The one person in the party unknown to him was Mr. Riddle. Yet those high cheek-bones, that prominent nose between the deep-set, restless eyes, peering out under their shaggy eyebrows, were strangely familiar. He had seen them once before when they and their owner occupied a cab together with his fair dinner partner. He was on the point of saying so to her, but restrained himself, he hardly knew why, in deference, perhaps, to his diplomatic training, which forbade him ever to say anything unnecessary.

Fate placed him next to the Dowager Marchioness, who was manifestly displeased at his presence, and lost no time in making him feel thoroughly uncomfortable.

"I had always supposed," she began, before he was fairly seated at the table, "that at this season of the year there was a great deal of activity in the diplomatic world."

"There is," answered Stanley hastily, scenting danger, and anxious to turn the conversation from his own affairs. "Most countries have a little leisure, and, like Satan, expend the time in making and finding mischief."

"That is, of course, a matter of which I am no judge, Mr. Stanley, but I should have supposed, under the circumstances, you would naturally be much occupied."

"We are," he replied, a trifle flippantly. Flippancy, he had noticed, was the one thing that drove the Marchioness to the verge of desperation. "My Minister and my colleagues are working like draught-horses."

"While you – " began her Ladyship.

"I'm working also – hard," and he turned himself and the conversation to the fair Miss Fitzgerald, while the Dowager said things in a loud tone of voice about youthful diplomacy to Mr. Lambert, the local incumbent, who had taken her down to dinner.

The Secretary was no more fortunate with his dinner partner. Not that she rated him; far from it; but she was evidently making conversation, and he could not help feeling that the cordial good fellowship which had hitherto existed between them was now lacking, and that a restraint had taken its place, which, to say the least, did not promote their mutual ease. But there, he would have a talk with her when opportunity offered, and they would understand each other and be as good friends as ever; nothing more. He knew himself now. He was sure she had never been so foolish as to suppose for an instant that their intimacy could mean anything further. She would probably laugh at him if he proposed to her – which he would not do, of course – but all the same he must make some sort of an explanation, and – what was she saying? – he had not spoken for a whole course – what must she be thinking of him? He pulled himself together, and rattled on, till his hostess gave the signal for the ladies to leave the table.

The interval for rest, refreshment, and tobacco promised to be somewhat wearisome, for Kingsland seemed moody and abstracted, and Riddle and the Reverend Reginald Lambert offered, to Stanley's mind, little hope of amusement.

The good pastor was a bit of an archæologist, an enthusiast on the subject of early ecclesiastical architecture, and the nominal duties of his living left him much spare time for the exploitation of this harmless fad. He was possessed of considerable manual dexterity and a certain nicety in the manipulation of whatever he undertook, whether it were the restoration of parchments or the handling of leaden coffins, but apart from his hobby he was as prosy as the most typical member of his calling.

As the Secretary could not tell a nave from a chapter house, a very few minutes served to exhaust his interest in the good old gentleman, and he turned to Mr. Riddle in sheer desperation. Stanley had conceived a dislike for the stranger from the first moment he had heard he was a fellow-guest, either from his reputation for beneficence or his mysterious acquaintance with Miss Fitzgerald. He had at once put him down as a hypocrite, and his attitude towards him was reserved in consequence. This sort of man, he told himself, takes a pride in his good deeds, and can be most easily approached on that subject. Accordingly he drew up his chair and opened the conversation with some allusion to the chests of stereopticon fittings.

"Yes, they're bulky," replied Mr. Riddle, "and I was almost ashamed to bring them with me – I trust they've not annoyed you."

"On the contrary, I was hoping we might be favoured with a view of their contents."

"Oh, no," he said, his face lighting up with a frank smile, which appealed to the Secretary in spite of his prejudices. "I never inflict my fads on my friends. I'd promised to send them on to a man in London, and, as I was coming in this direction, brought them part way myself. You see, the average porter cannot understand that a thing may be heavy and yet fragile – if a chest weighs a great deal – and you'd be surprised how heavy a case of slides can be – he bangs it about regardless of labels and warnings; so I generally try to keep an eye on them, or put them in the charge of some trusty friend."

"You are much interested in these things?"

"The slides? Oh, yes, – collecting them becomes quite absorbing, and now these clever scientists of ours are able to photograph directly on them, it increases our field immensely."

"Of course the good you can do with them must be their chief charm to you – " began the Secretary, sententiously.

The answer surprised him.

"Not at all. On the contrary, my charities, if they are charities, are of a very selfish sort. I suppose you've some kind of amusement which you turn to in your hours for relaxation? Golf, tennis, hunting, what not. These little entertainments are – mine. I thoroughly enjoy them. The fact is, I'm passionately fond of children, and not having any of my own, I've adopted everybody else's for the time being. But it's selfish, purely selfish. Some benighted idiots call me a philanthropist – I'd like to have them come pressing their claims for lazy heathen in my bank parlour, they'd find out what sort of business man I was." And this queer specimen doubled up his fists, and broke into a roar of laughter, which was too hearty to have been assumed. "I'll tell you what it is," he continued, "if it wasn't for our good dominie there, I'd admit to you that I hate a real professional philanthropist – ten to one he's a humbug."

The parson held up his hands, and Stanley laughed nervously – the man was actually voicing his own thoughts.

"As for charity – Bah! Charity begins at home. It doesn't go racing over the country with magic lantern shows – that's real downright, selfish egotism."

Then, evidently feeling that the conversation had proceeded far enough in this direction, he broke off suddenly, remarking:

"They tell me that you're a diplomat."

"Yes," said the Secretary. "Perhaps you know my chief?"

"I've not that honour. Indeed I've never had any dealings with your countrymen but once, and then I'd reason to regret it."

"Really? I'm sorry to hear that."

"It was with a large manufacturing company," he continued, and mentioned the name of the concern which had such a sinister reputation in regard to the treaty.

"Oh," said the Secretary, at once alert for any information he might pick up. "You mustn't judge my countrymen by that concern – anyway I understand that it's really owned in England."

"Ah, is it so? I can't say how that may be, I'm sure; but I know they kept so closely to the letter of their contracts with my bank, that it almost crossed the border line from strict business to sharp dealing."

"I'm sorry you should have been annoyed, but I know nothing about it. We – my father, is interested in sugar, and that, as you see, wouldn't bring us into any connection with their line of business."

"No, of course not. Do you happen to know who are the heads of the firm in this country?"

"I haven't any idea," the Secretary answered, very tersely. "I fancy they're in the nature of silent partners. But I dare say they might be known in business circles."

"Oh, the matter doesn't interest me – except as I've mentioned. It was recalled to my mind by some notice of a treaty I saw the other day in the papers – which I should fancy would rather cripple their resources, if it went through."

The Secretary held his peace, and silence falling upon the room, the Reverend Reginald deposited the butt of his cigar tenderly in the ash-tray, and blew his nose lustily, as a preparatory signal for a retreat to the upper regions. The others obeyed the hint, and a moment later were on their way to the drawing-room.

Miss Fitzgerald's resentment towards the Lieutenant had been short-lived, and she was quite ready to aid and abet him to the extent of her power, the more so as his success would upset the most cherished plans of the Marchioness, who was, for the time being, the Irish girl's pet detestation. Accordingly she took up her station near that matron, who descended on her forthwith.

"I suppose, my dear," said the Dowager, with an assumption of friendly interest that was even more terrible to behold than the coldness of her wrath, "I can only suppose, from what I could not help observing at table this evening, that you are soon to be a subject of congratulations."

"Really I don't understand."

"Of course, I shouldn't think of forcing your confidence, but when an engagement is unannounced there's a degree of uncertainty."

"Oh, but I think you're mistaken," said Miss Fitzgerald, lifting her liquid blue eyes to the Dowager's face, with an expression of innocence, which was the perfection of art. "I'm much too young to think of such things – besides, who'd have me, with no dower except my beauty, such as it is, which, as your Ladyship knows, is not lasting."

The Marchioness fairly snorted with rage. She had been a Court belle in her time.

"Some country parson, perhaps," continued Miss Fitzgerald reflectively; "but then I fear I should not make a good parson's wife."

"I should doubt it," assented the Dowager with asperity.

"No millionaires would think of me for a moment."

"I did not know there were any such here."

"What, not Mr. Stanley?"

"Mr. Stanley?"

"Why, to be sure. He's worth millions they say. Stanley & Son, South American sugar. Anyone in the city would confirm my statements, but you don't know the city of course – Lieutenant Kingsland could tell you more about him if you cared to hear it," and she moved away as the gentlemen entered the room, and running up to Stanley, exclaimed: —

"You've been an interminable length of time over your cigars. Men are so selfish and I'm simply dying for a game of hearts."

"You play it so much I should think you would tire of it," he said, smiling.

"Tut! tut! naughty man! This is serious business. Sixpence a heart, and you mustn't win, for I'm quite impoverished. You'll be one of the party, Jack," she continued, turning to Kingsland, who had just come up.

"Nothing I should like better. I always approve of assisting the undeserving," replied the Lieutenant, and added: "I'll get Lady Isabelle to join us." A very valuable piece of assistance, as her Ladyship would hardly have done so on Miss Fitzgerald's unsupported invitation; and since it was manifestly an affair of the young people, this deflection might have ruined all.

The Lieutenant's request, however, had due weight, and she graciously consented to join the party, which was further augmented by Mr. Riddle, who declared that "young people" meant anyone who felt young, and so he did not intend to be excluded.

The cards were accordingly shuffled, but during the deal, Belle discovered that though she had a pencil, no paper for scoring was anywhere obtainable.

"Oh, any old scrap will do," she said. "Surely some of you gentlemen have an old envelope on which we can keep tally. Jack? Mr. Riddle?"

Both gentlemen professed to an utter absence of any available material.

"You, Jim – then?" she queried, turning to the Secretary.

"I don't generally carry my correspondence round in my evening clothes," he protested, laughing.

"Idiot!" she retorted, with an affected depth of scorn. "How can you tell unless you've looked?"

"Oh well," he replied, "to please you – " and thrust his hand into the pocket of his coat. "Why," he exclaimed, "here is something! I declare, it's that mysterious letter which I intercepted at the Hyde Park Club night before last. Let me see, Kingsland, I think it dropped from the ceiling into your hands."

"The letter belongs to me," came the keen voice of Mr. Riddle.

"To you!" said Stanley, in genuine surprise.

"Yes. I gave it to Lieutenant Kingsland at the Hyde Park Club."

"But surely," contended the Secretary, "Lieutenant Kingsland told me, only that morning, that he didn't know who you were."

Silence fell on the little company. The Lieutenant flushed and moved uneasily in his seat, and Miss Fitzgerald leaned forward with a strained look in her face, while the keen, restless eye of Mr. Riddle swept round the table, taking in all present at a glance.

Then he spoke, with quick decision.

"Quite true. I did not till to-day have the pleasure of knowing Lieutenant Kingsland. I saw him leaving the room at the club, however, and though he was a stranger, ventured, as I was unable to leave my party, to ask him to do me the favour to post a letter for me, handing him two-pence for the stamp. I had, it seems, very carelessly forgotten to address it."

"Yes," broke in the Lieutenant, catching his breath. "You remember I told you I didn't know who had given it to me."

"You will notice," continued Mr. Riddle, "that the envelope is sealed with the initials A. R. inclosed in scroll work. Here" – detaching it from his watch chain – "is the seal with which the impression was made."

A cursory glance assured Stanley that it was the same.

"If you doubt my statement," continued Mr. Riddle affably, "we can procure some wax and make a duplicate – "

The Secretary hastened to disclaim any such intention. Why should he doubt this gentleman's word? Kingsland corroborated his story, and the letter was no concern of his, anyway. Indeed, as he said, in handing it over to its owner, he felt that he owed him an apology for his unwarrantable interference in the matter.

At this point Miss Fitzgerald resumed the conversation.

"There!" she cried. "You and your stupid letter have lost me the deal, for I don't know where I left off. Take the cards and deal for me – I'll run downstairs and get a clean sheet of paper, and come in on the next hand," and suiting the action to the word, she pushed the pack over to Stanley, and ran from the room.

A moment later the game was in progress. Mr. Riddle was the life and soul of the party, and his irresistible mirth and good humour put every one at his ease.

The impoverished, it is perhaps needless to say, were duly remunerated; and the Secretary, after a round of whiskies and sodas, retired to his room, feeling that the evening had been a triumphant success, and reflecting ruefully that he was yet very young, for a little brief authority had made him suspicious of everybody. Had he not put down Mr. Riddle as a hypocrite, when that gentleman was one of the most open, whole-hearted and mirthful personages in existence? As for the letter it was an unfortunate incident, very successfully brought to a close. Something was wrong with Belle, however. She had left him with a shrug and laugh, saying: "Oh, there is no real gambling in a mere game of cards. Try life!"

CHAPTER XII
A MORNING CALL

The Dowager was being created for the day. Created seems the only term applicable to the process, for Lily, Marchioness of Port Arthur, as finished by her Maker and her maid, were two entirely distinct and separate articles. Stimson alone was initiated in these mysteries. Even Lady Isabelle had never been allowed to see her mother as she really was, and no one exactly knew how she was put together, though several tradesmen in Bond Street might have been able to make shrewd guesses at her component parts.

The Dowager never appeared in public until lunch time. She had, she told her friends, earned the right to this little luxury now that the struggle of life was nearly over. Doubtless her Ladyship knew best what she had done to deserve such an indulgence. But, be that as it may, her daily retirement gave her a much coveted opportunity for attending to matters in the private life of other people, and one of these affairs claimed her attention after the Secretary's arrival at Roberts' Hall.

Stimson had finished her morning's budget; that is, she had retailed to her Ladyship all those things about which the Dowager declared pathetically she had not the slightest desire to know, but which, had the maid omitted to mention them, would have cost her her place.

"And so, as I was saying, my Lady," Stimson concluded her recital, "Mr. Stalbridge, the butler, he tells me as there was a strange lady come to Coombe Farm yesterday, a foreigner like."

"I do not know, Stimson, why you worry me with these trivialities," said the Dowager, "in which I can have no possible interest. You say she was a foreigner?"

"Yes, my lady. A Spaniard, Mr. Stalbridge thought, and her name – "

"You needn't trouble me to tell me her name, Stimson."

"No, my Lady. I shouldn't presume, my Lady. But, of course, when I heard as it was Madame Darcy, I couldn't help thinking – "

"I do not employ you to think, Stimson. I understand you to say that the lady's name was Madame Darcy? Surely my daughter met a Madame Darcy the other night, somewhere?"

"Yes, my Lady, at Mr. Stanley's dinner."

"It is quite immaterial to me where Lady Isabelle met this person. But, as you say, it was at Mr. Stanley's dinner. So I infer she must be a friend of his."

"She's not staying at the Hall, my Lady."

"No," said the Marchioness. "I shouldn't have supposed she would stay at the Hall. Stimson, you may get me my bonnet and a light shawl."

"But I thought your Ladyship said as how you was not well enough to go out this morning."

"I said, Stimson, that you could get me my bonnet and a light shawl. Perhaps a little air will do me good."

"If your Ladyship was thinking of taking a little stroll, it's very pretty towards the Coombe Farm, not ten minutes' walk across the Park to the left of the house."

"As you very well know, Stimson," her mistress remarked with asperity, "I am too nearly tottering on the brink of the grave to venture out of the garden. Perhaps there is a side-door by which I can leave the house and be alone. I shouldn't have the strength to talk to anybody."

"No, your Ladyship. I'll show you the way, and if Mrs. Roberts should send to inquire for your Ladyship's health – "

"Say I have been obliged to lie down by a headache, and shall not appear till lunch."

"But if anyone saw your Ladyship – "

"In that case," snapped the Marchioness, "I should be obliged to dismiss you as being untruthful."

In a good cause the Dowager was only too apt to overtax her strength, and this was probably the reason why, half an hour later, she was obliged to sink down on a wooden bench outside the door of Coombe Farm and request the privilege of resting herself for a few minutes. The farmer's wife, who, like most people of her class, took a vast interest in the guests at the Hall, knew intuitively that she was a Marchioness, and having ducked almost to the dust, rushed into the house to get her Ladyship a glass of fresh milk and impart the astounding intelligence to her lodger. A moment later Madame Darcy appeared upon the scene.

"I am going to take the liberty of introducing myself, as I have the pleasure of knowing your daughter," she said.

Her Ladyship was affable in the extreme.

"This is, indeed, a pleasure, Madame Darcy," she murmured. "Dear Isabelle was so impressed with you the other night that she has done nothing but talk of you since; but, of course, I could not have supposed my walk would have had such a charming termination. Is not your coming into the country rather unexpected?"

"Yes," replied Madame Darcy. "It is what you in this country call a whim, is it not? I am not yet quite sure of your language."

The Marchioness smiled indulgently.

"Yes," she said, "that's quite right. It is very clever of you."

"I do not like your London," pursued the stranger. "It suffocates me, and I wish to run away into the country."

"And how did you know of this charming spot?" said her Ladyship, still angling on general principles.

"Oh, I have heard it mentioned."

"By Mr. Stanley, perhaps?" suggested the Dowager. "You knew he was to be here."

"Oh, yes," rejoined Madame Darcy, judging it better to be frank. "But I came here to be quite alone. I need rest and quiet."

"I see," said the Marchioness, who was quite bewildered. "But you and Mr. Stanley are very old friends, are you not?"

"Our fathers were. We have not met often recently."

"Yes, yes, of course," said the Marchioness. "Mr. Stanley told me. He's such a nice young fellow. We often see him at our house. I take quite an interest in him. And how pleasantly he is situated, too. Diplomacy is such a delightful profession. But then" – and here she sighed gently – "like other delightful things in this world it must require a very long purse."

If Madame Darcy had had any knowledge of English manners and customs, the Dowager's method of attack would have put her on her guard at once. But being totally unversed in the ways of British matrimonial diplomacy, she took the Marchioness' remarks to mean nothing more than an expression of kindly interest in the young man's welfare, and did not hesitate to inform her that the Secretary was amply able to afford any position he chose to take.

"Oh, yes," said the Dowager. "His father's greatly interested in sugar, I believe. Or is it salt? I am very ignorant about these matters. Which do you grow in your country?"

Madame Darcy repressed a smile and informed her guest that Mr. Stanley's father grew sugar, and was one of the most wealthy planters in that section of the world.

"Well, I must be going now," said the Marchioness. "I have had such a pleasant little chat, and I shall certainly ask Mrs. Roberts to call on you."

"Oh, pray don't," returned Madame Darcy. "That is – excuse me, I did not mean to be rude – but I have come down here for absolute rest, and do not feel in the mood for any gaiety."

"I quite understand," said the Dowager, "and will respect your feelings. Indeed, I will not mention having met you at all, and then no one need be the wiser. No, thanks. I shall be quite able to go by myself. Perhaps we may meet again in London. You must ask Mr. Stanley to bring you to call on me. Such a nice young fellow! He ought to be married to keep him out of mischief." And the Marchioness returned to her room to complete her headache.

Scarcely fifteen minutes had elapsed since the Dowager's departure, when, just by accident, Stanley strolled by, and lifting his eyes caught sight of Madame Darcy's face at the cottage window.

"What!" he exclaimed. "You here!" and stood silent a moment as a wave of feeling rushed over him, the first pleasure of seeing her sad sweet face being swept away by consternation at the thought of how she had played into her husband's hands by following him to this place.

She read what was in his mind, saying, with that charming accent which appealed to him so strongly:

"You should not express your thoughts so clearly in your face. You are thinking – but it is not of me – it is of yourself – in this part of the world men think only of themselves – in my country they think of us." And she gave a sigh.

"You are, what you English call 'put out' at my coming – you think it will compromise you – strange country where the men consider that they will be compromised. You do not think of me, not one little bit – eh? I am right?"

"I'm afraid so," he said. "You see, nowadays, chivalry doesn't exist far north or south of the equator."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I carry my own climate, my own atmosphere," she said.

The Secretary bowed.

"No? You are not convinced? I had thought better of you."

"You see," he said, feeling it wiser to be blunt, feeling that he must, if possible, bring this wayward, entrancing, fantastic creature within the limits of practical common sense. "You see, your precious husband has been making trumped-up charges against me, on your account, which are highly unpleasant."

"He is a beast!"

"Quite so, but as far as circumstantial evidence goes, he has some cause on his side. Your arrival at my private apartments in London was most unfortunate; but your following me here was simply the worst sort of foolishness."

The Secretary was aggrieved and showed it; but the result of his plaint was most unexpected.

His fair companion sprang to her feet and gave him a flashing glance, that startled him out of the fancied security of his egotism.

"I come here to follow you! How dare you?"

"Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to be rude, really; but I naturally inferred – "

"No!" she cried. "Why should I come for you? – Bah! I come for her!"

"For whom?"

"For her," she cried, pointing towards the Hall.

"For her?" inquired Stanley, somewhat dazed by this unexpected change of base. "But who is she?"

"I do not know. I do not care; but she writes to my husband – she makes appointments with him."

"Oh, the nameless friend."

"Now you understand why I have come?"

"Yes, I see. Still I think it lays you open to misconstruction. You had better return to London. I suppose you know you were followed to my house?"

She snapped her fingers airily.

"I care just that for being followed. What of it?"

"My dear Inez, you forget that you're not in our native country. We can't fight duels galore in this part of the world, and cut the throats of inconvenient witnesses. People will talk; there are the newspapers; and – the dowagers; and the nonconformist conscience to be considered. You don't know what you are letting me – I mean yourself, in for."

"I tell you, I must confirm my suspicions. I must see your – what you call it – your visitors' book – which they have in great houses – I must compare the handwriting of the guests with the handwriting of these letters. When I have proved my case I will return to London – not one moment before. You are my friend, you will help me."

"Of course I will help you; but I assure you there is no one in the house who could be suspected for a moment."

"At least, you will help me to prove myself wrong?" and she shot at him one of those unsettling glances.

"Of course – with all my heart – and then you'll go back to London and take Mr. Sanks' advice, won't you?"

"You are very anxious to have me go," she said, piqued.

"No, no!" he assured her hastily. "Far from it; but can't you see – that it is for your sake that I urge it. Supposing anyone saw us now; what would they think, what could they think – an early morning rendezvous."

"They would say that you were making a report to me of your progress in discovering the plot against the treaty between England and our country."

He looked at her dumbfounded and said nothing. Indeed there was nothing he could say without risking some imprudent disclosure.

"Ah," she cried, laughing merrily at his discomfiture. "You see, you diplomats do not know everything. It is true I only write supervised letters home, but that does not prevent my receiving letters from my country first hand, and my father has written much about this treaty. It seems they are going to try and bribe the Senators to defeat it, with money raised here, and some cowardly scoundrel has been engaged as go-between."

Stanley stood looking at her in horrified astonishment. Was it possible that if she knew so much she did not know that she was condemning her own husband? But her next words proved to him that such must be the case.

"My father writes me," she continued, "that on proving the identity of this go-between, the success or failure of the plot depends, and so far, the government have been at a loss to identify him."

The Secretary, who held the key to the situation, could see excellent reasons why the Executive had kept Señor De Costa in the dark; what Madame was saying was evidently what everybody knew. Of the truth she had not the remotest inkling.

"Well," she cried gaily, "why don't you speak?"

"I have nothing to say," he replied.

"Diplomatic to the end, I see," she retorted. "But you can't expect to share my confidences unless you give me yours. Now tell me, have you discovered any of the conspirators yet?"

"I can truthfully say," he replied, "that as far as I know, there is nobody at Roberts' Hall connected with the conspiracy to which you allude."

"So you've come down here at the busiest season of your year on indefinite leave just to pay a country-house visit."

"How did you know that?" he asked.

"Randell," she replied.

"Good Heavens!" he cried, "you haven't been to my rooms again."

"Naturally not," she returned coldly. "Your servant brought a pair of gloves to my hotel, which I left at your rooms."

The Secretary bit his lips and changed the conversation, and made a mental note of the fact that if Randell was becoming talkative, he would have to go.

"You asked me," he said, "if I had discovered one of the agents of this mysterious treaty of which you seem to know so much. Perhaps you will tell me if you have?"

"Yes," she said, smiling.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Ah!" she cried. "I thought I should break down your reserve."

"Well," he said sheepishly, "what have you to say?"

"Nothing," she replied. "I only exchange confidences for confidences. Tell me whom you suspect, and I will tell you whom I know."

"What you ask is impossible," he replied, feeling that he could never wound her by admitting his suspicions of her husband.

"So be it," she said gaily, giving him her hand, and added, "Come and see me again when you can spare a little time from your detective work."

The Secretary saw she was laughing at him, and took his leave discomfited. Madame Darcy watched him go, and sighed gently as she turned to re-enter the house. She also had felt that she would not have dared to wound him by mentioning her suspicions.