The Vanished Messenger

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER VII

  The two men who were supping together in the grillroom at the Cafe Milanwere talking with a seriousness which seemed a little out of keepingwith the rose-shaded lamps and the swaying music of the band from thedistant restaurant. Their conversation had started some hours before inthe club smoking-room and had continued intermittently throughout theevening. It had received a further stimulus when Richard Hamel, who hadbought an Evening Standard on their way from the theatre a few minutesago, came across a certain paragraph in it which he read aloud.

  "Hanged if I understand things over here, nowadays, Reggie!" hedeclared, laying the paper down. "Here's another Englishman imprisonedin Germany--this time at a place no one ever heard of before. I won'ttry to pronounce it. What does it all mean? It's all very well to shrugyour shoulders, but when there are eighteen arrests within one week on acharge of espionage, there must be something up."

  For the first time Reginald Kinsley seemed inclined to discuss thesubject seriously. He drew the paper towards him and read the littleparagraph, word by word. Then he gave some further order to an attentivemaitre d'hotel and glanced around to be sure that they were notoverheard.

  "Look here, Dick, old chap," he said, "you are just back from abroadand you are not quite in the hang of things yet. Let me ask you a plainquestion. What do you think of us all?"

  "Think of you?" Hamel repeated, a little doubtfully. "Do you meanpersonally?"

  "Take it any way you like," Kinsley replied. "Look at me. Nine yearsago we played cricket in the same eleven. I don't look much like cricketnow, do I?"

  Hamel looked at his companion thoughtfully. For a man who was doubtlessstill young, Kinsley had certainly an aged appearance. The hair abouthis temples was grey; there were lines about his mouth and forehead. Hehad the air of one who lived in an atmosphere of anxiety.

  "To me," Hamel declared frankly, "you look worried. If I hadn't heard somuch of the success of your political career and all the rest of it, Ishould have thought that things were going badly with you."

  "They've gone well enough with me personally," Kinsley admitted, "butI'm only one of many. Politics isn't the game it was. The Foreign Officeespecially is ageing its men fast these few years. We've been goingthrough hell, Hamel, and we are up against it now, hard up against it."

  The slight smile passed from the lips of Hamel's sunburnt, good-naturedface. He himself seemed to become infected with something of hiscompanion's anxiety.

  "There's nothing seriously wrong, is there, Reggie?" he asked.

  "Dick," said Kinsley, with a sigh, "I am afraid there is. It's veryseldom I talk as plainly as this to any one but you are just the personone can unburden oneself to a little; and to tell you the truth, it'srather a relief. As you say, these eighteen arrests in one week do meansomething. Half of the Englishmen who have been arrested are, to mycertain knowledge, connected with our Secret Service, and they havebeen arrested, in many cases, where there are no fortifications worthspeaking of within fifty miles, on one pretext or another. The fact ofthe matter is that things are going on in Germany, just at the presentmoment, the knowledge of which is of vital interest to us."

  "Then these arrests," Hamel remarked, "are really bona fide?"

  "Without a doubt," his companion agreed. "I only wonder there have notbeen more. I am telling you what is a pretty open secret when I tellyou that there is a conference due to be held this week at some place oranother on the continent--I don't know where, myself--which will have avery important bearing upon our future. We know just as much as that andnot much more."

  "A conference between whom?" Hamel asked.

  Kinsley dropped his voice almost to a whisper.

  "We know," he replied, "that a very great man from Russia, a greaterstill from France, a minister from Austria, a statesman from Italy, andan envoy from Japan, have been invited to meet a German minister whosename I will not mention, even to you. The subject of their proposeddiscussion has never been breathed. One can only suspect. When I tellyou that no one from this country was invited to the conference, I thinkyou will be able, broadly speaking, to divine its purpose. The cloudshave been gathering for a good many years, and we have only buried ourheads a little deeper in the sands. We have had our chances and wilfullychucked them away. National Service or three more army corps four yearsago would have brought us an alliance which would have meant absolutesafety for twenty-one years. You know what happened. We have livedthrough many rumours and escaped, more narrowly than most peoplerealise, a great many dangers, but there is every indication this timethat the end is really coming."

  "And what will the end be?" Hamel enquired eagerly.

  Kinsley shrugged his shoulders and paused while their glasses werefilled with wine.

  "It will be in the nature of a diplomatic coup," he said presently. "Ofthat much I feel sure. England will be forced into such a position thatshe will have no alternative left but to declare war. That, of course,will be the end of us. With our ridiculously small army and absolutelyno sane scheme for home defence, we shall lose all that we have worthfighting for--our colonies--without being able to strike a blow. Thething is so ridiculously obvious. It has been admitted time after timeby every sea lord and every commander-in-chief. We have listened to it,and that's all. Our fleet is needed under present conditions to protectour own shores. There isn't a single battleship which could be safelyspared. Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Egypt, India, must take careof themselves. I wonder when a nation of the world ever played fast andloose with great possessions as we have done!"

  "This is a nice sort of thing to hear almost one's first night inEngland," Hamel remarked a little gloomily. "Tell me some more aboutthis conference. Are you sure that your information is reliable?"

  "Our information is miserably scanty," Kinsley admitted. "Curiouslyenough, the man who must know most about the whole thing is anEnglishman, one of the most curious mortals in the British Empire. A spyof his succeeded in learning more than any of our people, and withoutbeing arrested, too."

  "And who is this singular person?" Hamel asked.

  "A man of whom you, I suppose, never heard," Kinsley replied. "His nameis Fentolin--Miles Fentolin--and he lives somewhere down in Norfolk. Heis one of the strangest characters that ever lived, stranger than anyeffort of fiction I ever met with. He was in the Foreign Office once,and every one was predicting for him a brilliant career. Then therewas an accident--let me see, it must have been some six or seven yearsago--and he had to have both his legs amputated. No one knows exactlyhow the accident happened, and there was always a certain amount ofmystery connected with it. Since then he has buried himself in thecountry. I don't think, in fact, that he ever moves outside his place;but somehow or other he has managed to keep in touch with all thepolitical movements of the day."

  "Fentolin," Hamel repeated softly to himself. "Tell me, whereabouts doeshe live?"

  "Quite a wonderful place in Norfolk, I believe, somewhere near the sea.I've forgotten the name, for the moment. He has had wireless telegraphyinstalled; he has a telegraph office in the house, half-a-dozen privatewires, and they say that he spends an immense amount of money keeping intouch with foreign politics. His excuse is that he speculates largely,as I dare say he does; but just lately," Kinsley went on more slowly,"he has been an object of anxiety to all of us. It was he who sent thefirst agent out to Germany, to try and discover at least where thisconference was to be held. His man returned in safety, and he has oneover there now who has not been arrested. We seem to have lost nearlyall of ours."

  "Do you mean to say that this man Fentolin actually possessesinformation which the Government hasn't as to the intentions of foreignPowers?" Hamel asked.

  Kinsley nodded. There was a slight flush upon his pallid cheeks.

  "He not only has it, but he doesn't mean to part with it. A few hundredyears ago, when the rulers of this country were men with blood in theirveins, he'd have been given just one chance to tell all he knew, andhung as a traitor if he hesitated. W
e don't do that sort of thingnowadays. We rather go in for preserving traitors. We permit them evenin our own House of Commons. However, I don't want to depress you andplay the alarmist so soon after your return to London. I dare say theold country'll muddle along through our time."

  "Don't be foolish," Hamel begged. "There's no other subject ofconversation could interest me half as much. Have you formed any ideayourself as to the nature of this conference?"

  "We all have an idea," Kinsley replied grimly; "India for Russia; alarge slice of China for Japan, with probably Australia thrown in;Alsace-Lorraine for France's neutrality. There's bribery for you. What'sto become of poor England then? Our friends are only human, after all,and it's merely a question of handing over to them sufficient spoil.They must consider themselves first: that's the first duty of theirpoliticians towards their country."

  "You mean to say," Hamel asked, "that you seriously believe that aconference is on the point of being held at which France and Russia areto be invited to consider suggestions like this?"

  "I am afraid there's no doubt about it," Kinsley declared. "Theirambassadors in London profess to know nothing. That, of course, is theirreasonable attitude, but there's no doubt whatever that the conferencehas been planned. I should say that to-night we are nearer war, if wecan summon enough spirit to fight, than we have been since Fashoda."

  "Queer if I have returned just in time for the scrap," Hamel remarkedthoughtfully. "I was in the Militia once, so I expect I can get a job,if there's any fighting."

  "I can get you a better job than fighting--one you can start onto-morrow, too," Kinsley announced abruptly, "that is if you really wantto help?"

  "Of course I do," Hamel insisted. "I'm on for anything."

  "You say that you are entirely your own master for the next six months?"

  "Or as much longer as I like," Hamel assented. "No plans at all, exceptthat I might drift round to the Norfolk coast and look up some ofthe places where the governor used to paint. There's a queer littlehouse--St. David's Tower, I believe they call it--which really belongsto me. It was given to my father, or rather he bought it, from a manwho I think must have been some relative of your friend. I feel sure thename was Fentolin."

  Reginald Kinsley set down his wine-glass.

  "Is your St. David's Tower anywhere near a place called Salthouse?" heasked reflectively.

  "That's the name of the village," Hamel admitted. "My father used tospend quite a lot of time in those parts, and painted at least a dozenpictures down there."

  "This is a coincidence," Reginald Kinsley declared, lighting acigarette. "I think, if I were you, Dick, I'd go down and claim myproperty."

  "Tired of me already?" Hamel asked, smiling.

  Reginald Kinsley knocked the ash from his cigarette.

  "It isn't that. The fact is, that job I was speaking to you about wassimply this. We want some one to go down to Salthouse--not exactly as aspy, you know, but some one who has his wits about him. We are all of usvery curious about this man Fentolin. There are no end of rumours whichI won't mention to you, for they might only put you off the scent. Butthe man seems to be always intriguing. It wouldn't matter so much if hewere our friend, or if he were simply a financier, but to tell you thetruth, we have cause to suspect him."

  "But he's an Englishman, surely?" Hamel asked. "The Fentolin who was myfather's friend was just a very wealthy Norfolk squire--one of the best,from all I have heard."

  "Miles Fentolin is an Englishman," Kinsley admitted. "It is true, too,that he comes of a very ancient Norfolk family. It doesn't do, however,to build too much upon that. From all I can learn of him, he is a sortof Puck, a professional mischief-maker. I don't suppose there's anythingan outsider could find out which would be really useful to us, butall the same, if I had the time, I should certainly go down to Norfolkmyself."

  The conversation drifted away for a while. Mutual acquaintances entered,there were several introductions, and it was not until the two foundthemselves together in Kinsley's rooms for a few minutes before partingthat they were alone again. Hamel returned then once more to thesubject.

  "Reggie," he said, "if you think it would be of the slightest use, I'llgo down to Salthouse to-morrow. I am rather keen on going there, anyway.I am absolutely fed up with life here already."

  "It's just what I want you to do," Kinsley said. "I am afraid Fentolinis a little too clever for you to get on the right side of him, but ifyou could only get an idea as to what his game is down there, it wouldbe a great help. You see, the fellow can't have gone into all this sortof thing blindfold. We've lost several very useful agents abroad andtwo from New York who've gone into his pay. There must be a method init somewhere. If it really ends with his financial operations--why,all right. That's very likely what it'll come to, but we should like toknow. The merest hint would be useful."

  "I'll do my best," Hamel promised. "In any case, it will be just the fewdays' holiday I was looking forward to."

  Kinsley helped himself to whisky and soda and turned towards his friend.

  "Here's luck to you, Dick! Take care of yourself. All sorts of thingsmay happen, you know. Old man Fentolin may take a fancy to you and tellyou secrets that any statesman in Europe would be glad to hear. He maytell you why this conference is being held and what the result will be.You may be the first to hear of our coming fall. Well, here's to you,anyway! Drop me a line, if you've anything to report."

  "Cheero!" Hamel answered, as he set down his empty tumbler. "Astonishinghow keen I feel about this little adventure. I'm perfectly sick of thehumdrum life I have been leading the last week, and you do sort of takeone back to the Arabian Nights, you know, Reggie. I am never quite surewhether to take you seriously or not."

  Kinsley smiled as he held his friend's hand for a moment.

  "Dick," he said earnestly, "if only you'd believe it, the adventures inthe Arabian Nights were as nothing compared with the present-daydrama of foreign politics. You see, we've learned to conceal thingsnowadays--to smooth them over, to play the part of ordinary citizens tothe world while we tug at the underhand levers in our secret moments.Good night! Good luck!"