The Yellow Crayon

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XV

  Nevertheless, Mr. Sabin lunched with discretion, as usual, but with nolack of appetite. It chanced that they were alone. Lord Camperdown wasdown in the Midlands for a day's hunting, and Helene had ensured theirseclusion from any one who might drop in by a whispered word to thehall porter as they passed into the house. It seemed to her that she hadnever found Mr. Sabin more entertaining, had never more appreciated hisrare gift of effortless and anecdotal conversation. What a marvelousmemory! He knew something of every country from the inside. He had beenbrought at various times during his long diplomatic career into contactwith most of the interesting people in the world. He knew well howto separate the grain from the chaff according to the tastes ofhis listener. The pathos of his present position appealed to herirresistibly. The possibilities of his life had been so great, fortunehad treated him always so strangely. The greatest of his schemes hadcome so near to success, the luck had turned against him only at thevery moment of fruition. Helene felt very kindly towards her UNCLE asshe led him, after luncheon, to a quiet corner of the winter garden,where a servant had already arranged a table with coffee and liqueursand cigarettes. Unscrupulous all his life, there had been an element ofgreatness in all his schemes. Even his failures had been magnificent,for his successes he himself had seldom reaped the reward. And now inthe autumn of his days she felt dimly that he was threatened with someevil thing against which he stood at bay single-handed, likely perhapsto be overpowered. For there was something in his face just now whichwas strange to her.

  "Helene," he said quietly, "I suppose that you, who knew nothing ofme till you left school, have looked upon me always as a selfish,passionless creature--a weaver of plots, perhaps sometimes a dreamer ofdreams, but a person wholly self-centred, always self-engrossed?"

  She shook her head.

  "Not selfish!" she objected. "No, I never thought that. It is the wrongword."

  "At least," he said, "you will be surprised to hear that I have lovedone woman all my life."

  She looked at him half doubtfully.

  "Yes," she said, "I am surprised to hear that."

  "I will surprise you still more. I was married to her in America withina month of my arrival there. We have lived together ever since. And Ihave been very happy. I speak, of course, of Lucille!"

  "It is amazing," she murmured. "You must tell me all about it."

  "Not all," he answered sadly. "Only this. I met her first at Viennawhen I was thirty-five, and she was eighteen. I treated her shamefully.Marriage seemed to me, with all my dreams of great achievements, an actof madness. I believed in myself and my career. I believed that it wasmy destiny to restore the monarchy to our beloved country. And I wantedto be free. I think that I saw myself a second Napoleon. So I won herlove, took all that she had to give, and returned nothing.

  "In the course of years she married the son of the American Consul atVienna. I was obliged, by the bye, to fight her brother, and he carriedhis enmity to me through life. I saw her sometimes in the courseof years. She was always beautiful, always surrounded by a host ofadmirers, always cold. When the end of my great plans here came, and Imyself was a fugitive, her brother found me out. He gave me a letter todeliver in America. I delivered it--to his sister.

  "She was as beautiful as ever, and alone in the world. It seemed to methat I realised then how great my folly had been. For always I had lovedher, always there had been that jealously locked little chamber in mylife. Helene, she pointed no finger of scorn to my broken life. Sheuttered no reproaches. She took me as I was, and for three years ourlife together has been to me one long unbroken harmony. Our tastes werevery similar. She was well read, receptive, a charming companion. Ennuiwas a word of which I have forgotten the meaning. And it seemed so withher, too, for she grew younger and more beautiful."

  "And why is she not with you?" Helene cried. "I must go and see her. Howdelightful it sounds!"

  "One day, about three months ago," Mr. Sabin continued, "she left me togo to New York for two days. Her milliner in Paris had sent over, andtwice a year Lucille used to buy clothes. I had sometimes accompaniedher, but she knew how I detested New York, and this time she did notpress me to go. She left me in the highest spirits, as tender andgracefully affectionate as ever. She never returned."

  Helene started in her chair.

  "Oh, UNCLE!" she cried.

  "I have never seen her since," he repeated.

  "Have you no clue? She could not have left you willingly. Have you noidea where she is?"

  He bowed his head slowly.

  "Yes," he said, "I know where she is. She came to Europe with LadyCarey. She is staying with the Duchess of Dorset."

  "The Countess Radantz?" Helene cried.

  "It was her maiden name," he answered.

  There was a moment's silence. Helene was bewildered.

  "Then you have seen her?"

  He shook his head slowly.

  "No. I did not even know where she was until you told me."

  "But why do you wait a single moment?" she asked. "There must be someexplanation. Let me order a carriage now. I will drive round to DorsetHouse with you."

  She half rose. He held out his hand and checked her.

  "There are other things to be explained," he said quickly. "Sit down,Helene."

  She obeyed him, mystified.

  "For your own sake," he continued, "there are certain facts inconnection with this matter which I must withhold. All I can tell youis this. There are people who have acquired a hold upon Lucille so greatthat she is forced to obey their bidding. Lady Carey is one, the Duchessof Dorset is another. They are no friends of mine, and apparentlyLucille has been taken away from me by them."

  "A--a hold upon her?" Helene repeated vaguely.

  "It is all I can tell you. You must suppose an extreme case. You maytake my word for it that under certain circumstances Lucille would haveno power to deny them anything."

  "But--without a word of farewell. They could not insist upon her leavingyou like that! It is incredible!"

  "It is quite possible," Mr. Sabin said.

  Helene caught herself looking at him stealthily. Was it possible thatthis wonderful brain had given way at last? There were no signs of itin his face or expression. But the Duchess of Dorset! Lady Carey! Thesewere women of her own circle--Londoners, and the Duchess, at any rate,a woman of the very highest social position and unimpeachedconventionality.

  "This sounds--very extraordinary, UNCLE!" she remarked a little lamely.

  "It is extraordinary," he answered drily. "I do not wonder that you findit hard to believe me. I--"

  "Not to believe--to understand!"

  He smiled.

  "We will not distinguish! After all, what does it matter? Assume, ifyou cannot believe, that Lucille's leaving me may have been at theinstigation of these people, and therefore involuntary. If this be soI have hard battle to fight to win her back, but in the end I shall doit."

  She nodded sympathetically.

  "I am sure," she said, "that you will not find it difficult. Tell me,cannot I help you in any way? I know the Duchess very well indeed--wellenough to take you to call quite informally if you please. She is agreat supporter of what they call the Primrose League here. I do notunderstand what it is all about, but it seems that I may not joinbecause my husband is a Radical."

  Mr. Sabin looked for a moment over his clasped hands through the faintblue cloud of cigarette smoke, and sundry possibilities flashed throughhis mind to be at once rejected. He shook his head.

  "No!" he said firmly. "I do not wish for your help at present, directlyor indirectly. If you meet the Countess I would rather that you did notmention my name. There is only one person whom, if you met at DorsetHouse or anywhere where Lucille is, I would ask you to watch. That isMr. Brott!"

  It was to be a conversation full of surprises for Helene. Mr. Brott!Her hand went up to her forehead for a moment, and a little gesture ofbewilderment escaped her.

  "Will you tell me," she a
sked almost plaintively, "what on earth Mr.Brott can have to do with this business--with Lucille--with you--withany one connected with it?"

  Mr. Sabin shrugged his shoulders.

  "Mr. Brott," he remarked, "a Cabinet Minister of marked Radicalproclivities, has lately been a frequent visitor at Dorset House,which is the very home of the old aristocratic Toryism. Mr. Brott wasacquainted with Lucille many years ago--in Vienna. At that time hewas, I believe, deeply interested in her. I must confess that Mr. Brottcauses me some uneasiness."

  "I think--that men always know," Helene said, "if they care to. WasLucille happy with you?"

  "Absolutely. I am sure of it."

  "Then your first assumption must be correct," she declared. "You cannotexplain things to me, so I cannot help you even with my advice. I amsorry."

  He turned his head towards her and regarded her critically, as thoughmaking some test of her sincerity.

  "Helene," he said gravely, "it is for your own sake that I do notexplain further, that I do not make things clearer to you. Only I wantedyou to understand why I once more set foot in Europe. I wanted you tounderstand why I am here. It is to win back Lucille. It is like thatwith me, Helene. I, who once schemed and plotted for an empire, am oncemore a schemer and a worker, but for no other purpose than to recoverpossession of the woman whom I love. You do not recognise me, Helene. Ido not recognise myself. Nevertheless, I would have you know the truth.I am here for that, and for no other purpose."

  He rose slowly to his feet. She held out both her hands and grasped his.

  "Let me help you," she begged. "Do! This is not a matter of politics oranything compromising. I am sure that I could be useful to you."

  "So you can," he answered quietly. "Do as I have asked you. Watch Mr.Brott!"