Chapter III: The Maid and the Ring

I call her a woman, but she can have been no more than seventeen or eighteen, I think. She was one of those dark, supple Siresian girls who approach so infinitely nearer to one’s ideal houri of the East than any really Oriental beauty ever can do. Her great black eyes wandered nervously from O’Hagan’s face to mine.

“Tell me!” she cried, in pretty, broken English—“I saw you whispering together—tell me! You are from Leo?”

Nipping my arm, O’Hagan bowed again.

“I knew it!” cried the girl joyously. “Something told me!”

Good God! at her words, at sight of the mist of gladness, of gratitude, clouding her beautiful eyes, I could have kicked myself—I could have attacked O’Hagan nor counted the cost!

“He is so stupid—the Duke,” she ran on, confidently: “so stupid! He leaves his coat in there”—she pointed to a distant door—“and these”—producing a bulky, sealed parcel—“in the pocket!”

Then she laughed joyously. Her eyes, though, brimmed over with tears. Her credulity amazed me, of course; but not so greatly as one might suppose. There is something about O’Hagan that women trust implicitly; and it is something, I contend, which shall be written to his credit in the greater Doomsday Book—a real grandeur of soul which all his surprising superficialities cannot wholly mask.

Perceive me, then, at this juncture, a man rendered helpless by warring emotions, conflicting doubts, fears, and a supreme wonderment.

“Do you think you will be in time?” she pleaded, pressing the packet into his hands.

“I hope so, mademoiselle!” he replied.

His handsome face was stern. He had dropped his monocle, and, with it, I thought, somewhat of his flippancy.

“They may think he has turned traitor!” she went on, rapidly: “_he_—who has given up everything to the Cause! But they will be furious—they will not reason! Even now, monsieur, they may be condemning him!”

Her use of the word “monsieur” set me wondering. Her voice broke. Her brave eyes grew dim. And a lump rose in my throat. For I had perceived the reality of her trouble, and I think I had never felt a more despicable scoundrel. I thought that, as a man and a gentleman, I truly was not worth our united three-and-ninepence! What should I do? How should I act? Thus, miserably, I searched my inert intelligence; then:

“Listen,” began my friend, succinctly—“I cannot go among them, because I am not one of them! Do not be afraid. I am a true friend to the Cause and to Leo. But how may I reach him?—where do they meet to-night? And are you certain that he will be there?”

A shadow—a vague shadow—clouded the girl’s face. Anxiously, intently, she watched O’Hagan; and this he perceived.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, with a frank pride which is his peculiar birthright—“it is not possible that you can mistrust my word! Upon my honour, I will deliver this packet as you direct, and no man shall hinder me. But you must tell me where they meet, and how I may gain admittance.”

A moment more she hesitated—searching his face with big, anxious eyes. Then dawned the light of a great resolution; and I knew that she had determined to trust to her instincts.

“Here,” she said, hastily pulling a ring from her finger. “Show this to the woman in the shop before the Café de l’Orient, Greek Street, and say ‘Warsaw.’ You will be admitted. Give the packet to Leo or to the President; to no one else! Quick! go, I implore you!”

O’Hagan took the ring, raised the girl’s white fingers to his lips, and bowed over her hand as over the hand of a queen. It was the farewell of an old-time courtier and most perfect gentleman—completely untheatrical, exquisitely dignified. At such moments you perceive in my friend the ideal cavalier.

Her face flushed rosily—and paled to a greater pallor.

In the doorway O’Hagan turned again and bowed. Then, straight downstairs we hastened—he with the package in an inside pocket—and through to the street, unquestioned. A taxi-cab had just discharged a visitor at the door, and O’Hagan detained the man with a short, imperious gesture.

We leapt in.

“Café de l’Orient, Greek Street,” said my friend. “Three-and-nine if you get there in five minutes!”

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