“Faithless fellow!” Lutchester murmured. “Nothing like an Englishman, after all, for absolute fidelity.”
“Do you really think so?” Pamela inquired anxiously. “Do you think I should be safe in trusting my heart and future to an Englishman?”
“To one particular Englishman, yes!” was the firm reply. “I was rather hoping you might have made up your mind.”
“Too many things to think about,” she laughed. “How long are you going to stay in Washington?”
“A few hours or days or weeks—until I have finished the work that brought me here.”
“And what exactly is that?”
“You ask me lightly,” he replied, “but, if you are willing, I have decided to take you into my confidence. Our friend Nikasti will be here to-morrow. He was to have sailed for Japan yesterday, but he has postponed his voyage for a few days. Do you know much about the Japanese, Miss Pamela?”
“Very little,” she acknowledged.
“Well, I will tell you one thing. They are not very good at forgiving. There was only one way I could deal with Nikasti in New York, and it was a brutal way. I have seen him twice since. He wouldn’t look me in the eyes. I know what that means. He hates me. In a sense I don’t believe he would allow that to interfere in any way with his mission. In another sense it would. The Allies, above all things, have need of Japan. We want Japan and America to be friends. We don’t want Germany butting in between the two. Baron Yung is a very clever man, but he is even more impenetrable than his countrymen generally are. Our people here admit that they find it difficult to progress with him very far. They believe that secretly he is in sympathy with Nikasti’s reports— but you don’t know about those, I suppose?”
“I don’t think I do,” she admitted.
“Nikasti was sent to England some years ago to report upon us as a country. Japan at that time was meditating an alliance with one of the great European Powers. Obviously it must be Germany or England. Nikasti travelled all through England, studied our social life, measured our weaknesses; did the same through Germany, returned to Japan, and gave his vote in favour of Germany. I have even seen a copy of his report. He laid great stress upon the absolute devotion to sport of our young men, and the entire absence of any patriotic sentiment or any means of national defence. Well, as you know, for various reasons his counsels were over-ridden, and Japan chose the British alliance. That was entirely the fault of imperfect German diplomacy. At a time like this, though, I cannot help thinking that some elements of his former distrust still remain in Nikasti’s mind, and I have an idea that Baron Yung is, to a certain extent, a sympathiser. I’ve got to get at the bottom of this before I leave the States. If I need your help, will you give it me?”
“If I can,” she promised.
They saw Mrs. Hastings’ figure on the terrace, waving, and Pamela rose reluctantly to her feet.
“I don’t suppose,” Lutchester continued, as they strolled across the lawn, “that you have very much influence with your uncle, or that he would listen very much to anything that you have to say, but if he is really in earnest about this thing, he is going to play a terribly dangerous game. As things are at present, he has a very pleasant and responsible position as the supporter and friend of very able men. With regard to this new movement, he may find the whole ground crumble away beneath his feet. Fischer is playing the game of a madman. It isn’t only political defeat that might come to him, but disgrace— even dishonour.”
“You frighten me,” Pamela confessed gravely.
Lutchester sighed.
“Your uncle,” he went on, “is one of those thoroughly conceited, egotistical men who will probably listen to no one. You see, I have found out a little about him already. But they tell me that her social position means a great deal to your aunt. Neither her birth nor her friends could save her if Fischer drags your uncle to his chariot wheels.”
“Do you think, perhaps, that you underestimate Mr. Fischer’s position over here?” she asked thoughtfully.
“I don’t think I do,” he replied, “but here is something which you have scarcely appreciated. Fischer has had the effrontery to link himself up with a little crowd of Germans all through the States, who are making organised attempts to destroy the factories where ammunitions are being made for the Allies. That sort of thing, you know, would bring any one, however, distantly connected with it, to Sing Sing…. One moment,” he added quickly, as Mrs. Hastings stepped forward to meet them; “the reception at the British Embassy to-night?”
“The others are going,” she said. “My aunt didn’t feel she was sufficiently—”
“We sent you a card round especially this afternoon,” Lutchester interrupted. “You’ll come?”
“How nice of you! Of course I will,” she promised.
CHAPTER XXXIV
Table of Contents
“Small affair, this,” Downing observed, as he piloted Lutchester through the stately reception rooms of the Embassy. “You see, we are all living a sort of touchy life here, nowadays. We try to be civil to any of the German or Austrian lot when we meet, but of course they don’t come to our functions. And every now and then some of those plaguey neutrals get the needle and they don’t come, so we never know quite where we are, Guadopolis has been avoiding us lately, and I hear he was seen out at the Lakewood Country Club with Count Reszka, the Rumanian Minister, a few days ago. Gave the Chief quite a little flurry, that did.”
“There’s an idea over in London,” Lutchester remarked, “that a good deal of the war is being shaped in Washington nowadays.”
“That is the Chief’s notion,” Downing assented. “I know he’s pining to talk to you, so we’ll go and do the dutiful.”
Lutchester was welcomed as an old friend by both the Ambassador and his wife. The former drew him to a divan from which he could watch the entrance to the rooms, and sat by his side.
“I am glad they sent you out, Lutchester,” he said earnestly. “If ever a country needed watching by a man with intelligence and experience, this one does to-day.”
“Do you happen to know that fellow Oscar Fischer?” Lutchester asked.
“I do, and I consider him one of the most dangerous people in the States for us,” the Ambassador declared. “He has a great following, huge wealth, and, although he is not a man of culture, he doesn’t go about his job in that bull-headed way that most of them do.”
“He’s trying things on with Japan,” Lutchester observed. “I think I shall manage to checkmate him there all right. But there’s another scheme afloat that I don’t follow so closely. You know Senator Hastings, I suppose?”
The Ambassador nodded.
“Senator Theodore Hastings,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Yes, he’s rather a dark horse. He is supposed to be the President’s bosom friend, but I hear whispers that he’d give his soul for a nomination, adopt any cause or fight any one’s battle.”
“That’s my own idea of him,” Lutchester replied, “and I think you will find him in the field with a pretty definite platform before long.”
“You think he’s mixed up with Fischer?” the Ambassador inquired.
“I’m sure he is,” Lutchester assented. “Not only that, but they have something up their sleeve. I think I can guess what it is, but I’m not sure. How have things seemed to you here lately?”
“To tell you the truth, I haven’t liked the look of them,” the Ambassador confided. “There’s something afoot, and I can’t be sure what it is. Look at the crowd to-night. Of course, all the Americans are here, but the diplomatic attendance has never been so thin. The Rumanian Minister and his wife, the Italian, the Spanish, and the Swedish representatives are all absent. I have just heard, too, that Baron von Schwerin is giving a dinner-party.”
Lutchester looked thoughtfully at the little stream of people. The Ambassador left him for a few moments to welcome some late comers. He returned presently and resumed his seat by Lutchester’s side.
“Of course,”
he continued, lowering his voice, “all formal communications between us and the enemy Embassies have ceased, but it has come to be an understood thing, to avoid embarrassments to our mutual friends, that we do not hold functions on the same day. I heard that Von Schwerin was giving this dinner-party, so I sent round this morning to inquire. The reply was that it was entirely a private one. One of our youngsters brought us in a list of the guests a short time ago. I see Hastings is one of them, and Fischer, and Rumania and Greece will be represented. Now Hastings was to have been here, and as a rule the neutrals are very punctilious.”
“I suppose the way that naval affair was represented didn’t do us any good,” Lutchester observed.
“It did us harm, without a doubt,” was the lugubrious admission. “Still, fortunately, these people over here are clever enough to understand our idiosyncrasies. I honestly think we’d rather whine about a defeat than glory in a victory.”
“Diplomatically, too,” Lutchester remarked thoughtfully, “I should have said that things seemed all right here. The President comes in for a great deal of abuse in some countries. Personally, I think he has been wonderful.”
The Ambassador nodded.
“You and I both know, Lutchester,” he said, “that the last thing we want is to find America dragged into this war. Such a happening would be nothing more nor less than a catastrophe in itself, to say nothing of the internal dissensions here. On the other hand, as things are now, Washington is becoming a perfect arena for diplomatic chicanery, and I have just an instinct—I can’t define it in any way—which leads me to believe that some fresh trouble has started within the last twenty-four hours.”
Lady Ridlingshawe motioned to her husband with her fan, and he rose at once to his feet.
“I must leave you to look after yourself for a time, Lutchester,” he concluded. “You’ll find plenty of people here you know. Don’t go until you’ve seen me again.”
Lutchester wandered off in search of Pamela. He found her with Mrs. Hastings, surrounded by a little crowd of acquaintances. Pamela waved her fan, and they made way for him.
“Mr. Lutchester, I have been looking everywhere for you!” she exclaimed. “What a secretive person you are! Why couldn’t you tell me that Lady Ridlingshawe was your cousin? I want you to take me to her, please, I met her sister out in Nice.”
She laid her fingers upon his arm, and they passed out of the little circle.
“All bluff, of course,” she murmured. “Find the quietest place you can. I want to talk to you.”
They wandered out on to a balcony where some of the younger people were taking ices. She leaned over the wooden rail.
“Listen,” she said, “I adore this atmosphere, and I am perfectly certain there is something going on—something exciting, I mean. You know that the Baron von Schwerin has a dinner-party?”
“I know that,” he assented.
“Uncle Theodore is going with Mr. Fischer. He was invited at the last moment, and I understand that his presence was specially requested.”
Lutchester stood for a short time in an absorbed and sombre silence. In the deep blue twilight his face seemed to have fallen into sterner lines. Without a doubt he was disturbed. Pamela looked at him anxiously.
“Is anything the matter?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Nothing definite, only for the last few hours I have felt that things here are reaching a crisis. There is something going on around us, something which seems to fill Fischer and his friends with confidence, something which I don’t quite understand, and which it is my business to understand. That is really what is worrying me.”
She nodded sympathetically and glanced around for a moment.
“Let me tell you something,” she whispered. “This evening my uncle came into my room just before dinner. There is a little safe built in the wall for jewellery. He begged for the loan of it. His library safe, he said, was out of order. I couldn’t see what he put in, but when he had closed the door he stood looking at it for a moment curiously. I made some jesting remark about its being a treasure chest, but he answered me seriously. ‘You are going to sleep to-night, Pamela,’ he said, ‘within a few yards of a dozen or so of written words which will change the world’s history.’”
Lutchester was listening intently. There was a prolonged pause.
“Well?” he asked, at last.
She glanced at the little Yale key which hung from her bracelet.
“Nothing! I was just wondering how I should be able to sleep through the night without opening the safe.”
“But surely your uncle didn’t give you the key!”
She shook her head.
“I don’t suppose he knows I have such a thing,” she replied. “He has a master-key himself to all the safes, which he used. This is one the housekeeper gave me as soon as I arrived.”
Lutchester looked out into the darkness.
“Tell me,” he inquired, “is that your house—the next one to this?”
“That’s the old Hastings’ house,” she assented. “They are all family mansions along here.”
“It looks an easy place to burgle,” he remarked.
She laughed quietly.
“I should think it would be,” she admitted. “There are any quantity of downstair windows. We don’t have burglaries in Washington, though —certainly not this side of the city.”
A little bevy of young people had found their way into the gardens. Lutchester waited until they had passed out of earshot before he spoke again.
“I have reason to believe,” he continued, “that in the course of their negotiations Fischer has deposited with your uncle a certain autograph letter, of which we have already spoken, making definite proposals to America if she will change her attitude on the neutrality question.”
“The written words,” Pamela murmured.
Lutchester’s hand suddenly closed upon her wrist. She was surprised to find his fingers so cold, yet marvellously tenacious.
“You are going to lose that key and I am going to find it,” he said, quietly. “I am sorry—but you must.”
“I am going to do nothing of the sort,” Pamela objected.
His fingers remained like a cold vice upon her wrist. She made no effort to draw it away.
“Listen,” he said; “do you believe that the Hastings-cum-Fischer party is going to be the best thing that could happen for America?”
“I certainly do not,” she admitted.
“Then do as I beg. Let me take that key from your bracelet. You shall have no other responsibility.”
“And what are you going to do with it?”
“You must leave that to me,” he answered. “I will tell you as much as I can. I stopped Nikasti sailing for Japan, but I made a mortal enemy of him at the same time. He has come to Washington to consult with his Ambassador. They are together tonight. It is my mission to convince them of Germany’s duplicity.”
“I see…. And you think that these written words—?”
“Give the key to me,” he begged, “and ask no questions.”
She shook her head.
“I should object most strongly to nocturnal disturbers of my slumbers!”
It seemed to her that his frame had become tenser, his tone harder. The grip of his fingers was still upon her wrist.
“Even your objection,” he said, “might not relieve you of the possibility of their advent.”
“Don’t be silly,” she answered, “and, above all, don’t try to threaten me. If you want my help—”
She looked steadfastly across at the looming outline of the Hastings’ house.
“I do want your help,” he assured her.
“How long should you require the letter for?”
“One hour,” he replied.
She led him down some steps on to the smooth lawns which encircled the house. They passed in and out of some gigantic shrubs until at last they came to a paling. She felt along it for a few yards.
“There is a gate there,” she told him. “Can you do anything with it?”
It was fastened by an old lock. He lifted it off its hinges, and they both passed through.
“Keep behind the shrubs as much as you can,” she whispered. “There is a way into the house from the verandah here.”
They reached at last the shadow of the building. She paused.
“Wait here for me,” she continued. “I would rather enter the house without being seen, if I can, but it doesn’t really matter. I can make some excuse for coming back. Don’t move from where you are.”
She glided away from him and disappeared. Lutchester waited, standing well back in the shadow of the shrubs. From the Embassy came all the time the sound of music, occasionally even the murmur of voices; from the dark house in front of him, nothing. Suddenly he heard what seemed to be the opening of a window, and then soft footsteps. Pamela appeared round the corner of the building, a white, spectral figure against that background of deep blue darkness. She came on tiptoe, running down the steps and holding her skirts with both hands.
“Not a soul has seen me,” she whispered. “Take this quickly.”
She thrust an envelope into his hands, and something hard with it.
“That’s Uncle Theodore’s seal,” she explained. “He sealed up the envelope when he put it in there. Now come back quickly to the Embassy. You must please hurry with what you want to do. If I have left when you return, you must come back to exactly this place. That window”—she pointed upwards—“will be wide open. You must throw a pine cone or a pebble through it. I shall be waiting.”
“I understand,” he assured her.
They retraced their steps. Once more they drew near to the Embassy. The night had grown warmer and more windows had been opened. They reached the verandah. She touched his hand for a moment.
“Well,” she said, “I don’t know whether I have been wise or not. Try and be back in less than an hour, if you can. I am going in alone.”
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