E. Phillips Oppenheim - 21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)

“Well, you look very comfortable here,” he declared cheerfully. “Pray do not move, nurse.”

Rosamund held his hands, as though reluctant to let him go. Then she drew his face down and kissed him.

“Yes,” she said a little plaintively, “it’s very comfortable.—Everard?”

“Yes, dear?”

She drew his head down and whispered in his ear.

“May I come in and say good night for two minutes?”

He smiled—a wonderfully kind smile—but shook his head.

“Not to-night, dear,” he replied. “The Prince loves to sit up late, and I shall be downstairs with him. Besides, that bully of a doctor of yours insists upon ten hours’ sleep.”

She sighed like a disappointed child.

“Very well.” She paused for a moment to listen. “Wasn’t that a car?” she asked.

“Some of our guests going early, I dare say,” he replied, as he turned away.

Table of Contents

Seaman did not at once start on his mission to the Princess. He made his way instead to the servants’ quarters and knocked at the door of the butler’s sitting-room. There was no reply. He tried the handle in vain. The door was locked. A tall, grave-faced man in sombre black came out from an adjoining apartment.

“You are looking for the person who arrived this evening from abroad, sir?” he enquired.

“I am,” Seaman replied. “Has he locked himself in?”

“He has left the Hall, sir!”

“Left!” Seaman repeated. “Do you mean gone away for good?”

“Apparently, sir. I do not understand his language myself, but I believe he considered his reception here, for some reason or other, unfavourable. He took advantage of the car which went down to the station for the evening papers and caught the last train.”

Seaman was silent for a moment. The news was a shock to him.

“What is your position here?” he asked his informant.

“My name is Reynolds, sir,” was the respectful reply. “I am Mr. Pelham’s servant.”

“Can you tell me why, if this man has left the door here is locked?”

“Mr. Parkins locked it before he went out, sir. He accompanied—Mr. Miller, I think his name was—to the station.”

Seaman had the air of a man not wholly satisfied.

“Is it usual to lock up a sitting-room in this fashion?” he asked.

“Mr. Parkins always does it, sir. The cabinets of cigars are kept there, also the wine-cellar key and the key of the plate chest. None of the other servants use the room except at Mr. Parkins’ invitation.”

“I understand,” Seaman said, as he turned away. “Much obliged for your information, Reynolds. I will speak to Mr. Parkins later.”

“I will let him know that you desire to see him, sir.”

“Good night, Reynolds!”

“Good night, sir!”

Seaman passed back again to the crowded hall and billiard-room, exchanged a few remarks here and there, and made his way up the southern flight of stairs toward the west wing. Stephanie consented without hesitation to receive him. She was seated in front of the fire, reading a novel, in a boudoir opening out of her bedroom.

“Princess,” Seaman declared, with a low bow, “we are in despair at your desertion.”

She put down her book.

“I have been insulted in this house,” she said. “To-morrow I leave it.”

Seaman shook his head reproachfully.

“Your Highness,” he continued, “believe me, I do not wish to presume upon my position. I am only a German tradesman, admitted to the circles like these for reasons connected solely with the welfare of my country. Yet I know much, as it happens, of the truth of this matter, the matter which is causing you distress. I beg you to reconsider your decision. Our friend here is, I think, needlessly hard upon himself. So much the greater will be his reward when the end comes. So much the greater will be the rapture with which he will throw himself on his knees before you.”

“Has he sent you to reason with me?”

“Not directly. I am to a certain extent, however, his major-domo in this enterprise. I brought him from Africa. I have watched over him from the start. Two brains are better than one. I try to show him where to avoid mistakes, I try to point out the paths of danger and of safety.”

“I should imagine Sir Everard finds you useful,” she remarked calmly.

“I hope he does.”

“It has doubtless occurred to you,” she continued, “that our friend has accommodated himself wonderfully to English life and customs?”

“You must remember that he was educated here. Nevertheless, his aptitude has been marvellous.”

“One might almost call it supernatural,” she agreed. “Tell me, Mr. Seaman, you seem to have been completely successful in the installation of our friend here as Sir Everard. What is going to be his real value to you? What work will he do?”

“We are keeping him for the big things. You have seen our gracious master lately?” he added hesitatingly.

“I know what is at the back of your mind,” she replied. “Yes! Before the summer is over I am to pack up my trunks and fly. I understand.”

“It is when that time comes,” Seaman said impressively, “that we expect Sir Everard Dominey, the typical English country gentleman, of whose loyalty there has never been a word of doubt, to be of use to us. Most of our present helpers will be under suspicion. The authorised staff of our secret service can only work underneath. You can see for yourself the advantage we gain in having a confidential correspondent who can day by day reflect the changing psychology of the British mind in all its phases. We have quite enough of the other sort of help arranged for. Plans of ships, aerodromes and harbours, sailings of convoys, calling up of soldiers—all these are the A B C of our secret service profession. We shall never ask our friend here for a single fact, but, from his town house in Berkeley Square, the host of Cabinet Ministers, of soldiers, of the best brains of the country, our fingers will never leave the pulse of Britain’s day by day life.”

Stephanie threw herself back in her easy-chair and clasped her hands behind her head.

“These things you are expecting from our present host?”

“We are, and we expect to get them. I have watched him day by day. My confidence in him has grown.”

Stephanie was silent. She sat looking into the fire. Seaman, keenly observant as always, realised the change in her, yet found something of mystery in her new detachment of manner.

“Your Highness,” he urged, “I am not here to speak on behalf of the man who at heart is, I know, your lover. He will plead his own cause when the time comes. But I am here to plead for patience, I am here to implore you to take no rash step, to do nothing which might imperil in any way his position here. I stand outside the gates of the world which your sex can make a paradise. I am no judge of the things that happen there. But in your heart I feel there is bitterness, because the man for whom you care has chosen to place his country first. I implore your patience, Princess. I implore you to believe what I know so well,—that it is the sternest sense of duty only which is the foundation of Leopold Von Ragastein’s obdurate attitude.”

“What are you afraid that I shall do?” she asked curiously.

“I am afraid of nothing—directly.”

“Indirectly, then? Answer me, please.”

“I am afraid,” he admitted frankly, “that in some corner of the world, if not in this country, you might whisper a word, a scoffing or an angry sentence, which would make people wonder what grudge you had against a simple Norfolk baronet. I would not like that word to be spoken in the presence of any one who knew your history and realised the rather amazing likeness between Sir Everard Dominey and Baron Leopold Von Ragastein.”