“Ah, it is really you!” she exclaimed. “Welcome, dear friend! For days I have wondered what it was in this place which one missed all the time. Now I know.”
Selingman took the little outstretched hands and raised them to his lips.
“Dear lady,” he assured her, “you repay me in one moment for all the weariness of my exile.”
She turned towards her companion.
“Captain Baring,” she begged, “please ring the bell. Mr. Selingman and I always drink a toast together the moment he first arrives to pay us one of his too rare visits. Thank you! You know Captain Baring, don’t you, Mr. Selingman? This is another friend of mine whom I think that you have not met—Mr. Francis Norgate, Mr. Selingman. Mr. Norgate has just arrived from Berlin, too.”
For a single moment the newcomer seemed to lose his Cheeryble-like expression. The glance which he flashed upon Norgate contained other elements besides those of polite pleasure. He was himself again, however, almost instantly. He grasped his new acquaintance by the hand.
“Mr. Norgate and I are already old friends,” he insisted. “We occupied the same coupe coming from Berlin and drank a bottle of wine together in the buffet.”
Mrs. Benedek threw back her head and laughed, a familiar gesture which her enemies declared was in some way associated with the dazzling whiteness of her teeth.
“And now,” she exclaimed, “you find that you belong to the same bridge club. What a coincidence!”
“It is rather surprising, I must admit,” Norgate assented. “Mr. Selingman and I discussed many things last night, but we did not speak of bridge. In fact, from the tone of our conversation, I should have imagined that cards were an amusement which scarcely entered into Mr. Selingman’s scheme of life.”
“One must have one’s distractions,” Selingman protested. “I confess that auction bridge, as it is played over here, is the one game in the world which attracts me.”
“But how about the crockery?” Norgate asked. “Doesn’t that come first?”
“First, beyond a doubt,” Selingman agreed heartily. “Always, though, my plan of campaign is the same. On the day of my arrival here, I take things easily. I spend an hour or so at the office in the morning, and the afternoon I take holiday. After that I settle down for one week’s hard work. London—your great London—takes always first place with me. In the mornings I see my agents and my customers. Perhaps I lunch with one of them. At four o’clock I close my desk, and crockery does not exist for me any longer. I get into a taxi, and I come here. My first game of bridge is a treat to which I look forward eagerly. See, there are three of us and several sitting out. Let us make another table. So!”
They found a fourth without difficulty and took possession of a table at the far end of the room. Selingman, with a huge cigar in his mouth, played well and had every appearance of thoroughly enjoying the game. Towards the end of their third rubber, Mrs. Benedek, who was dummy, leaned across towards Norgate.
“After all, perhaps you are better off here,” she murmured in German. “There is nothing like this in Berlin.”
“One is at least nearer the things one cherishes,” Norgate quoted in the same language.
Selingman was playing the hand and held between his fingers a card already drawn to play. For a moment, it was suspended in the air. He looked towards Norgate, and there was a new quality in his piercing gaze, an instant return in his expression of the shadow which had swept the broad good-humour from his face on his first appearance. The change came and went like a flash. He finished playing the hand and scored his points before he spoke. Then he turned to Norgate.
“Your gift of acquiring languages in a short space of time is most extraordinary, my young friend! Since yesterday you have become able to speak German, eh? Prodigious!”
Norgate smiled without embarrassment. The moment was a critical one, portentous to an extent which no one at that table could possibly have realised.
“I am afraid,” he confessed, “that when I found that I had a fellow traveller in my coupe I felt most ungracious and unsociable. I was in a thoroughly bad temper and indisposed for conversation. The simplest way to escape from it seemed to be to plead ignorance of any language save my own.”
Selingman chuckled audibly. The cloud had passed from his face. To all appearance that momentary suspicion had been strangled.
“So you found me a bore!” he observed. “Then I must admit that your manners were good, for when you found that I spoke English and that you could not escape conversation, you allowed me to talk on about my business, and you showed few signs of weariness. You should be a diplomatist, Mr. Norgate.”
“Mr. Norgate is, or rather he was,” Mrs. Paston Benedek remarked. “He has just left the Embassy at Berlin.”
Selingman leaned back in his chair and thrust both hands into his trousers pockets. He indulged in a few German expletives, bombastic and thunderous, which relieved him so much that he was able to conclude his speech in English.
“I am the densest blockhead in all Europe!” he announced emphatically. “If I had realised your identity, I would willingly have left you alone. No wonder you were feeling indisposed for idle conversation! Mr. Francis Norgate, eh? A little affair at the Cafe de Berlin with a lady and a hot-headed young princeling. Well, well! Young sir, you have become more to me than an ordinary acquaintance. If I had known the cause of your ill-humour, I would certainly have left you alone, but I would have shaken you first by the hand.”
The fourth at the table, who was an elderly lady of somewhat austere appearance, produced a small black cigar from what seemed to be a harmless-looking reticule which she was carrying, and lit it. Selingman stared at her with his mouth open.
“Is this a bridge-table or is it not?” she enquired severely. “These little personal reminiscences are very interesting among yourselves, I dare say, but I cut in here with the idea of playing bridge.”
Selingman was the first to recover his manners, although his eyes seemed still fascinated by the cigar.
“We owe you apologies, madam,” he acknowledged. “Permit me to cut.”
The rubber progressed and finished in comparative silence. At its conclusion, Selingman glanced at the clock. It was half-past seven.
“I am hungry,” he announced.
Mrs. Benedek laughed at him. “Hungry at half-past seven! Barbarian!”
“I lunched at half-past twelve,” he protested. “I ate less than usual, too. I did not even leave my office, I was so anxious to finish what was necessary and to find myself here.”
Mrs. Benedek played with the cards a moment and then rose to her feet with a little grimace.
“Well, I suppose I shall have to give in,” she sighed. “I am taking it for granted, you see, that you are expecting me to dine with you.”
“My dear lady,” Selingman declared emphatically, “if you were to break through our time-honoured custom and deny me the joy of your company on my first evening in London, I think that I should send another to look after my business in this country, and retire myself to the seclusion of my little country home near Potsdam. The inducements of managing one’s own affairs in this country, Mr. Norgate,” he added, “are, as you may imagine, manifold and magnetic.”
“We will not grudge them to you so long as you don’t come too often,” Norgate remarked, as he bade them good night. “The man who monopolised Mrs. Benedek would soon make himself unpopular here.”
CHAPTER IX
Table of Contents
Norgate had chosen, for many reasons, to return to London as a visitor. His somewhat luxurious rooms in Albemarle Street were still locked up. He had taken a small flat in the Milan Court, solely for the purpose of avoiding immediate association with his friends and relatives. His whole outlook upon life was confused and disturbed. Until he received a definite pronouncement from the head-quarters of officialdom, he felt himself unable to settle down to any of the ordinary functions of life. And behind all this, another and a more power
ful sentiment possessed him. He had left Berlin without seeing or hearing anything further from Anna von Haase. No word had come from her, nor any message. And now that it was too late, he began to feel that he had made a mistake. It seemed to him that he had visited upon her, in some indirect way, the misfortune which had befallen him. It was scarcely her fault that she had been the object of attentions which nearly every one agreed were unwelcome, from this young princeling. Norgate told himself, as he changed his clothes that evening, that his behaviour had been the behaviour of a jealous school-boy. Then an inspiration seized him. Half dressed as he was, he sat down at the writing-table and wrote to her. He wrote rapidly, and when he had finished, he sealed and addressed the envelope without glancing once more at its contents. The letter was stamped and posted within a few minutes, but somehow or other it seemed to have made a difference. His depression was no longer so complete. He looked forward to his lonely dinner, at one of the smaller clubs to which he belonged, with less aversion.
“Do you know where any of my people are. Hardy?” he asked his servant.
“In Scotland, I believe, sir,” the man replied. “I called round this afternoon, although I was careful not to mention the fact that you were in town. The house is practically in the hands of caretakers.”
“Try to keep out of the way as much as you can. Hardy,” Norgate enjoined. “For a few days, at any rate, I should like no one to know that I am in town.”
“Very good, sir,” the man replied. “Might I venture to enquire, sir, if you are likely to be returning to Berlin?”
“I think it is very doubtful, Hardy,” Norgate observed grimly. “We are more likely to remain here for a time.”
Hardy brushed his master’s hat for a moment or two in silence.
“You will pardon my mentioning it, sir,” he said—“I imagine it is of no importance—but one of the German waiters on this floor has been going out of his way to enter into conversation with me this evening. He seemed to know your name and to know that you had just come from Germany. He hinted at some slight trouble there, sir.”
“The dickens he did!” Norgate exclaimed. “That’s rather quick work, Hardy.”
“So I thought, sir,” the man continued. “A very inquisitive individual indeed I found him. He wanted to know whether you had had any news yet as to any further appointment. He seemed to know quite well that you had been at the Foreign Office this morning.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him that I knew nothing, sir. I explained that you had not been back to lunch, and that I had not seen you since the morning. He tried to make an appointment with me to give me some dinner and take me to a music-hall to-night.”
“What did you say to that?” Norgate enquired.
“I left the matter open, sir,” the man replied. “I thought I would enquire what your wishes might be? The person evidently desires to gain some information about your movements. I thought that possibly it might be advantageous for me to tell him just what you desired.”
Norgate lit a cigarette. For the moment he was puzzled. It was true that during their journey he had mentioned to Selingman his intention of taking a flat at the Milan Court, but if this espionage were the direct outcome of that information, it was indeed a wonderful organisation which Selingman controlled.
“You have acted very discreetly, Hardy,” he said. “I think you had better tell your friend that I am expecting to leave for somewhere at a moment’s notice. For your own information,” he added, “I rather think that I shall stay here. It seems to me quite possible that we may find London, for a few weeks, just as interesting as any city in the world.”
“I am very glad to hear you say so, sir,” the man murmured. “Shall I fetch your overcoat?”
The telephone bell suddenly interrupted them. Hardy took up the receiver and listened for a moment.
“Mr. Hebblethwaite would like to speak to you, sir,” he announced.
Norgate hurried to the telephone. A cheery voice greeted him.
“Hullo! That you, Norgate? This is Hebblethwaite. I’m just back from a few days in the country—found your note here. I want to hear all about this little matter at once. When can I see you?”
“Any time you like,” Norgate replied promptly.
“Let me see,” the voice continued, “what are you doing to-night?”
“Nothing!”
“Come straight round to the House of Commons and dine. Or no—wait a moment—we’ll go somewhere quieter. Say the club in a quarter of an hour—the Reform Club. How will that suit you?”
“I’ll be there, with pleasure,” Norgate promised.
“Righto! We’ll hear what you’ve been doing to these peppery Germans. I had a line from Leveson himself this morning. A lady in the case, I hear? Well, well! Never mind explanations now. See you in a few minutes.”
Norgate laid down the receiver. His manner, as he accepted his well-brushed hat, had lost all its depression. There was no one in the Cabinet with more influence than Hebblethwaite. He would have his chance, at any rate, and his chance at other things.
“Look here, Hardy,” he ordered, as he drew on his gloves, “spend as much time as you like with that fellow and let me know what sort of questions he asks you. Be careful not to mention the fact that I am dining with Mr. Hebblethwaite. For the rest, fence with him. I am not quite sure what it all means. If by any chance he mentions a man named Selingman, let me know. Good night!”
“Good night, sir!” the man replied.
Norgate descended into the Strand and walked briskly towards Pall Mall. The last few minutes seemed to him to be fraught with promise of a new interest in life. Yet it was not of any of these things that he was thinking as he made his way towards his destination. He was occupied most of the time in wondering how long it would be before he could hope to receive a reply from Berlin to his letter.
CHAPTER X
Table of Contents
The Right Honourable John Hebblethwaite, M.P., since he had become a Cabinet Minister and had even been mentioned as the possible candidate for supreme office, had lost a great deal of that breezy, almost boisterous effusion of manner which in his younger days had first endeared him to his constituents. He received Norgate, however, with marked and hearty cordiality, and took his arm as he led him to the little table which he had reserved in a corner of the dining-room. The friendship between the entirely self-made politician and Norgate, who was the nephew of a duke, and whose aristocratic connections were multifarious and far-reaching, was in its way a genuine one. There were times when Hebblethwaite had made use of his younger friend to further his own undoubted social ambitions. On the other hand, since he had become a power in politics, he had always been ready to return in kind such offices. The note which he had received from Norgate that day was, however, the first appeal which had ever been made to him.
“I have been away for a week-end’s golf,” Hebblethwaite explained, as they took their places at the table. “There comes a time when figures pall, and snapping away in debate seems to stick in one’s throat. I telephoned directly I got your note. Fortunately, I wasn’t doing anything this evening. We won’t play about. I know you don’t want to see me to talk about the weather, and I know something’s up, or Leveson wouldn’t have written to me, and you wouldn’t be back from Berlin. Let’s have the whole story with the soup and fish, and we’ll try and hit upon a way to put things right before we reach the liqueurs.”
“I’ve lots to say to you,” Norgate admitted simply. “I’ll begin with the personal side of it. Here’s just a brief narration of exactly what happened to me in the most fashionable restaurant of Berlin last Thursday night.”
Norgate told his story. His friend listened with the absorbed attention of a man who possesses complete powers of concentration.
“Rotten business,” he remarked, when it was finished. “I suppose you’ve told old—I mean you’ve told them the story at the Foreign Office?”
“Had it
all out this morning,” Norgate replied.
“I know exactly what our friend told you,” Mr. Hebblethwaite continued, with a gleam of humour in his eyes. “He reminded you that the first duty of a diplomat—of a young diplomat especially—is to keep on friendly terms with the governing members of the country to which he is accredited. How’s that, eh?”
“Pretty nearly word for word,” Norgate admitted. “It’s the sort of platitude I could watch framing in his mind before I was half-way through what I had to say. What they don’t seem to take sufficient account of in that museum of mummied brains and parchment tongues—forgive me, Hebblethwaite, but it isn’t your department—is that the Prince’s behaviour to me is such as no Englishman, subscribing to any code of honour, could possibly tolerate. I will admit, if you like, that the Kaiser’s attitude may render it advisable for me to be transferred from Berlin. I do not admit that I am not at once eligible for a position of similar importance in another capital.”
“No one would doubt it,” John Hebblethwaite grumbled, “except those particular fools we have to deal with. I suppose they didn’t see it in the same light.”
“They did not,” Norgate admitted.
“We’ve a tough proposition to tackle,” Hebblethwaite confessed cheerfully, “but I am with you, Norgate, and to my mind one of the pleasures of being possessed of a certain amount of power is to help one’s friends when you believe in the justice of their cause. If you leave things with me, I’ll tackle them to-morrow morning.”
“That’s awfully good of you, Hebblethwaite,” Norgate declared gratefully, “and just what I expected. We’ll leave that matter altogether just now, if we may. My own little grievance is there, and I wanted to explain exactly how it came about. Apart from that altogether, there is something far more important which I have to say to you.”
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