"One story's good till another is told, my dear Jimsy; but I was wrong to have laughed. I quite understand, believe me, the painfulness of your position."
"I tell you it's not true – " he began.
"Oh, don't try to improve the situation. You can't" – she continued, rising and towering before him in the majesty of her wrath. "I'd really come to believe that there was one among the hundreds of worthless, vicious, mercenary human beings I know, who called themselves men, who was what he claimed to be; who really believed in the old fallacies of right and duty, and moral cleanliness, and lived up to them; who really kept the ten commandments in thought as well as in act, a strong rock of defence to whom I might cling in time of trouble; but he's a fraud like all the rest, and the man I made a hero turns out to be of clay!"
She paused, and the Secretary, controlling himself, replied coldly:
"After what you've said, it's of course worse than useless for me to repeat the question I asked you just before Colonel Darcy intruded his presence upon us. It had better remain unanswered."
"No," she said. "I don't think so. It needs an answer, and you shall have it – but not yet. I've been a little fool, and have been punished for my folly; but I don't know any reason why I should make you suffer. You're only as you were made. You can't help it, I dare say."
"You surely can't think of marrying me, believing what you do."
"I don't know. While I thought you were an angel, I was afraid of you. I thought I should have to be constantly living up to you and listening to sermons; – Thank Heavens you can never preach to me again. Even you wouldn't have the face to do it now. But since I've found out that you're only very human, I really don't know but what I might grow to love you. I'll think it over. There," she continued, "don't look so sheepish. I may decide not to take you after all, but until then consider yourself on approval. Don't say anything more, you'd only bore me. I want to be by myself and get my face straight, if I can," and crossing the room she broke out again into peals of ringing, unmusical laughter.
"This is intolerable!" he cried, but he addressed thin air, – he was alone.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE DOOR WITH THE SILVER NAILS
"St. James' Club,"Piccadilly, W.
"My Dear Stanley,
"I am sending this letter to you at Roberts' Hall, because I am certain that you are there.
"I can fancy you drawing a long face, and admitting to yourself that you are certainly in for a sermon from that old bore, Kent-Lauriston, but you are entirely mistaken. I shall neither expostulate with nor upbraid you, for you have done exactly what I expected you would do. Nevertheless I mean to save you from yourself, to which end I trust you are not as yet entangled, as it is less easy gracefully to break than make an engagement.
"The fact is, my dear Mr. Secretary, I do not consider you, under the present circumstances, a responsible creature. The fascinating Miss Fitzgerald has, I can well imagine, driven all other considerations into the background.
"I should probably have let you go to your fate, unchecked by any letter of mine, did I not feel that I had been morally negligent. You came to put your case in my hands, and proved so sweetly rational that, for the last time I swear, I trusted in human nature, and left you to your own devices, instead of watching your every movement until the danger was past.
"Of course I have heard the little scandal about your escapade with Colonel D – 's wife. All London is ringing with it, thanks to her husband.
"What you most want is change of scene and occupation, to distract you from your present cares. There is only one way to drown care without drowning oneself – and that is by work. So unless I find you grinding away at the Legation to-morrow noon, I shall invite myself to be one of Mrs. Roberts' house-party, and we shall see what may be effected even in the face of overwhelming odds. Give me a fair field and no favour, and I pledge my word to win you to yourself.
"In any event command my humble services.
"Yours as ever,"Kent-Lauriston.
"Friday evening."
The Secretary dropped back on the comfortable divan that occupied a recess in one corner of the smoking-room, and gazed vacantly at the letter as it lay in his lap; then he gave a great sigh, and reached for a fresh cigarette. In his own estimation, matters could not be worse, but unfortunately he was not in a position to heed his friend's advice and bolt for London the first thing in the morning – indeed his recognition of Darcy's letter, the possible significance of which he was at last beginning to realise, imperatively demanded his presence and attention.
Besides, he was now accountable to others. To Belle in the first place – and to Colonel Darcy in the second. For the latter he cared not a whit. It was true that circumstantial evidence had made rather a strong case against him – but the Secretary was sure the Colonel did not really believe the charge he had preferred against his wife to be true, and that he had merely seen, in the unfortunate combination of circumstances, a chance of strengthening his own position.
But while Stanley had little concern for the Colonel's status, he felt a great deal for his own. Fate had treated him badly, very badly, and he owed it to Belle and to Madame Darcy, and to his own good name, to right himself as speedily as possible.
The figure he would cut in Madame Darcy's eyes was bad enough in all conscience. He supposed she would never speak to him again, and, for some reason which he was at a loss to explain satisfactorily to himself, this prospect made him feel uncommonly blue. He even felt no resentment against her, though her innocent rashness had been the font of all his misfortunes. Somehow it seemed an honour to be associated with her, even to his own undoing. And that by any efforts in her behalf, he should have unwittingly injured her, nearly drove him to despair, with chagrin and regret.
But if his position in the eyes of Madame Darcy and of himself was most awkward, the position he held in Miss Fitzgerald's estimation was, he told himself again and again, simply unbearable. That it was possible for any good woman to believe – and she certainly did believe – the things that were said about him, and yet find it in her heart to even consider matrimony with such an unscrupulous cad as he must appear to her, revolted him. It was not nice; he was sure Lady Isabelle would never have done so.
Perhaps she did not care, that was worst of all; that she did not care for him, for his good name, his honour, his reputation, only for – the thought was intolerable – he started up and drank off a strong peg of whiskey; he felt that he needed a bracer. In the hopes of distracting his thoughts, he once more took up and re-read Kent-Lauriston's letter, which had arrived before dinner and lain forgotten during the excitement of the evening; and which he had found waiting to greet him, when, at the close of that dreadful interview, he had stolen away to his room without bidding anybody good-night. He remembered that he had hesitated to open it, knowing as he did that it contained a remonstrance against committing a folly, which he had already committed. He had determined to read it calmly, but it awakened within him a scathing self-examination most unsettling in its result.
He recognised it as the dictum of an astute man of the world, a "connoisseur des grandes passions" one who knew the symptoms with unfailing accuracy. In short, the Secretary did not for a moment doubt the truth of what his friend had written; but he was equally certain that it did not apply to his own case.
Miss Fitzgerald had by no means driven all other thoughts from his mind. Indeed, he realised that she had, during the last few days, held a relatively small place in his thoughts. He was not miserable when he was absent from her – he had enjoyed his talk with Madame Darcy and his walk with Lady Isabelle immensely. He had not even decided that he should ask Belle to marry him till the eleventh hour, and was not that decision due, after all, to the pity which, we are told, is akin to love, but which by itself forms such an unsatisfactory substitute? Would his friend have any trouble in winning him to himself, as he expressed it? Was he supremely happy? Was he not rather, in his heart of hearts, wishing himself well out of the whole affair? The words of Madame Darcy came back to him, doubly enforced by these contradictory data.
"You do not love her. Love is blind. Love does not reason."
Had it come to this, then – was he such a weak fool that he did not know his own mind; that he had proposed to a woman who existed only in his imagination; who so little resembled the real one that he had no wish to assimilate the two; that he was already regretting the step before it was half taken? What hope did that hold out for a happy future? He was thoroughly disgusted with himself. In a fit of mortified rage, he crumpled up the letter in his hand, and threw himself down among the cushions of the divan. As he lay there Kingsland entered the room.
"Why," he said, "I thought you had retired."
This was, indeed, the truth, but the restlessness induced by Kent-Lauriston's note had made the confinement of his chamber seem intolerable, and a rapid survey of the rooms downstairs assured him that the Dowager and Miss Fitzgerald were in full possession; a combination which, under the circumstances, he did not care to face. These facts, however, were hardly to be adduced to a third party, and the Secretary, turning to the resources of diplomacy, reminded the Lieutenant that they had had an appointment for a game of pool, which one of them, at least, had not seen fit to keep.
"Shall we have it now?" suggested Kingsland.
"No," answered Stanley. "I'm not feeling fit."
"Try a drink, then."
"I've just had one."
"Drinking alone? That's a bad sign. What are you so blue about?"
"I'm wondering," said Stanley, "how a man can ever be fool enough to fall in love, or get married."
"Oh," said the Lieutenant, "so she's refused you, eh?"
"Who?"
"Belle Fitzgerald."
"Yes," replied the Secretary, shortly.
The Lieutenant thrust his hands deep into his trousers pockets and paced the room in silence, whistling softly to himself. Finally he remarked:
"Well, I'm sorry, old chap, but I've been more lucky."
"Oh," said the Secretary. "Lady Isabelle, I suppose."
Kingland nodded.
"Does mamma approve?" inquired Stanley.
The young officer shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm going to postpone entering into that matter," he said, "till after the ceremony."
"Oh," said the Secretary shortly. "An elopement. Well, I don't know that I can conscientiously offer my congratulations – to Lady Isabelle, at least, but I dare say you'll find it worth while."
"You needn't be so nasty, just because you've been disappointed."
"Oh, it isn't that; but, as you say, I've no reason to express an opinion. It isn't the first time a young man's eloped with a lady of means."
"Well," snapped the Lieutenant in reply, "it's a shade above eloping with somebody else's wife who happens to have a large bank account."
Stanley sprang to his feet.
"If that cad of a Darcy," he cried, "has been saying – "
"Oh, you needn't assume the high moral rôle," said Kingsland. "I've just had the story first hand from him."
"It isn't the first time he's told it to-night," snapped the Secretary.
"What! You don't mean to the fair Belle?"
Stanley nodded, and Kingsland threw himself on the sofa in a paroxysm of laughter.
"But how did you come to see Darcy?" demanded the young diplomat, ignoring his friend's ill-timed merriment. "I ordered him out of the house."
"Yes," replied the Lieutenant, "so he told me. But he's lost a valuable letter in the hall."
"The hall? Why, there doesn't seem to be much chance of losing anything there. There are no draperies and very little furniture."
"Well, it's a queer business," admitted the officer. "But while the Colonel was telling me about your little escapade, he dropped a letter which he had taken from its envelope, and just at that moment the butler came in. He started to pick up the letter for the Colonel, but Darcy jumped forward, and so between them it was pushed under the crack of that old oak door studded with silver nails."
"A letter!" cried the Secretary. "Did you notice what it looked like?"
"No," said Kingsland incautiously, "except that it had an address scrawled across one side in pencil."
Stanley waited to hear no more. Fate seemed playing into his hands at last, and springing to the door he threw it open, and saw to his intense astonishment the figure of Colonel Darcy grovelling on the floor of the hall.
"I thought I told you to leave this house, Colonel Darcy," said Stanley, striving to be calm, but his voice quivering with suppressed emotion.
"So you did," replied his adversary, rising slowly to his feet, very red in the face and somewhat short of breath.
"Then why haven't you gone? Do you wish me to speak to Mrs. Roberts?"
"I intended to obey your request, out of respect to Miss Fitzgerald. But the fact is, I have lost an important letter."
"So Kingsland tells me, though it seems almost impossible."
"Truth, sir, is often stranger than fiction," replied the Colonel angrily, "as our own relations with each other have already proved. But, as you have given me the lie once this evening, you can, if you see fit, prove the truth of my statement by referring it to the butler."
"I gave you the lie, as you express it, Colonel Darcy," replied the Secretary, "because my own knowledge assured me, that your charges were untrue. In this case, however, I am quite ready to fully accept your statement. But it's a pure waste of time to attempt to recover your letter. For two hundred years they've tried to open that portal, and to this day it remains closed."
"The butler told me some such cock-and-bull story – but of course – "
"It's quite true."
"But I must have my letter. I must have it, I tell you – surely someone knows the secret."
"There's a legend current to the effect that the pressure of five of these silver nails, one by each of the five fingers, will suffice to open the door. But to my way of thinking it's likely to remain closed for two centuries to come."
"Curse it!" cried the Colonel, throwing himself against the portal in a frenzy. "It has neither handle nor keyhole, and it's as firm as iron! What am I to do?"
"If it's absolutely necessary to recover this document, I'll tell Mrs. Roberts. Though I should doubt if she'd consent to ruin an interesting heirloom for the sake of a gentleman against whom she already entertains a prejudice."
"I couldn't think of it. Impossible to put Mrs. Roberts to so much inconvenience; I shouldn't consider it for a moment! Let the cursed letter remain where it is!" replied the Colonel, evidently very much upset by this proposition.
"As I'd supposed, Colonel Darcy, you would prefer that the document should remain where it is, rather than it should pass, even temporarily, into any other hands than yours. Might I inquire if it's the one you received from Miss Fitzgerald."
"It is, of course, quite useless to attempt to deceive a diplomat," replied his companion, with a touch of temper which was not lost on Stanley, who answered composedly:
"I think you may be reasonably assured that your letter will never be found till you and it have long been dust, and till not only its importance, but its very meaning, have become unintelligible. You may consider it irrevocably lost, and so, as there's no further excuse for your remaining, Colonel Darcy, I'll wish you – good-night," and the Secretary threw open the great hall door.
"Good-night, Mr. Stanley," replied the unwelcome guest, with a frown of anger as he passed over the threshold. "Good-night – but not good-bye – remember we've still a score to settle."
CHAPTER XIX
A MIDNIGHT MESSAGE
Stanley closed the great front door, turned the key, shot the bolts, and lighting his bedroom candle, slowly and thoughtfully betook himself to his chamber.
Kingsland's knowledge of the mysterious letter only served to increase the Secretary's suspicions of that young officer's complicity with Darcy, while the letter itself presented such a bewildering variety of contradictory possibilities, that his mind was dazed. A further consideration of his past experiences in this matter did not make him feel any the easier, and for the first time, under the spur of doubt and mistrust, he recalled Kingsland's story of the reception of the missive, and subjected it to a critical analysis. Mr. Riddle had said, and the Lieutenant had confirmed, that the letter had been handed by the former to the latter at the Hyde Park Club, and that the Lieutenant was then "leaving the room." Yet the Secretary, now he came to think of it, was sure Mr. Riddle had not been of the company at or after dinner, and that Kingsland had not left the drawing-room or attempted to do so. Moreover, if Riddle had given him the money for the stamp, why had he not mentioned the fact at the time? The letter was evidently of importance, and intended for Darcy, a man of whose every action, he had the greatest distrust. Yet the important missive, after being lost for three days, was given by its owner to Miss Fitzgerald, who thought so little of it, that she used the envelope to scribble an address on, before giving it to the Colonel, who now had lost it under the secret door.
It was certainly a mystery to which he was unable to offer any solution, but which, nevertheless, caused him a vague uneasiness. He drew up an arm-chair beside the table, and lighting his lamp, prepared to seek distraction in a book.
The Secretary had scarcely settled to his reading, however, when he was startled by a sharp click against his window. At first he thought nothing of it, but at a repetition of the noise, plainly produced by a pebble thrown up against the glass, he opened the casement and looked out.
The night was very dark, and he could see nothing; but out of the blackness below him came a voice, which he thought he recognised, calling his name softly.
"Why, John!" he cried, scarcely believing it could be the Legation factotum. "What on earth are you doing here at this time of night?"
"Special message from 'is h'Excellency, sir," came in the familiar cockney of the messenger, with the added caution, "don't speak so loud, please – it's that private – "
Stanley nodded, quite oblivious of the fact that he was invisible, and added in lowered tones:
"Go round to the front, and I'll come down and let you in."
He cautiously made his way downstairs, pausing at every creaking board in fear that he had awakened the household, and traversing the long hall, opened the great front door, and admitted the shivering John; for the night was cool, and several hours of watching and waiting had chilled the messenger thoroughly.
"How long have you been out there?"
"Since ten, sir."
"Good Heavens! and it's past midnight! Come up to my room, and I'll give you some whiskey."
"Thank ye, sir. I shan't mind a drop – it's that cold, but I'll take off me boots first."
"Take off your boots!"
"'Is h'Excellency was most par-ti'cler, sir, as no one but you should know as I was 'ere."
"Oh, I see. Very well. Leave them at the foot of the stairs. You'll find these flags rather cold for stocking-feet."
A few minutes later John was installed in the Secretary's bedroom, and his inner man was being warmed and refreshed with a copious dram of whiskey – while Stanley, seated at his table, was breaking the seals of the despatch which the messenger had brought him.
"It's most secret, sir."
"Quite so. How did you know which was my room?"
"The lady of the 'ouse, sir, employs the hinnkeeper's daughter to 'elp the 'ousekeeper day times – and so – "
"I see; very clever, John. Eh! what's this?" and bending forward to the light he read the now opened dispatch. It was short and to the point.
"Dear Mr. Stanley," wrote the Minister. "This is to inform you that we have discovered the silent partner in the firm, who is the chief instrument in putting up the money to defeat the treaty. His name is Arthur Riddle. He is a guest of your hostess, and should be watched. Darcy left for Sussex this afternoon, presumably for your neighbourhood. Kindly report progress, if any, sending letter by John, who should return at once.
"Yours, etc."X – ."
As the full force of this communication became apparent to the unfortunate Secretary, he sunk back in his chair, groaning in an agony of mortification.
"Dear, dear, sir!" cried John, who had been meditatively regarding the bottom of his empty glass. "You don't mean to tell me as they've got away."
The messenger, it may be remarked, not being supposed, technically, to know any official secrets, knew more than most of his superiors.
"Oh, it isn't that, it's a thousand times worse than that! I'm such an infernal fool! John, I've had those instructions in my possession."
"You have!" cried the messenger, much excited.
"Yes. Had them for three days in the inside pocket of my dress-suit, and being the greatest idiot in the diplomatic service, I never even suspected what they were, and gave them back to the man who wrote them."
"What, Riddle?"
Stanley groaned, and bowed his head.
"Dear, dear," said John, gravely, "I'm afraid it's a bad business, sir." And noticing that the Secretary was absorbed in his own woes, he judged it a favourable opportunity to replenish his glass, which he thoughtfully consumed, while the unfortunate diplomat poured out to the old messenger, who was distinctly the deus ex machina of his Legation, and who had helped him out of many a tight place in the past, the story of the letter. How he had received it, how he had been induced to give it up, and finally how it reached its present destination.
"Well," he said despairingly, in conclusion, "what do you think, John?"
"Hit's hall the woman, sir. Take my word for hit, hit's hall the woman," replied that functionary, with dignity.
"What, Miss Fitzgerald?"
John nodded, with the solemnity befitting so weighty a dictum.
"You old idiot!" cried Stanley. "It's nothing of the sort. Miss Fitzgerald's share in this matter was merely a coincidence."
"Didn't you tell me has it was she suggested your taking han hold letter to keep score hon, knowing well you 'ad the letter in your hinside pocket hall the time?"
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the Secretary. "How could she have known anything about it? She had never laid eyes on the letter till I produced it."
"Mr. Stanley," returned the messenger, with a dignity against which the two glasses he had consumed struggled unsuccessfully, "h'I've fostered young gentlemen, an' got h'em hout hof scrapes, an' taught h'em their ha, b, c's of diplomacy, afore you was weaned, han' I knows whereof h'I speaks, h'I tells yer, hit's the woman!"
"I wish you'd get me out of this scrape. I'd be your friend for life."
"That's heasy enough. You must get the letter."
"But how – I tell you – "
"Get it," reiterated the messenger, whose potations had made him optimistic. "Blow this bally hold barn into the next county, hif need be, but open that door and get it."
The Secretary looked despairingly at the despatch, and tossing it to John, said:
"And what am I to answer to this?"
"H'I'll answer it, hif you'll let me come to the table."
"You!"
"Yes – and you can copy and sign it. Hit won't be the first private note h'I've hanswered, or the first despatch h'I've written, heither," and with this rebuke he composed the following:
"To"His Excellency,"The Honourable," —
"Sir: —
"I have the honour to acknowledge your Excellency's private despatch of the 20th inst., and to inform you in reply that the person mentioned in it is now a guest in this house, also that I have discovered the present location of the papers desired, and hope soon to be able to place them in your hands.
"I am, Sir,"Your obedient servant," – .
"Sunday, 12.45 a. m."
The Secretary read and approved, and in a few moments had produced a copy of the same, which was duly signed and sealed.
"And now," he said, "you must be off. There's a train to London about six."
"Yes, sir. Hit's a very cold night, sir."
"No, you've had enough, and you need to keep your wits about you," and he led the way downstairs.
"John," he said, as he let the faithful servitor out, "I believe you're right in what you said."
"Habout the woman, sir?"
"Of course not. I tell you the lady knows nothing whatever of the matter; pray disabuse your mind of that absurd idea, once and for all. I mean about the letter."
"Yes, sir."
"I've got to get it again, John. Send me the best book you can find on combination locks. I will get it! Impossibilities don't count!"
"Yes, sir. Good-night, sir, and remember, hit's the woman!"