Mysterious Mr. Sabin

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  THE MEN WHO SAVED ENGLAND

  Mr. Sabin leaned back in his chair with a long, deep sigh of content.The labour of years was concluded at last. With that final little sketchhis work was done. A pile of manuscripts and charts lay before him;everything was in order. He took a bill of lading from his letter-case,and pinned it carefully to the rest. Then he glanced at his watch, and,taking a cigarette-case from his pocket, began to smoke.

  There was a knock at the door, and Mr. Sabin, who had recognised theapproaching footsteps, glanced up carelessly.

  "What is it, Foo Cha? I told you that I would ring when I wanted you."

  The Chinaman glided to his side.

  "Master," he said softly, "I have fears. There is something not good inthe air."

  Mr. Sabin turned sharply around.

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  Foo Cha was apologetic but serious.

  "Master, I was followed from the house of the German by a man, who drovefast after me in a two-wheeled cab. He lost me on the way, but there areothers. I have been into the street, and I am sure of it. The house isbeing watched on all sides."

  Mr. Sabin drew a quiet, little breath. For a moment his haggard faceseemed almost ghastly. He recovered himself, however, with an effort.

  "We are not in China, Foo Cha," he said. "I have done nothing againstthe law of this country; no man can enter here if we resist. If we arereally being watched, it must be by persons in the pay of the Russian.But they can do nothing; it is too late; Knigenstein will be here inhalf an hour. The thing will be settled then, once and for ever."

  Foo Cha was troubled still.

  "Me afraid," he admitted frankly. "Strange men this end and that end ofstreet. Me no like it. Ah!"

  The front door bell rang softly; it was a timid, hesitating ring, asthough some one had but feebly touched the knob. Foo Cha and his masterlooked at one another in silence. There was something almost ominous inthat gentle peal.

  "You must see who it is, Foo Cha," Mr. Sabin said. "It may beKnigenstein come early; if so, show him in at once. To everybody elsethe house is empty."

  Foo Cha bowed silently and withdrew. He struck a match in the darkpassage, and lit the hanging gas-lamp. Then he opened the doorcautiously.

  One man alone was standing there. Foo Cha looked at him in despair; itwas certainly not Knigenstein, nor was there any sign of his carriage inthe street. The stranger was a man of middle height, squarely built andstout. He wore a long black overcoat, and he stood with his hands in hispockets.

  "What you want?" Foo Cha asked. "What you want with me?"

  The man did not answer at once, but he stepped inside into the passage.Foo Cha tried to shut the door in his face, but it was like pushingagainst a mountain.

  "Where is your master?" he asked.

  "Master? He not here," Foo Cha answered, with glib and untruthfulearnestness. "Indeed he is not here--quite true. He come to-morrow; Ipreparing house for him. What do you want? Go away, or me callpoliceman."

  The intruder smiled indulgently into the Chinaman's earnest, upturnedface.

  "Foo Cha," he said, "that is enough. Take this card to your master, Mr.Sabin."

  Foo Cha was ready to begin another torrent of expostulations, but in thegas-light he met the new-comer's steadfast gaze, and he was silent. Thestranger was dressed in the garb of a superior working man, but hisspeech and manner indicated a very different station. Foo Cha took thecard and left him in the passage. He made his way softly into thesitting-room, and as he entered he turned the key in the lock behindhim; there, at any rate, was a moment or two of respite.

  "Master," he said, "there is a man there whom we cannot stop. When metell him you no here, he laugh at me. He will see you; he no go way. Helaugh again when I try shut the door. He give me card; I no understandwhat on it."

  Mr. Sabin stretched out his hand and took the card from the Chinaman'sfingers. There seemed to be one or two words upon it, traced in adelicate, sloping handwriting. Mr. Sabin had snatched at the littlepiece of pasteboard with some impatience, but the moment he had readthose few words a remarkable change came over him. He started as thoughhe had received an electric shock; the pupils of his eyes seemedhideously dilated; the usual pallor of his face was merged in a ghastlywhiteness. And then, after the first shock, came a look of deep andutter despair; his hand fell to his side, a half-muttered imprecationescaped from his trembling lips, yet he laid the card gently, even withreverence, upon the desk before him.

  "You can show him in, Foo Cha," he directed, in a low tone; "show him inat once."

  Foo Cha glided out disappointed. Something had gone terribly wrong, hewas sure of that. He went slowly downstairs, his eyes fixed upon thedark figure standing motionless in the dimly-lit hall. He drew a sharpbreath, which sounded through his yellow, protuberant teeth like a hiss.A single stroke of that long knife--it would be so easy. Then heremembered the respect with which Mr. Sabin had treated that card, andhe sighed. Perhaps it would be a mistake; it might make evil worse. Hebeckoned to the stranger, and conducted him upstairs.

  Mr. Sabin received his visitor standing. He was still very pale, but hisface had resumed its wonted impassiveness. In the dim lamp-lit room hecould see very little of his visitor, only a thick-set man with darkeyes and a closely-cropped black beard. He was roughly dressed, yet heldhimself well. The two men eyed one another steadily for several moments,before any speech passed between them.

  "You are surprised," the stranger said; "I do not wonder at it.Perhaps--you have been much engrossed, it is said--you had evenforgotten."

  Mr. Sabin's lips curled in a bitter smile.

  "One does not forget those things," he said. "To business. Let me knowwhat is required of me."

  "It has been reported," the stranger said, "that you have conceived andbrought to great perfection a comprehensive and infallible scheme forthe conquest of this country. Further, that you are on the point ofhanding it over to the Emperor of Germany, for the use of that country.I think I may conclude that the report is correct?" he added, with aglance at the table. "We are not often misinformed."

  "The report," Mr. Sabin assented, "is perfectly correct."

  "We have taken counsel upon the matter," the stranger continued, "and Iam here to acquaint you with our decision. The papers are to be burnt,and the appliances to be destroyed forthwith. No portion of them is tobe shown to the German Government or any person representing thatcountry, nor to any other Power. Further, you are to leave Englandwithin two months."

  Mr. Sabin stood quite still, his hands resting lightly upon the desk infront of him. His eyes, fixed on vacancy, were looking far out of thatshabby little room, back along the avenues of time, thronged with thefragments of his broken dreams. He realised once more the full glory ofhis daring and ambitious scheme. He saw his country revelling again inher old splendour, stretching out her limbs and taking once more theforemost place among her sister nations. He saw the pageantry and richcolouring of Imperialism, firing the imagination of her children,drawing all hearts back to their allegiance, breaking through the hardcrust of materialism which had spread like an evil dream through theland. He saw himself great and revered, the patriot, the Richelieu ofhis days, the adored of the people, the friend and restorer of his king.Once more he was a figure in European history, the consort of Emperors,the man whose slightest word could shake the money markets of the world.He saw all these things, as though for the last time, with strange,unreal vividness; once more their full glory warmed his blood anddazzled his eyes. Then a flash of memory, an effort of realisationchilled him; his feet were upon the earth again, his head was heavy.That thick-set, motionless figure before him seemed like the incarnationof his despair.

  "I shall appeal," he said hoarsely; "England is no friend of ours."

  The man shrugged his shoulders.

  "England is tolerant at least," he said; "and she has sheltered us."

  "I shall appeal," Mr. Sabin repeated.

  Th
e man shook his head.

  "It is the order of the High Council," he said; "there is no appeal."

  "It is my life's work," Mr. Sabin faltered.

  "Your life's work," the man said slowly, "should be with us."

  "God knows why I ever----"

  The man stretched out a white hand, which gleamed through thesemi-darkness. Mr. Sabin stopped short.

  "You very nearly," he said solemnly, "pronounced your owndeath-sentence. If you had finished what you were about to say, I couldnever have saved you. Be wise, friend. This is a disappointment to you;well, is not our life one long torturing disappointment? What of us,indeed? We are like the waves which beat ceaselessly against thesea-shore, what we gain one day we lose the next. It is fate, it islife! Once more, friend, remember! Farewell!"

  * * * * *

  Mr. Sabin was left alone, a martyr to his thoughts. Already it was pastthe hour for Knigenstein's visit. Should he remain and brave the storm,or should he catch the boat-train from Charing Cross and hasten to hidehimself in one of the most remote quarters of the civilised world? Inany case it was a dreary outlook for him. Not only had this dearlycherished scheme of his come crashing about his head, but he had veryseriously compromised himself with a great country. The Emperor'sgracious letter was in his pocket--he smiled grimly to himself ashe thought for a moment of the consternation of Berlin, and ofKnigenstein's disgrace. And then the luxury of choice was suddenlydenied him; he was brought back to the present, and a sense of itsparamount embarrassments by a pealing ring at the bell, and thetrampling of horse's feet in the street. He had no time to rescind hisprevious instructions to Foo Cha before Knigenstein himself, wrappedin a great sealskin coat, and muffled up to the chin with a silkhandkerchief, was shown into the room.

  The Ambassador's usually phlegmatic face bore traces of some anxiety.Behind his spectacles his eyes glittered nervously; he grasped Mr.Sabin's hand with unwonted cordiality, and was evidently much relievedto have found him.

  "My dear Souspennier," he said, "this is a great occasion. I am a littlelate, but, as you can imagine, I am overwhelmed with work of the utmostimportance. You have finished now, I hope. You are ready for me?"

  "I am as ready for you," Mr. Sabin said grimly, "as I ever shall be!"

  "What do you mean?" Knigenstein asked sharply. "Don't tell me thatanything has gone amiss! I am a ruined man, unless you carry out yourcovenant to the letter. I have pledged my word upon your honour."

  "Then I am afraid," Mr. Sabin said, "that we are both of us in a verytight place! I am bound hand and foot. There," he cried, pointing tothe grate, half choked with a pile of quivering grey ashes, "lies thework of seven years of my life--seven years of intrigue, of calculation,of unceasing toil. By this time all my American inventions, whichwould have paralysed Europe, are blown sky high! That is the position,Knigenstein; we are undone!"

  Knigenstein was shaking like a child; he laid his hand upon Mr. Sabin'sarm, and gripped it fiercely.

  "Souspennier," he said, "if you are speaking the truth I am ruined, anddisgraced for ever. The Emperor will never forgive me! I shall bedismissed and banished. I have pledged my word for yours; you cannotmean to play me false like this. If there is any personal favour orreward, which the Emperor can grant, it is yours--I will answer for it.I will answer for it, too, that war shall be declared against Francewithin six months of the conclusion of peace with England. Come, saythat you have been jesting. Good God! man, you are torturing me. Why,have you seen the papers to-night? The Emperor has been hasty, I own,but he has already struck the first blow. War is as good as declared. Iam waiting for my papers every hour!"

  "I cannot help it," Mr. Sabin said doggedly. "The thing is at an end.To give up all the fruits of my work--the labour of the best yearsof my life--is as bitter to me as your dilemma is to you! But it isinevitable! Be a man, Knigenstein, put the best face on it you can."

  The utter impotence of all that he could say was suddenly revealed toKnigenstein in Mr. Sabin's set face and hopeless words. His tone ofentreaty changed to one of anger; the veins on his forehead stood outlike knotted string, his mouth twitched as he spoke, he could notcontrol himself.

  "You have made up your mind," he cried. "Very well! Russia has boughtyou, very well! If Lobenski has bribed you with all the gold inChristendom you shall never enjoy it! You shall not live a year! I swearit! You have insulted and wronged our country, our fatherland! Listen! Aword shall be breathed in the ears of a handful of our officers. Whereyou go, they shall go; if you leave England you will be struck on thecheek in the first public place at which you show yourself. If onefalls, there are others--hundreds, thousands, an army! Oh! you shall notescape, my friend. But if ever you dared to set foot in Germany----"

  "I can assure you," Mr. Sabin interrupted, "that I shall take particularcare never to visit your delightful country. Elsewhere, I think I cantake care of myself. But listen, Knigenstein, all your talk about Russiaand playing you false is absurd. If I had wished to deal with Lobenski,I could have done so, instead of with you. I have not even seen him. Agreater hand than his has stopped me, a greater even than the hand ofyour Emperor!"

  Knigenstein looked at him as one looks at a madman.

  "There is no greater hand on earth," he said, "than the hand of hisImperial Majesty, the Emperor of Germany."

  Mr. Sabin smiled.

  "You are a German," he said, "and you know little of these things, yetyou call yourself a diplomatist, and I suppose you have some knowledgeof what this means."

  He lifted the lamp from the table and walked to the wall oppositeto the door. Knigenstein followed him closely. Before them, highup as the fingers of a man could reach, was a small, irregular redpatch--something between a cross and a star. Mr. Sabin held the lamphigh over his head and pointed to the mark.

  "Do you know what that means?" he asked.

  The man by his side groaned.

  "Yes," he answered, with a gesture of abject despair, "I know!"

  Mr. Sabin walked back to the table and set down the lamp.

  "You know now," he said coolly, "who has intervened."

  "If I had had any idea," Knigenstein said, "that you were one of them Ishould not have treated with you."

  "It was many years ago," Mr. Sabin said with a sigh. "My father was halfa Russian, you know. It served my purpose whilst I was envoy at Teheran;since then I had lost sight of them; I thought that they too had lostsight of me. I was mistaken--only an hour ago I was visited by a chiefofficial. They knew everything, they forbade everything. As a matter offact they have saved England!"

  "And ruined us," Knigenstein groaned. "I must go and telegraph. ButSouspennier, one word."

  Mr. Sabin looked up.

  "You are a brave man and a patriot; you want to see your country free.Well, why not free it still? You and I are philosophers, we know thatlife after all is an uncertain thing. Hold to your bargain with us. Itwill be to your death, I do not deny that. But I will pledge the honourof my country, I will give you the holy word of the Emperor, that wewill faithfully carry out our part of the contract, and the whole gloryshall be yours. You will be immortalised; you will win fame that shallbe deathless. Your name will be enshrined in the heart of your country'shistory."

  Mr. Sabin shook his head slowly.

  "My dear Knigenstein," he said "pray don't misunderstand me. I do notcast the slightest reflection upon your Emperor or your honour. But ifever there was a country which required watching, it is yours. I couldnot carry your pledges with me into oblivion, and there is no one towhom I could leave the legacy. That being the case, I think that Iprefer to live."

  Knigenstein buttoned up his coat and sighed.

  "I am a ruined man, Souspennier," he said, "but I bear you no malice.Let me leave you a little word of warning, though. The Nihilists are notthe only people in the world who have the courage and the wit to avengethemselves. Farewell!"

  Mr. Sabin broke into a queer little laugh as he listened to his guest'sd
eparting footsteps. Then he lit a cigarette, and called to Foo Cha forsome coffee.