The Great Impersonation

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “It is understood,” Dominey assented.

  “That,” the Prince continued, “is a personal matter. What I am now going to say to you is official. I had despatches from Berlin last night. They concern you.”

  Dominey seemed to stiffen a little.

  “Well?”

  “I am given to understand,” the Ambassador continued, “that you practically exist only in the event of that catastrophe which I, for one, cannot foresee. I am assured that if your exposure should take place at any time, your personation will be regarded as a private enterprise, and there is nothing whatever to connect you with any political work.”

  “Up to the present that is absolutely so,” Dominey agreed.

  “I am further advised to look upon you as my unnamed and unsuspected successor here, in the event of war. For that reason I am begged to inaugurate terms of intimacy with you, to treat you with the utmost confidence, and, if the black end should come, to leave in your hands all such unfulfilled work as can be continued in secrecy and silence. I perhaps express myself in a somewhat confused manner.”

  “I understand perfectly,” Dominey replied. “The authorities have changed their first ideas as to my presence here. They want to keep every shadow of suspicion away from me, so that in the event of war I shall have an absolutely unique position, an unsuspected yet fervently patriotic German, living hand in glove with the upper classes of English Society. One can well imagine that there would be work for me.”

  “Our understanding is mutual,” Terniloff declared. “What I have to say to you, therefore, is that I hope you will soon follow us to London and give me the opportunity of offering you the constant hospitality of Carlton House Gardens.”

  “You are very kind, Prince,” Dominey said. “My instructions are, as soon as I have consolidated my position here—an event which I fancy I may consider attained—to establish myself in London and to wait orders. I trust that amongst other things you will then permit me to examine the memoirs you spoke of the other day.”

  “Naturally, and with the utmost pleasure,” the Ambassador assented. “They are a faithful record of my interviews and negotiations with certain Ministers here, and they reflect a desire and intention for peace which will, I think, amaze you.—I venture now upon a somewhat delicate question,” he continued, changing the subject of their conversation abruptly, as they turned back along the terrace. “Lady Dominey will accompany you?”

  “Of that I am not sure,” Dominey replied thoughtfully. “I have noticed, Prince, if I may be allowed to say so, your chivalrous regard for that lady. You will permit me to assure you that in the peculiar position in which I am placed I shall never forget that she is the wife of Everard Dominey.”

  Terniloff shook hands heartily.

  “I wanted to hear that from you,” he admitted. “You I felt instinctively were different, but there are many men of our race who are willing enough to sacrifice a woman without the slightest scruple, either for their passions or their policy. I find Lady Dominey charming.”

  “She will never lack a protector in me,” Dominey declared.

  There were more farewells and, soon after, the little procession of cars drove off. Rosamund herself was on the terrace, bidding all her guests farewell. She clung to Dominey’s arm when at last they turned back into the empty hall.

  “What dear people they were, Everard!” she exclaimed. “I only wish that I had seen more of them. The Duchess was perfectly charming to me, and I never knew any one with such delightful manners as Prince Terniloff. Are you going to miss them very much, dear?”

  “Not a bit,” he answered. “I think I shall take a gun now and stroll down the meadows and across the rough ground. Will you come with me, or will you put on one of your pretty gowns and entertain me downstairs at luncheon? It is a very long time since we had a meal alone together.”

  She shook her head a little sadly.

  “We never have had,” she answered. “You know that, Everard, and, alas! I know it. But we are going on pretending, aren’t we?”

  He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

  “You shall pretend all that you like, dear Rosamund,” he promised, “and I will be the shadow of your desires. No!—No tears!” he added quickly, as she turned away. “Remember there is nothing but happiness for you now. Whoever I am or am not, that is my one aim in life.”

  She clutched at his hand passionately, and suddenly, as though finding it insufficient, twined her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  “Let me come with you,” she begged. “I can’t bear to let you go. I’ll be very quiet. Will you wait ten minutes for me?”

  “Of course,” he answered.

  He strolled down towards the gun room, stood by the fire for a moment, and then wandered out into the courtyard, where Middleton and a couple of beaters were waiting for him with the dogs. He had scarcely taken a step towards them, however, when he stopped short. To his amazement Seaman was there, standing a little on one side, with his eyes fixed upon the windows of the servants’ quarters.

  “Hullo, my friend!” he exclaimed. “Why, I thought you went by the early train from Thursford Station?”

  “Missed it by two minutes,” Seaman replied with a glance towards the beaters. “I knew all the cars were full for the eleven o’clock, so I thought I’d wait till the afternoon.”

  “And where have you been to for the last few hours, then?”

  Seaman had reached his side now and was out of earshot of the others.

  “Trying to solve the mystery of Johann Wolff’s sudden departure last night. Come and walk down the avenue with me a little way.”

  “A very short distance, then. I am expecting Lady Dominey.”

  They passed through the thin iron gates and paced along one of the back entrances to the Hall.

  “Do not think me indiscreet,” Seaman began. “I returned without the knowledge of any one, and I kept out of the way until they had all gone. It is what I told you before. Things which I do not understand depress me, and behold! I have found proof this morning of a further significance in Wolff’s sudden departure.”

  “Proceed,” Dominey begged.

  “I learned this morning, entirely by accident, that Mr. Pelham’s servant was either mistaken or wilfully deceived me. Wolff did not accompany your butler to the station.”

  “And how did you find that out?” Dominey demanded.

  “It is immaterial! What is material is that there is a sort of conspiracy amongst the servants here to conceal the manner of his leaving. Do not interrupt me, I beg! Early this morning there was a fresh fall of snow which has now disappeared. Outside the window of the room which I found locked were the marks of footsteps and the tracks of a small car.”

  “And what do you gather from all this?” Dominey asked.

  “I gather that Wolff must have had friends in the neighbourhood,” Seaman replied, “or else—”

  “Well?”

  “My last supposition sounds absurd,” Seaman confessed, “but the whole matter is so incomprehensible that I was going to say—or else he was forcibly removed.”

  Dominey laughed softly.

  “Wolff would scarcely have been an easy man to abduct, would he,” he remarked, “even if we could hit upon any plausible reason for such a thing! As a matter of fact, Seaman,” he concluded, turning on his heel a little abruptly as he saw Rosamund standing in the avenue, “I cannot bring myself to treat this Johann Wolff business seriously. Granted that the man was a spy, well, let him get on with it. We are doing our job here in the most perfect and praiseworthy fashion. We neither of us have the ghost of a secret to hide from his employers.”

  “In a sense that is true,” Seaman admitted.

  “Well, then, cheer up,” Dominey enjoined. “Take a little walk with us, and we will see whether Parkins cannot find us a bottle of that ol
d Burgundy for lunch. How does that sound, eh?”

  “If you will excuse me from taking the walk,” Seaman begged, “I would like to remain here until your return.”

  “You are more likely to do harm,” Dominey reminded him, “and set the servants talking, if you show too much interest in this man’s disappearance.”

  “I shall be careful,” Seaman promised, “but there are certain things which I cannot help. I work always from instinct, and my instinct is never wrong. I will ask no more questions of your servants, but I know that there is something mysterious about the sudden departure of Johann Wolff.”

  Dominey and Rosamund returned about one o’clock to find only a note from Seaman, which the former tore open as his companion stood warming her feet in front of the fire. There were only a few lines:

  I am following an idea. It takes me to London. Let us meet there within a few days.

  S.

  “Has he really gone?” Rosamund asked.

  “Back to London.”

  She laughed happily. “Then we shall lunch à deux after all! Delightful! I have my wish!”

  There was a sudden glow in Dominey’s face, a glow which was instantly suppressed.

  “Shall I ever have mine?” he asked, with a queer little break in his voice.

  Chapter XXV

  Terniloff and Dominey, one morning about six months later, lounged underneath a great elm tree at Ranelagh, having iced drinks after a round of golf. Several millions of perspiring Englishmen were at the same moment studying with dazed wonder the headlines in the midday papers.

  “I suppose,” the Ambassador remarked, as he leaned back in his chair with an air of lazy content, “that I am being accused of fiddling while Rome burns.”

  “Every one has certainly not your confidence in the situation,” Dominey rejoined calmly.

  “There is no one else who knows quite so much,”Terniloff reminded him.

  Dominey sipped his drink for a moment or two in silence.

  “Have you the latest news of the Russian mobilisation?” he asked. “They had some startling figures in the city this morning.”

  The Prince waved his hand.

  “My faith is not founded on these extraneous incidents,” he replied. “If Russia mobilises, it is for defence. No nation in the world would dream of attacking Germany, nor has Germany the slightest intention of imperilling her coming supremacy amongst the nations by such crude methods as military enterprise. Servia must be punished, naturally, but to that, in principle, every nation in Europe is agreed. We shall not permit Austria to overstep the mark.”

  “You are at least consistent, Prince,” Dominey remarked.

  Terniloff smiled.

  “That is because I have been taken behind the scenes,” he said. “I have been shown, as is the privilege of ambassadors, the mind of our rulers. You, my friend,” he went on, “spent your youth amongst the military faction. You think that you are the most important people in Germany. Well, you are not. The Kaiser has willed it otherwise.—By the by, I had yesterday a most extraordinary cable from Stephanie.”

  Dominey ceased swinging his putter carelessly over the head of a daisy and turned his head to listen.

  “Is she on the way home?”

  “She is due in Southampton at any moment now. She wants to know where she can see me immediately upon her arrival, as she has information of the utmost importance to give me.”

  “Did she ever tell you the reason for her journey to Africa?”

  “She was most mysterious about it. If such an idea had had any logical outcome, I should have surmised that she was going there to seek information as to your past.”

  “She gave Seaman the same idea,” Dominey observed. “I scarcely see what she has to gain. In Africa, as a matter of fact,” he went on, “my life would bear the strictest investigation.”

  “The whole affair is singularly foolish,” the Prince declared. “Still, I am not sure that you have been altogether wise. Even accepting your position, I see no reason why you should not have obeyed the Kaiser’s behest. My experience of your Society here is that love affairs between men and women moving in the same circles are not uncommon.”

  “That,” Dominey urged, “is when they are all tarred with the same brush. My behaviour towards Lady Dominey has been culpable enough as it is. To have placed her in the position of a neglected wife would have been indefensible. Further, it might have affected the position which it is in the interests of my work that I should maintain here.”

  “An old subject,” the Ambassador sighed, “best not rediscussed. Behold, our womenkind!”

  Rosamund and the Princess had issued from the house, and the two men hastened to meet them. The latter looked charming, exquisitely gowned, and stately in appearance. By her side Rosamund, dressed with the same success but in younger fashion, seemed almost like a child. They passed into the luncheon room, crowded with many little parties of distinguished and interesting people, brilliant with the red livery of the waiters, the profusion of flowers—all that nameless elegance which had made the place Society’s most popular rendezvous. The women, as they settled into their places, asked a question which was on the lips of a great many English people that day.

  “Is there any news?”

  Terniloff perhaps felt that he was the cynosure of many eager and anxious eyes. He smiled light-heartedly as he answered:

  “None. If there were, I am convinced that it would be good. I have been allowed to play out my titanic struggle against Sir Everard without interruption.”

  “I suppose the next important question to whether it is to be peace or war is, how did you play?” the Princess asked.

  “I surpassed myself,” her husband replied, “but of course no ordinary human golfer is of any account against Dominey. He plays far too well for any self-respecting Ger—”

  The Ambassador broke off and paused while he helped himself to mayonnaise.

  “For any self-respecting German to play against,” he concluded.

  Luncheon was a very pleasant meal, and a good many people noticed the vivacity of the beautiful Lady Dominey whose picture was beginning to appear in the illustrated papers. Afterwards they drank coffee and sipped liqueurs under a great elm tree on the lawn, listening to the music and congratulating themselves upon having made their escape from London. In the ever-shifting panorama of gaily-dressed women and flannel-clad men, the monotony of which was varied here and there by the passing of a diplomatist or a Frenchman, scrupulously attired in morning clothes, were many familiar faces. Caroline and a little group of friends waved to them from the terrace. Eddy Pelham, in immaculate white, and a long tennis coat with dark blue edgings, paused to speak to them on his way to the courts.

  “How is the motor business, Eddy?” Dominey asked, with a twinkle in his eyes.

  “So, so! I’m not quite so keen as I was. To tell you the truth,” the young man confided, glancing around and lowering his voice so that no one should share the momentous information, “I was lucky enough to pick up a small share in Jere Moore’s racing stable at Newmarket, the other day. I fancy I know a little more about gee-gees than I do about the inside of motors, what?”

  “I should think very possibly that you are right,” Dominey assented, as the young man passed on with a farewell salute.

  Terniloff looked after him curiously.

  “It is the type of young man, that,” he declared, “which we cannot understand. What would happen to him, in the event of a war?—In the event of his being called upon, say, either to fight or do some work of national importance for his country?”

  “I expect he would do it,” Dominey replied. “He would do it pluckily, whole-heartedly and badly. He is a type of the upper-class young Englishman, over-sanguine and entirely undisciplined. They expect, and their country expects for them, that in the case of emergency pluck would t
ake the place of training.”

  The Right Honourable Gerald Watson stood upon the steps talking to the wife of the Italian Ambassador. She left him presently, and he came strolling down the lawn with his hands behind his back and his eyes seeming to see out past the golf links.

  “There goes a man,” Terniloff murmured, “whom lately I have found changed. When I first came here he met me quite openly. I believe, even now, he is sincerely desirous of peace and amicable relations between our two countries, and yet something has fallen between us. I cannot tell what it is. I cannot tell even of what nature it is, but I have an instinct for people’s attitude towards me, and the English are the worst race in the world at hiding their feelings. Has Mr. Watson, I wonder, come under the spell of your connection, the Duke of Worcester? He seemed so friendly with both of us down in Norfolk.”

  Their womenkind left them at that moment to talk to some acquaintances seated a short distance away. Mr. Watson, passing within a few yards of them, was brought to a standstill by Dominey’s greeting. They talked for a moment or two upon idle subjects.

  “Your news, I trust, continues favourable?” the Ambassador remarked, observing the etiquette which required him to be the first to leave the realms of ordinary conversation.

  “It is a little negative in quality,” the other answered, after a moment’s hesitation. “I am summoned to Downing Street again at six o’clock.”

  “I have already confided the result of my morning despatches to the Prime Minister,” Terniloff observed.

  “I went through them before I came down here,” was the somewhat doubtful reply.

  “You will have appreciated, I hope, their genuinely pacific tone?” Terniloff asked anxiously.

  His interlocutor bowed and then drew himself up. It was obvious that the strain of the last few days was telling upon him. There were lines about his mouth, and his eyes spoke of sleepless nights.

  “Words are idle things to deal with at a time like this,” he said. “One thing, however, I will venture to say to you, Prince, here and under these circumstances. There will be no war unless it be the will of your country.”