandals ever being exposed by the Press, while more are suppressed with hush-money.

But if this were so, and if His Excellency and his sycophant were reaping such a rich harvest, then would they dare to run such risks as to connive at the theft of the plans by a foreign agent?

According to Tonini, only His Excellency and the two secretaries entered the room wherein the plans reposed. Therefore, either His Excellency or his secretary must have extracted them.

Nevertheless this report of Pucci's made it somewhat dubious whether these two corrupt officials, making the many thousands a year themselves, would go to such lengths as to betray their country into the hands of Austria.

Pucci sat there in silence, wondering what was pa.s.sing through the diplomat's mind. He was, of course, in ignorance of what had happened, and was puzzled as to the reason why Waldron was so inquisitive.

Hubert knew the General's house well--a splendid villa of princely proportions, with delightful garden and terraces, about five miles out of Rome on the white, dusty road which leads to Civita Vecchia. It was near Malagrotta, in the picturesque hills through which still runs the ancient Via Aurelia, and looked down upon ancient Ostia and the broad mouths of the ancient Tiber.

Was he a traitor? Or was he innocent? That was the great and crucial question which he had to decide.

"And this Countess," he exclaimed, addressing the detective presently.

"I noticed that she is not named in your report."

"No, signore. But her name is Cioni--of the Cionis of Firenze, one of the most ancient houses in Italy--the Countess Guilia Cioni."

"A widow?"

"No, signore. She is daughter of the late Count Ferdinando Cioni, head of the house. Their palace is on the Lung 'Arno in Firenze."

"Of what age is she?"

"Thirty."

"You say she was from Milan."

"They have a palace in Milan--in one of those short streets off the Piazza del Duomo."

"And this woman is infatuated with the General, you say? Where does she live?"

"In an apartment in the Corso Vittorio."

"She, no doubt, knows the chief source of his income--eh?"

"Without a doubt."

Then Waldron thought deeply. A strange theory had crossed his mind.

"Has she a maid?"

"Yes, signore, a young woman from Borghetto named Velia Bettini."

Waldron scribbled the name upon his s.h.i.+rt-cuff together with the address of the young Countess Cioni.

"Anything known of this maid?"

Pucci, who had done thoroughly the work entrusted to him, reflected for a moment, and then diving his hand into his breast-pocket, drew forth a well-worn note-book, which he searched for a few moments.

"Yes," he replied. "I made a few inquiries at the Prefecture concerning her. She was previously in the service of the Marchesa di Martini, of Genoa, and was sentenced to six months' imprisonment for stealing jewellery belonging to her."

"How long ago?"

"Two years."

"Anything else?"

"Well--her record is not exactly an unblemished one, signore," the detective went on. "After her release she went to Paris and was in the service of a young French actress, Mademoiselle Yvonne Barlet, of the Gymnase. While there she pa.s.sed herself off as a young lady of good family and became friendly with a wealthy young Frenchman, whose name, however I do not know."

"And what else?"

"She returned to Italy and then entered the service of the Countess Cioni."

"But this Countess Cioni--who is she? I do not seem to have heard of her in Rome Society."

"She is not known--except in a certain circle. One of her intimate friends, however, is Her Royal Highness, the Princess Luisa."

"The Princess Luisa?" echoed the Englishman. "Yes, signore. But, as you have heard, the Princess makes many strange and unfortunate friends.h.i.+ps. She is, I fear, rather foolish."

"But surely this friends.h.i.+p ought to be put a stop to, Signor Pucci. It is impossible for a Princess of the blood-royal to a.s.sociate with such a person as this Contessa Cioni."

The detective shrugged his shoulders and elevated his dark eyebrows.

Then he smiled that quiet meaning smile which all Italians can affect in moments of indecision.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

"THE THRUSH."

On the night following Pucci's visit to Hubert Waldron, Her Royal Highness sat before the fire in her handsome bedroom curled up in a soft chair, thinking.

The little leather-framed travelling-clock upon her big dressing-table with its gold and tortoisesh.e.l.l brushes and toilet accessories showed that midnight was past. She had been to a dinner at the Palazzo Riparbella, where Her Majesty had honoured the d.u.c.h.ess of Riparbella with her presence, and an hour ago they had returned.

She had dismissed her maid-of-honour, and when Renata, her personal maid, had entered to attend her she had sent her to bed. Renata was devoted to her mistress. She was used to the vagaries of Her Highness-- who so often wore her dresses in her escapades--so she bowed and retired.

For half an hour, still attired in her handsome, pale blue evening gown, with her dark hair well-dressed, and a beautiful diamond necklet upon her white throat, she had sat staring into the dancing flames, thinking--ever thinking.

At last she stirred herself, rising suddenly to her feet, and then, crossing to her bed, she threw herself upon her knees wildly and bent her head within her white hands.

Her pale lips moved, but no sound came from them.

She was fervent in prayer.

Her countenance, her movements, her att.i.tude showed her to be in a veritable tumult of agony and despair. But she was alone, with none to witness her terrible anxiety, and the blank hopelessness of it all.