The Gay Adventure: A Romance
"He explained hurriedly. It seemed that for months past the sultan had
been intriguing with a foreign power against Great Britain. Lukos had
got wind of the negotiations and knew the policy was fatal. He
recognized that the interests of Turkey were bound up with those of
England. He resolved to foil the sultan's plans. Two courses were open
to him--a revolution and a new dynasty, or a disclosure of the plan to
England. Averse from plunging his country into civil war, he resolved to
try the latter first. After assiduous bribing he secured a draft of a
secret treaty between the Porte and the other Power, but within
twenty-four hours suspicion fell on him. He was warned that arrest was
imminent. Flight was imperative.
"'Disguise yourself as a _pustchik_ (water-carrier) and go on board our
yacht at once,' he said. Then, drawing a bundle of Cook's vouchers from
his pocket, 'Take these in case anything happens. And this, too--it is
the treaty. If anything happens to me, do not wait: fly to England and
take the treaty to the English Foreign Office. I can not go with you
now--there are duties to be done first--but I hope to join you. If I do
not come by eleven o'clock, weigh anchor. I shall have died for my
country. You will do this for the sake of Turkey?'
"My eyes filled with tears, but I knew that I could serve him best by
obedience. 'Yes, Lukos,' I said, and his eyes spoke his gratitude. We
embraced and parted.
"I reached the yacht safely and found that steam was up already. The
afternoon and evening passed like a heavy dream. At half past ten Lukos
had not come. A quarter to eleven, and I was still alone. At eleven
o'clock I wept (for I had grown to love him well), but I was true to my
promise and ordered the captain to start. We reached Brindisi in due
course, and there I determined to go overland to England, sending the
yacht back in the hope that it might still be useful to my husband if by
any chance he escaped. I did this, and in a very short time found myself
in London."
"And took a taxi to the F. O.?" said Lionel with interest. Really, it
was a most exciting story.
"No," said the lady. "The day I reached town a note was left at my
hotel--I had been dogged! It was written in Turkish and ran, 'The day
the British government receives your communication, that day your
husband dies.' There was neither address nor signature. It proved that I
and my schemes were known, but--it proved that my husband was still
alive.
"This gave me hope. With the treaty as a lever I might yet free Lukos. I
have been working to that end for six months--ever since I came to
England. It is a slow business, this diplomacy, but I am beginning to
have strong hopes. And now I think it is almost the time to strike."
"But you must be careful," said Lionel anxiously. "With such a
document----"
She smiled faintly.
"Twice already they have made attempts." She opened a drawer in an
escritoire near at hand. Within lay a small but serviceable revolver.
"See! I always go armed. Of course it is useless to approach the
police--that would sign Lukos' death-warrant at once.
"But to return and finish my tale.... As soon as possible I wrote to my
sister. I did not go to her, not wishing to involve her in my perils. I
explained as much of the situation as I could, hinted at high politics,
and begged her not to see me till I gave the word. She was puzzled, but
obeyed. She wrote back a loving letter, the most important feature of
which was the news that my share of my father's estate (eight hundred a
year) could be drawn on at Coutts'. Already a handsome sum was to my
credit, for I had not required any money while Lukos and I were
together. So with this sum and Lukos' notes at my disposal I was in no
need of money. But I soon found that I needed a hobby to keep me from
thinking too much, and that brings me rapidly to the stage.
"'A hobby' under such circumstances must sound curious: really, it is
mere common sense. The paths of diplomacy I discovered were very steep,
the movement of the wheels was very slow. When I had done everything
possible and could think of nothing else, I had a great deal of time on
my hands. Painting and music were not to my taste; acting was, for I had
always had, like most young people, a liking for the stage. Also, like
most young people, I believed I had the dramatic instinct. I got to know
a manager--with money things are easy--and he gave me a small part, a
few lines, in a new play. There was nothing in that, but what followed
was really my one piece of luck. In return for a consideration he
allowed me to understudy the lead, never dreaming my capacity would be
tested. A fortnight later my principal slipped on a fruit-skin and broke
her leg. (The incident gave rise to a correspondence on the Banana Fall
in one of the cheaper papers.) I played the part that night, and, unlike
most young people, my belief in myself was justified. I was a success.
The manager, rejoicing that he need not look for a new principal, plumed
himself on his discernment, and 'boomed' me for all he was worth.
"Well, I was a success; but naturally I had to pay the price. In this
case the price was my sister's affection. From the first she had
objected to my going on the stage: it was a case of conscientious
prejudice, and that is one of the stubbornest things on earth. She had
written daily letters of appeal, and all my arguments were useless. I do
not wish to dwell on this ... enough to say that there grew an
estrangement ... now, we do not even write...."
"Strange," said Lionel thoughtfully, "how even the best can be
obstinate. I hope that time may----"
"That reminds me!" said the lady briskly, shaking off her sadness and
glancing at the clock, "I shall be on again shortly. Will you do
something for me? Thank you--I was sure you would. At a quarter to
eleven go out and get me a cab or a taxi. Now, it is important that we
should not be seen leaving the theater together--there will probably be
spies. Oh, yes! I know it sounds absurd, but in this you must be guided
by me. Get the cab and drive back by devious ways to the stage-door.
There wait for me. I shall be ready by eleven-fifteen at the latest.
That is all.... No! I forgot the reward!"
"Reward!" he echoed, puzzled.
"You forget you saved my life," she replied, smiling. "Close your
eyes--promise you will not open them till I give you leave. You
promise?"
"Yes," he laughed, still not understanding.
He closed his eyes and waited. With a mischievous smile she bent forward
and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Lionel started. In a moment doubt
was forgotten--forgotten the husband. All he knew was that a heavenly
creature had deigned to kiss him. "Your promise!" she cried warningly,
and by an effort of pride he kept his eyes closed. But he stood up, his
arms held out. There was dead silence for a moment, and then--
"Am I still bound?"
"You are free," she said merrily. He opened his eyes, to find the
reality more alluring than the dream. He seized her hands. She could not
help shrinking a little, though her eyes shone defiance.
"Why did you do that?" he breathed, aflame.
She smiled mournfully.
"Forgive me," she pleaded in tones that disarmed him.
Lionel remembered his role as a man of honor and dropped her hand.
"I beg your pardon," he said, but a little bitterly. She lowered her
eyes.
"It is I who should beg yours. I must go now. Eleven-fifteen!"
Feeling that romance was somewhat overworked, he replied, "Right ho!"
CHAPTER IV
BREAKERS AHEAD!
At eleven-thirty Lionel found himself enjoying a tete-a-tete supper in a
Bloomsbury flat. He had obtained a cab, as commanded, and the lady and
he had driven home together. There had been no adventures, no spies, no
melodrama. In unromantic silence had they gone, for after the thrills of
the afternoon and evening neither had been in the mood to talk. On
reaching her flat, which was on the first floor, the lady had let
herself in with a latch-key, and they had gone straight into the
prettiest little sitting-room imaginable. Here a cold supper, simple but
excellent, was laid: a bottle of hock and a siphon of lemonade were the
only liquors visible. They supped together, talking briskly of various
themes, but Lukos and the treaty were not mentioned till they had
finished. When they had established themselves in armchairs and lighted
a couple of cigarettes the lady said: "And now let me tell you what I
want you to do. But first of all, will you please ring for coffee?"
Lionel obeyed, awaiting with some curiosity the expected newcomer. Would
it be a smart maid, a mysterious man servant, or a crone with a history
in every wrinkle? His doubts were speedily resolved. The door opened
without noise, and there entered the most charming parlor maid the heart
of man could wish. She was, of course, in a maid's livery--the black and
white that is so simple, serviceable, and that can be so picturesque.
Her figure was the trimmest imaginable, her eyes were a dusky brown, her
hair was of jet. The last was arranged in a coiffure that a thoughtless
man would have judged unstudied, but a schoolgirl of fifteen would have
known its value at a glance. The features of this disturbing damsel were
not faultless--the nose, for example, did not perfectly succeed, but her
eyebrows looked as if they had been drawn by a painter, the mouth
promised a treasury of kisses, and the complexion bespoke an air less
rude than London's, for it shamed the most delicate of roses. Lionel was
obliged to remind himself that the mistress had first claim on his
affections.
"Clear the things, please, Mizzi," said the lady, not marking the stupor
of her guest. "And then bring in coffee."
("Mizzi!" thought Lionel. "Then she is a German or Austrian. And I
called myself a Teuto-phobe!")
The supper was speedily cleared and the coffee brought. The lady sipped
reflectively for a few moments, and then plunged into the business.
"What I want you to do," she said abruptly, "is to help me break into a
house."
Lionel was almost proof against surprises. You must remember that he had
had some years of monotonous wear-and-tear at the hands of the world and
at times longed for an adventure as some men long for drink. But he
prided himself on his self-control, and had felt sure that he would meet
any adventure with an assumption of ease, however joyful he might feel
within. So far he had done pretty well: he had stopped a runaway horse,
rescued a charming actress, spent a few thrilling hours in her company,
and on the whole had kept himself in hand. But to be asked in a
matter-of-fact tone to help in committing a felony was almost too much
for his sang-froid. However, he remembered that good fortune has its
price, and that great achievements need great sacrifices. Besides, she
was so adorable, and he hated to back out of any enterprise.
"By all means," he said with a wan cheerfulness. "When shall I start?"
She laughed.
"That is so nice of you--not to ask why. I will tell you a little more,
to assure you that our burglary is perfectly honorable. _We_ start
presently--in a day, two days, a week--I can not tell. The fact is that
I think a crisis is approaching. I am sure that very soon a favorable
opportunity will present itself to make use of the treaty. Some little
time ago I determined to hide this document: it was no longer safe to
keep it in my own hands."
"Why not a bank----" he began.
"My friend, you have no _idea_ of the importance of the affair. Probably
the bank would have been safe, but governments do not stick at trifles
when the destinies of nations are at stake. Almost certainly a colossal
bribe would have been offered, and even bank officials are human. So I