Chapter XXVII: The Trap

At ten o’clock on Thursday morning Karl Weiss presented himself at a certain room in the War Office, as he had been requested by letter, and there found a grave, gray-haired official awaiting him. As a matter of fact it was Webster.

When Karl was seated the elder man, leaning back in his writing-chair, said:

“I understand, Mr. Weiss, from our records here that you have already been employed by us in certain confidential matters, and that you wish to reënter our service?”

“That is so,” replied the young man, who looked every inch a German officer.

“You are able to pass yourself off as a German, eh?”

“I have done it many times, in Berlin and other towns in Germany.”

“Then you could go to Russia with safety, I suppose?”

“With perfect safety. I have a Russian friend in Moscow. He was in Berlin with me.”

“And you would be prepared to carry out a little confidential mission for us in Russia?” asked the official seated at the table. “I am instructed from a certain quarter to offer you a gratuity of one thousand pounds a year and all traveling and hotel expenses, providing that you place yourself entirely at the service of the department engaging you.”

Karl’s heart leapt with joy. From unemployment with only Canada in prospect, he was to drop into an easy and congenial post--a confidential mission to Russia!

He accepted with eagerness.

“Very well,” said the gray-haired official. “We need not go over your references. We have them all here. To-day is Thursday. Will you call here at eleven o’clock on Monday morning, when an amount will be paid to you in advance for expenses, and exact instructions given you as to what information we desire?”

Karl Weiss went out into Whitehall treading on air, and took a taxi to Edris’s club off Oxford Street, where she awaited him. Meanwhile, the man who had interviewed the candidate for employment in the Secret Service, crossed to the office in Trafalgar Square, and rang up Darville at Stagsden.

When Seton took up the receiver he heard the familiar buzzing, and knew that his office wished to speak.

“Amerton there?” asked a voice he recognized. The voice used Darville’s code name.

“Yes. What report?” he asked quickly.

“All settled. He comes again for pay and instructions on Monday at eleven.”

“Thanks. What report concerning the pair?”

“They dined at the Villa Villa after she met him, and afterwards sat in the lounge of his hotel. He saw her to the Carlton, and left her at twelve.”

“Good. Report again to-night at eight,” said Darville in those quick, business-like tones he used when dealing with confidential matters. And then he rang off.

When Karl met Edris in the lounge of her club he at once told her the good news.

“You see your Government trusts me, or they would not give me such a mission,” he said. “They know what I did for them in Berlin, and they appreciate it. Now that I am in employment you need not hesitate to tell old Darville of our engagement.”

“He already knows,” she said. “He has known everything all along, and that accounts for his strangely suspicious behavior towards me.”

“Known it!” gasped the man. “How? You never betrayed our secret?” he asked fiercely.

“No. But he has known, nevertheless, and has kept his knowledge of our treachery to himself.”

Karl’s face clouded, and a hard, evil expression showed at the corners of his mouth.

“He had better not interfere with my love for you, or he will repent it,” he said threateningly, and he placed his hand upon his hip-pocket, where he had his automatic pistol, in order to frighten her.

To his surprise he saw that she was unmoved by his threats. She had become quite used to them.

The pair were in ignorance that it was known to Darville that the Swiss carried a revolver without a permit, and that he had given orders for his arrest on arrival at Dover as an armed alien, and that he should be sent back to Switzerland. He had taken that precaution in order to prevent him coming to London at all, and it was only on the day prior to his arrival that he had telegraphed and rescinded his order.

The man who was at enmity with Seton Darville had indeed but little chance when he chose to use the hidden and subtle power within his hands.

After luncheon they spent the day walking and sitting in Hyde Park and in Kensington Gardens, Karl being full of vituperation against Seton.

“I will show him now who will succeed,” he cried angrily, as they were resting upon a seat in the Broad Walk. “I have a position with the Government, and I will speak my mind. I will write to him, and defy him to come between us!”

“You forget that I belonged to Seton before I met you,” she remonstrated mildly.

“I do not care,” he swung round angrily. “You can never love an old man like that! I have come into your life. I am young and strong, and you love me. That you can’t deny, darling. You have told me so.”

For an hour he sat discussing the best way to give Seton Darville his _congé_.

“You will never find a man who worships you as I do, Edris,” he said. “You must get rid of him, and take me down to Stagsden before I go to Russia. I demand to meet the General and your mother.”

There was silence for a few minutes, and then the girl said:

“I have never before had the experience of being loved by two men at the same time,” and her beautiful eyes clouded. “Your word, demand, is, however, rather out of place.”

“Forgive me,” the man said instantly, but frowning. “Sometimes I use your words wrongly. English is, as you know, very difficult to speak correctly.”

He had made a demand, but tried to evade the consequences of his _faux pas_, for he saw she was annoyed.

Edris was a girl of spirit, and the little breach soon widened that afternoon. Since his interview at the War Office he had become arrogant and overbearing. He told her that he possessed her, and he openly threatened Darville, if he dared to interfere. The truth was that he knew from the first that she had money of her own, and was quick to realize that, as she had fallen beneath his blandishments, like so many other women had before her, she would be an easy prey. Now that he held a Government appointment marriage would be easier.

He hated Darville--hated his high reputation, his fame as a traveler, and his popularity everywhere; he hated to see his books displayed, hence he jeered at them. In his own estimation, and in the estimation of the women he fascinated, he was a perfect Adonis, a wonderful hero. In his own egotism he believed that his appointment had, in itself, proved his claim to distinction. Neither he nor Edris dreamed that the hidden hand of the man whose friendship he had betrayed was now raised against him, and was sending him to his doom. They never dreamed that their every movement in London was being watched, unseen, by a pair of alert eyes, and that all their doings were being reported to the discarded man, who, pale and anxious, was wandering aimlessly in the grounds at Stagsden with Edris’s great Dane as companion.

Darville, tricked, mortified, and now staggered by the amazing cunning of the lovers, spoke many times to Lord Simba of his absent mistress, while the splendid animal, walking grandly at his side, looked up at him mutely, as though understanding his words. In the coppice he patted his sleek coat, and said:

“Ah, Simba! To-morrow, old boy, I shall leave you, never to see you again!”

And with difficulty he swallowed the lump which arose in his throat.

After luncheon he was putting on his coat prior to taking Lord Simba for another walk when the maid called him to the telephone box in the hall, and he found that Edris was speaking.

“Seti, could you come to town this evening? I particularly want to see you. I’m at the Carlton. Can I reserve a room for you? Please don’t refuse me this one request. I have something particular to say to you.”

“I thought you did not want me in London while Karl was with you,” he replied very coldly.

“To discuss matters over the ’phone is impossible, dear. I beg you to come and see me to-night. Will you come, Seti--for my sake? Do come!”

He hesitated, and made no reply.

“Can you hear me?” she asked in desperation. And then she repeated her urgent, despairing appeal.

“I really don’t see what object there is in our meeting,” he replied. “Karl is with you.”

“Yes, but he is going to Russia, not to Canada, and----”

“Well, I will not intrude upon you,” Darville answered. “You will, no doubt, spend a pleasant evening together.”

“Surely, Seti, you, who have always indulged me in my little whims, and my wishes, will not forsake me now. I beg of you to come up at once and see me. I want you. Do you understand those words?”

“Hardly,” he replied with a bitter laugh.

“Do come, Seti--for the sake of our old love,” she implored. “I must see you to-night. If you catch the 4.40, you’ll be in time for a late dinner in the grill-room. I’ll be in my room, 246, at ten o’clock, awaiting you. Surely you will not refuse me this last favor that I ask of you? I fear, in the circumstances, to ask it, but I--I ask it in all penitence,” and he heard that her voice was faltering and broken.

For a few seconds he reflected.

“Very well, Edris,” he replied; “I will be with you at ten.”

He could hear the big sigh of relief she gave when he acceded to her appeal. Then he rang off and went to pack his suit-case.

Punctually at ten o’clock he tapped at the door of room No. 246 in the Carlton Hotel, and next second she opened it to admit him. She noticed how hard-faced and austere he was as she closed the door.

She was wearing a wonderful flame-colored dance-frock trimmed with silver. Womanlike, she held out her hand to him as though nothing had happened. But he did not take it.

She rushed to him, clasped her arms about him, and kissed him with tears in her eyes.

“It is so good of you to come, my dear heart. I--I feared that you would refuse. But I want you--I want to tell you everything, and then I’ll leave you to judge me as you will.”

“Karl Weiss is my enemy. I hate him,” he said, flashing into bitter anger, as he stood near the dressing-table.

“Yes, you have just cause to do so,” she sobbed. “I want your forgiveness, your sympathy--your great love.”

“You cannot want my love, Edris, when you are engaged to that man,” he said, with a hard, serious expression.

“Oh, I know too well what you must think of me--how you must despise me as callous and worthless. I have been. I admit it all. But there have been extenuating circumstances in the crime I have committed--the crime of so basely deceiving you--the man who loves me, and towards whom I have been devoted.”

“Devoted!” he echoed jeeringly. “You have shown great devotion to me, have you not?”

“I have been fascinated, deluded, and misled by the man you believed was your friend. I had for him a fatal infatuation. Why, I cannot tell,” she cried, clinging again to him. “From the first moment I met him in Interlaken I felt some strange spell over me. But I swear that I have never ceased to love you. I----”

“How can I believe that, in face of his letters to you concerning myself? Do not forget your deception at Wengen, and the hours you spent in his arms.” Darville’s face was hard.

“I know I have lied to you,” she went on, “but I have lied in defense.”

“In defense of what?”

“In defense of him.”

He gazed with tragic fascination at the girl he had loved, worked for, hoped for, and lost.

“Because you loved him,” he said quietly.

“No, it was not that--I swear it was not. I have never loved him. I loved only you, Seti. He attracted me by some extraordinary evil power of fascination he possesses. He fascinated and infatuated me, until I was as clay in his hands. Whatever caused me to do what I have done, I cannot tell. When I wrote those cruel letters I could not have been in my senses. But now I have seen him here in my own country I have become disillusioned, and I have realized that it is all a tragedy which I brought upon you--that my infatuation for him is at an end. I love only you, and, as far as he is concerned, he has now passed out of my life for ever. Will you believe me?” she added in frantic appeal. True to her pride and principles, she stood awaiting his reply, prepared to abide by his decision. She was beaten, and knew it.

She looked up and met his eyes. They were kind, dark, still, and clear. It was the crucial moment of both their lives.

“Then you have discarded him?” he asked with a sigh. He laughed a little, with an impatient note.

Edris flushed, and then grew white; her eyes closed for a moment, and then opened and looked at him. He never forgot them, nor their expression. The old love-light was returning. It was that which softened him.

He placed his hand lightly upon her dark, shingled head.

“Yes,” she said, with a catch in her voice, “I have discarded him, Seti, and I have returned to you, if--if I dare face you again.”

And, again in tears, she fell upon her knees, and, clutching his strong hand, covered it with hot, passionate kisses.