Behind the Throne

by William Le Queux

fromParis to-day, and called upon you on my way here. I must see you atonce--privately."

  The Minister, who had not met the Under-Secretary since the adventurerRicci had revealed to him the truth regarding the Socialist conspiracy,controlled his feelings with marvellous calmness, and greeted his friendeffusively.

  "Why?" asked His Excellency under his breath. "Has anything happened?"

  "A good deal. But here the very walls have ears," was the answer. "Ihave come in search of you."

  "Well?" asked the Minister of War in abrupt surprise, recollecting thewarning Ricci had already given him.

  "Come with me. I know my way about this place," Borselli said. "Thereis an anteroom at the end of the south corridor where we can talkwithout risk of eavesdroppers."

  Their host, Baron Riboulet, the French Ambassador, a tall, handsome,brown-bearded man, stopped and greeted the pair at that moment, whileseveral other personages well-known in Roman society came up to paytheir respects to His Excellency the Minister. Then at last theUnder-Secretary managed to whisper--

  "Let's get away. I must see you without further delay. Come."

  And together they strolled through the magnificent salons with theirbrilliant crowds and presently entered a small, barely furnished room ina distant part of the historic old palace which is now the residence ofthe representative of the French Republic. As soon as they were withinBorselli switched on the electric light, closed the door and locked it.

  When he turned to the Minister the latter saw that his countenance hadchanged. He was pale and anxious, as though he had information of thehighest importance to impart.

  "Well?" asked Morini, wondering why he had brought him there somysteriously.

  "I have been in London again," the other exclaimed. "The truth of theSazarac affair is known!"

  Camillo Morini held his breath, his brows knit themselves, and his teethwere set hard. If this were a fact, then Borselli himself must haverevealed the truth, for he alone knew it. What Ricci had told him hadopened his eyes to this fellow's secret intentions. This was, no doubt,part of the vile, despicable conspiracy to secure the downfall of theMinistry. He knew that Angelo Borselli, the ambitious schemer with therank of general, who owed everything to him, was his bitterest opponent,and he now saw an opportunity of fathoming the ingenious ramificationsof the plot that was to effect his ruin. He was, however, too wellversed in statesmanship to betray in his face the inner workings of hismind, and Borselli, notwithstanding that consummate craft which was hismost prominent characteristic, had no suspicion that his chief was awareof the conspiracy.

  "If the truth regarding General Sazarac is out, my dear Angelo," he saidquite calmly, "then you must forgive me for suspecting that thecatastrophe is due to your own indiscretion."

  "Ah, my dear friend, there you are entirely wrong!" the other declaredin a low, intense voice. "A man whom you know in England is well awareof the whole of the facts."

  "And who is he, pray?" inquired the Minister, still preserving anoutward calm that was perfect.

  "The young Englishman George Macbean--the man who was staying withSinclair of Thornby."

  "Macbean?" slowly repeated His Excellency, gradually recalling to hismemory the young Englishman whom Mary had introduced to him upon his ownlawn. "Ah, of course! I recollect. He is Sinclair's nephew, andsecretary to that fellow Morgan-Mason who came to Rome to see us aboutprovisioning."

  "The same. He knows everything."

  The Minister was silent. His brows were knit. He recollected Macbeanquite well, and wondered whether what Borselli was telling him were theactual truth. Since Vito Ricci had revealed the amazing cunning withwhich the Under-Secretary was working, he naturally mistrusted him.

  "Well, and what does it matter?" asked Morini, still quite cool.

  "Matter?" gasped the other. "Matter? Why, if he reveals what he knowsit will mean ruin for us both--ruin?"

  "You have expressed fear several times, my dear Angelo," laughed theMinister, leaning easily with his back to the table. "For myself, Ientertain no fear. How did you discover that he held this knowledge?"

  "I had my suspicions, and I therefore returned to England and found himin London. I did not approach him myself, of course, but frominformation I gathered I know that he must be aware of the whole truth.That being so, we must not risk any revelations."

  "But even if he really does know, what motive could he ever have inbringing any distinct charge?" queried Morini, facing the man who, heknew, intended to himself occupy the post of Minister of War.

  "You forget that he is secretary to that overbearing parvenuMorgan-Mason, and that the latter was Sazarac's most intimate friend."

  Camillo Morini bit his lip. He had never thought of that. The affairof General Sazarac was to the public a mystery--one which the EnglishMember of Parliament had actively endeavoured to solve. The youngEnglishman Macbean, if he really knew the truth, might be induced by hisemployer to speak! In an instant he recognised a further peril in aquarter hitherto entirely unexpected.

  "You are quite certain he knows?"

  "Absolutely."

  "By what means did he learn the truth?"

  "Ah, that is not clear!" responded the thin-faced man. "He knows; buthow, is more than we can tell. The merchant of provisions, hisemployer, was the general's friend. Therefore the general probably knewthe secretary, and may have taken him into his confidence! Cannot youtherefore see that the fellow must be given an appointment in ourMinistry? We cannot afford to allow him to remain the secretary of thisparvenu, treated worse than a dog, ill-paid and sneered at on account ofhis superior birth and education. We must run no risk."

  "Then the English Member of Parliament is not a very good employer--eh?"

  "The reverse; a very bad one. He is a man who rose from being anassistant in a grocer's shop in a London suburb to be what he is, thegreatest dealer in provisions in all the world--a man who is worshippedin London society because of his millions, and upon whose smile even anEnglish duchess will hang. Ah, my dear Camillo! You, although you havea house in England, do not know those English. They are a people ofmillions; and in society they count their virtues by the millions theypossess. I know a man who was a waiter in an hotel in South Africa afew years ago who now has the proud English nobility--their milords andtheir miladies--around his table. They eat his dinners, they shoot hisbirds, they use his yacht, they beg of him for loans--and yet they jeerand laugh at him behind his back. It is so with this member of theEnglish Parliament to whom our young friend now acts as secretary."

  "I cannot see your point," said the Minister of War, his uniform-hattucked beneath his arm.

  "Cannot you see that if this Englishman really knows the story ofSazarac it is to our mutual interests that he should not speak of it?It might mean ruin for us," Borselli pointed out in a low, earnestvoice. "Cannot you see that, being in the employ of that pompoushog-merchant Morgan-Mason, and badly paid for his services he is longingfor a higher and more lucrative position? Is it not but natural? Heknows Italy, and would be only too eager to accept an appointment in theMinistry--where we really want a good English secretary. Such a manwould be of the utmost value to both of us."

  "Then you suggest that we should offer him an appointment?"

  "Exactly," was Borselli's reply. "If you agree to give the fellow asecretaryship, leave the rest to me. He will be only too eager toaccept an appointment under the Government, and once in Rome and in ouremploy, he will never dare to open his mouth regarding the ugly affair."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

  COUNTING THE COST.

  Next day at noon Mary, who was out driving in the smart Englishvictoria, called at the Ministry and again sat alone with her fathertrying to persuade him to order an inquiry into the case of theunfortunate Felice Solaro.

  "It is useless, my dear," was his impatient answer. "He has alreadybeen here himself, but the case is proved up to the very hilt. Itherefore cannot interfere."

 
"Proved by that woman Nodari?" she cried, with fierce indignation.Then, after a pause, she leaned towards him and said in a low, earnestvoice, "You will not allow an inquiry because you fear its result,father?"

  "Hush! Who told you that?" he gasped, staring at her.

  "No one. It is only a logical conclusion. The captain is the victim ofa wicked conspiracy, and he is suffering in silence because he knows theutter futility of appeal."

  "He has already appealed to me."

  "And you have refused him justice!" was his daughter's quick reproachfuldeclaration. "You are surely not unjust, father? You cannot be."

  The tall,