The Yellow Crayon
employ of our Secret Service Department. You will understand, therefore,
that we, knowing of this complication in his life, naturally incline
towards the theory of murder. Shall I be taking a liberty, sir, if I
give you an unprofessional word of warning?”
Mr. Sabin raised his eyebrows.
“By no means,” he answered. “But surely you cannot--”
The man smiled.
“No, sir,” he said drily. “I do not for one moment suspect you. The man
was our spy upon your movements, but I am perfectly aware that there has
been nothing worth reporting, and I also know that you would never run
such a risk for the removal of so insignificant a person. No, my warning
comes to you from a different point of view. It is, if you will pardon
my saying so, none the less personal, but wholly friendly. The case of
Duson will be sifted to the dregs, but unless I am greatly mistaken,
and I do not see room for the possibility of a mistake, I know the truth
already.”
“You will share your knowledge?” Mr. Sabin asked quietly.
The detective shook his head.
“You shall know,” he said, “before the last moment. But I want to warn
you that when you do know it--it will be a shock to you.”
Mr. Sabin stood perfectly still for several moments. This little man
believed what he was saying. He was certainly deceived. Yet none the
less Mr. Sabin was thoughtful.
“You do not feel inclined,” he said slowly, “to give me your entire
confidence.”
“Not at present, sir,” the man answered. “You would certainly intervene,
and my case would be spoilt.”
Mr. Sabin glanced at the clock.
“If you care to call on me to-morrow,” he said, “I could perhaps show
you something which might change your opinion.”
The detective bowed.
“I am always open, sir,” he said, “to conviction. I will come about
twelve o’clock.”
Mr. Sabin went back to the palm lounge. Lucille and Reginald Brott were
sitting together at a small table, talking earnestly to one another.
The Prince and Lady Carey had joined another party who were all talking
together near the entrance. The latter, directly she saw them coming,
detached herself from them and came to him.
“Your coffee is almost cold,” she said, “but the Prince has found some
brandy of wonderful age, somewhere in the last century, I believe.”
Mr. Sabin glanced towards Lucille. She appeared engrossed in her
conversation, and had not noticed his approach. Lady Carey shrugged.
“You have only a few minutes,” she said, “before that dreadful person
comes and frowns us all out. I have kept you a chair.”
Mr. Sabin sat down. Lady Carey interposed herself between him and the
small table at which Lucille was sitting.
“Have they discovered anything?” she asked.
“Nothing!” Mr. Sabin answered.
She played with her fan for a moment. Then she looked him steadily in
the face.
“My friend?”
He glanced towards her.
“Lady Carey!”
“Why are you so obstinate?” she exclaimed in a low, passionate whisper.
“I want to be your friend, and I could be very useful to you. Yet you
keep me always at arm’s length. You are making a mistake. Indeed you
are. I suppose you do not trust me. Yet reflect. Have I ever told you
anything that was not true? Have I ever tried to deceive you? I don’t
pretend to be a paragon of the virtues. I live my life to please myself.
I admit it. Why not? It is simply applying the same sort of philosophy
to my life as you have applied to yours. My enemies can find plenty to
say about me--but never that I have been false to a friend. Why do you
keep me always at arm’s length, as though I were one of those who wished
you evil?”
“Lady Carey,” Mr. Sabin said, “I will not affect to misunderstand
you, and I am flattered that you should consider my good will of any
importance. But you are the friend of the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer. You
are one of those even now who are working actively against me. I am not
blaming you, but we are on opposite sides.”
Lady Carey looked for a moment across at the Prince, and her eyes were
full of venom.
“If you knew,” she murmured, “how I loathe that man. Friends! That is
all long since past. Nothing would give me so much pleasure as never to
see his face again.”
“Nevertheless,” Mr. Sabin reminded her, “whatever your private feelings
may be, he has claims upon you which you cannot resist.”
“There is one thing in the world,” she said in a low tone, “for which I
would risk even the abnegation of those claims.”
“You would perjure your honour?”
“Yes--if it came to that.”
Mr. Sabin moved uneasily in his chair. The woman was in earnest. She
offered him an invaluable alliance; she could show him the way to
hold his own against even the inimical combination by which he was
surrounded. If only he could compromise. But her eyes were seeking his
eagerly, even fiercely.
“You doubt me still,” she whispered. “And I thought that you had genius.
Listen, I will prove myself. The Prince has one of his foolish passions
for Lucille. You know that. So far she has shown herself able to resist
his fascinations. He is trying other means. Lucille is in danger!
Duson!--but after all, I was never really in danger, except the time
when I carried the despatches for the colonel and rode straight into a
Boer ambush.”
Mr. Sabin saw nothing, but he did not move a muscle of his face. A
moment later they heard the Prince’s voice from behind them.
“I am very sorry,” he said, “to interrupt these interesting
reminiscences, but you see that every one is going. Lucille is already
in the cloak-room.”
Lady Carey rose at once, but the glance she threw at the Prince was a
singularly malicious one. They walked down the carpeted way together,
and Lady Carey left them without a word. In the vestibule Mr. Sabin and
Reginald Brott came face to face.
CHAPTER XXXIII
The greeting between the two men was cold, and the Prince almost
immediately stepped between them. Nevertheless, Brott seemed to have a
fancy to talk with Mr. Sabin.
“I was at Camperdown House yesterday,” he remarked. “Her Ladyship was
regretting that she saw you so seldom.”
“I have been a little remiss,” Mr. Sabin answered. “I hope to lunch
there to-morrow.”
“You have seen the evening paper, Brott?” the Prince asked.
“I saw the early editions,” Brott answered. “Is there anything fresh?”
The Prince dropped his voice a little. He drew Brott on one side.
“The Westminster declared that you had left for Windsor by an early
train this afternoon, and gives a list of your Cabinet. The Pall Mall,
on the other hand, declares that Letheringham will assuredly be sent for
to-morrow.”
Brott shrugged his shoulders.
“There are bound to be a crop of such reports at a time like this,” he
remarked.
The Prince dropped his voice almost to a whisper.
“Brott,” he said, “there is something which I have had it in my mind to
say to you for the last few days. I am not perhaps a great politician,
but, like many outsiders, I see perhaps a good deal of the game. I know
fairly well what the feeling is in Vienna and Berlin. I can give you a
word of advice.”
“You are very kind, Prince,” Brott remarked, looking uneasily over his
shoulder. “But--”
“It is concerning Brand. There is no man more despised and disliked
abroad, not only because he is a Jew and ill-bred, but because of his
known sympathy with some of these anarchists who are perfect firebrands
in Europe.”
“I am exceedingly obliged to you,” Brott answered hurriedly. “I am
afraid, however, that you anticipate matters a good deal. I have not yet
been asked to form a Cabinet. It is doubtful whether I ever shall. And,
beyond that, it is also doubtful whether even if I am asked I shall
accept.”
“I must confess,” the Prince said, “that you puzzle me. Every one says
that the Premiership of the country is within your reach. It is surely
the Mecca of all politicians.”
“There are complications,” Brott muttered. “You--”
He stopped short and moved towards the door. Lucille, unusually pale
and grave, had just issued from the ladies’ ante-room, and joined Lady
Carey, who was talking to Mr. Sabin. She touched the latter lightly on
the arm.
“Help us to escape,” she said quickly. “I am weary of my task. Can we
get away without their seeing us?”
Mr. Sabin offered his arm. They passed along the broad way, and as
they were almost the last to leave the place, their carriage was easily
found. The Prince and Mr. Brott appeared only in time to see Mr. Sabin
turning away, hat in hand, from the curb-stone. Brott’s face darkened.
“Prince,” he said, “who is that man?”
The Prince shrugged his shoulders.
“A man,” he said, “who has more than once nearly ruined your country.
His life has been a splendid failure. He would have given India to the
Russians, but they mistrusted him and trifled away their chance. Once
since then he nearly sold this country to Germany; it was a trifle only
which intervened. He has been all his life devoted to one cause.”
“And that?” Brott asked.
“The restoration of the monarchy to France. He, as you of course know,
is the Duc de Souspennier, the sole living member in the direct line of
one of the most ancient and historical houses in England. My friend,”
he added, turning to Mr. Sabin, “you have stolen a march upon us. We had
not even an opportunity of making our adieux to the ladies.”
“I imagine,” Mr. Sabin answered, “that the cause of quarrel may rest
with them. You were nowhere in sight when they came out.”
“These fascinating politics,” the Prince remarked. “We all want to talk
politics to Mr. Brott just now.”
“I will wish you good-night, gentlemen,” Mr. Sabin said, and passed into
the hotel.
The Prince touched Brott on the arm.
“Will you come round to the club, and take a hand at bridge?” he said.
Brott laughed shortly.
“I imagine,” he said, “that I should be an embarrassing guest to you
just now at, say the Mallborough, or even at the St. James. I believe
the aristocracy are looking forward to the possibility of my coming into
power with something like terror.”
“I am not thoroughly versed; in the politics of this country,” the
Prince said, “but I have always understood that your views were
very much advanced. Dorset solemnly believes that you are pledged to
exterminate the large landed proprietors, and I do not think he would be
surprised to hear that you had a guillotine up your sleeve.”
The two men were strolling along Pall Mall. The Prince had lit a large
cigar, and was apparently on the best of terms with himself and the
world in general. Brott, on the contrary, was most unlike himself,
preoccupied, and apparently ill at ease.
“The Duke and his class are, of course, my natural opponents,” Brott
said shortly. “By the bye, Prince,” he added, suddenly turning towards
him, and with a complete change of tone, “it is within your power to do
me a favour.”
“You have only to command,” the Prince assured him good-naturedly.
“My rooms are close here,” Brott continued. “Will you accompany me
there, and grant me the favour of a few minutes’ conversation?”
“Assuredly!” the Prince answered, flicking the end off his cigar. “It
will be a pleasure.”
They walked on towards their destination in silence. Brott’s secretary
was in the library with a huge pile of letters and telegrams before him.
He welcomed Brott with relief.
“We have been sending all over London for you, sir,” he said.
Brott nodded.
“I am better out of the way for the present,” he answered. “Deny me to
everybody for an hour, especially Letheringham. There is nothing here, I
suppose, which cannot wait so long as that?”
The secretary looked a little doubtful.
“I think not, sir,” he decided.
“Very good. Go and get something to eat. You look fagged. And tell Hyson
to bring up some liqueurs, will you! I shall be engaged for a short
time.”