Chapter XVIII

Cowes week was over, and the house party at Orrel Court had broken up. Madame de Bourbon had yielded to her niece's earnest persuasions, and consented to become a guest on the _Nadine_. Count Valdemar and Sophie had sailed on board the _Vlodoya_, _en route_ for the Baltic and Petersburg. The news which Hardress had told to the marquise and Chrysie on the lawn at Cowes had duly leaked out into the channels of the Press, and had been condensed and expanded, embroidered and commented upon with the usual luxuriant facility of the journalistic imagination.

Meanwhile the _Times_ had published a lengthy and weighty communication from M. de Blowitz, which, while proving many wrong and some right, pointed unmistakably to a very grave state of affairs in Western and Central Europe. The communication also hinted, indirectly but unmistakably, at other developments which might possibly produce results as astounding as they would be unexpected.

"De Blowitz has somehow managed to get on to the secret of those two so-called Polar expeditions," said Hardress to his father at breakfast on the morning before the _Nadine_ was to sail.

The marquise and Madame de Bourbon were having breakfast in their own room that morning else he would not have said this. Only Chrysie and her father were at the table. "He's a wonderful fellow for getting hold of news. That allusion to events proceeding in a far-distant portion of the globe is distinctly significant."

"That's so," said Clifford Vandel, "and I reckon that, under the circumstances, the sooner we respond personally to Doctor Lamson's telegram the better it will be for all immediately concerned. To tell you the square truth, Lord Orrel," he went on, looking up from his plate, "I don't quite like the turn things seem to be taking generally."

"Why, what do you mean, my dear Vandel?" asked his lordship; "you've not heard anything unpleasant, have you?"

"I've heard something, and I've seen a bit more," he replied. "I don't want to speak disrespectfully of any of your guests, but I'm bound to say I don't altogether like the cordiality that's seemed to work up during the last few days between our Russian friends and the distinguished lady who is going to honour us by her company across the Atlantic."

"Oh, come now, Mr Vandel," interrupted Hardress, in a tone which Miss Chrysie did not exactly appreciate, "surely you're not going to accuse the marquise, the daughter of my father's old friend, of anything like plotting and scheming with Russia."

"I'm not making any accusations, viscount; I'm just trying to put two and two together and make four of them. We know that if Doctor Fargeau's discovery had not fallen into our hands, or, I should say that if it had not been thrown into our hands by the stupidity of the French government, this young lady's father would most likely have become king of France instead of dying, of what we will call mental shock, down at Elsenau; and we haven't yet got on to whether she knows anything or nothing about the scheme yet."

"Anyhow, she was in Paris at the time when this Fargeau, the son of the man whose remains we picked up, had his interviews with General Ducros, and these Russians were there at the same time. I guess that makes about two. Right after that France and Russia decide to send two Polar expeditions, both by the same route--the only one on this side that leads to the Storage Works--and both about timed to get there when we are ready to spring our little scheme on the world. I reckon that makes two more; and if you put them together you'll get about four."

"I should say five, poppa," exclaimed Miss Chrysie, putting her fish-knife down somewhat sharply on her plate. "It strikes me the whole thing's timed to fix in with this war that they're talking about. France and Russia want to get hold of the works when the war starts. If they do they'll just run creation and halve the world between them; and I reckon that makes five. What do you think, viscount?" she went on, raising her eyes and looking straight at him across the table.

"I agree entirely with Mr Vandel that we ought to get across the Atlantic as quickly as we can," he replied, rather more deliberately than she liked. "I hope, and still believe, that your suspicions are without foundation, but, at the same time, of course, we can't afford to take any risks in a matter like this; and as everything is ready, and as it is always wise to do the unexpected in matters like this, the _Nadine_ shall start to-night instead of to-morrow morning. That will give us thirteen to fifteen hours' start; and if, as you seem to think, our friends are the enemy, it may help somewhat to disconcert their plans. But, under any circumstances, it won't do any harm."

"I think, Shafto, that's a very good idea," said Lord Orrel. "In view of what is taking place in Europe and of Doctor Lamson's telegram, I really don't think we ought to lose an hour in getting across the Atlantic as quickly as possible. Of course, it is impossible for me to entertain suspicions of the character of people who have been my guests without the most absolute proof, but at any rate it is impossible that anything could happen between here and Halifax, where we shall land Madame de Bourbon and the marquise. There we shall get more definite news from Lamson, and the telegram will give us good excuse for leaving them there; but that, of course, will depend upon the nature of the news that we get there. If there is anything really serious--well, we shall have to commit them to the care of the universal Cook, who will, of course, provide a special courier for them, and say good-bye as politely as possible."

At this moment the door opened and Adelaide came in. Lord Orrel had a somewhat high-pitched voice, and as she was opening the door, in the slow, silent way which society approves, she distinctly heard his last sentence.

"Ah," he continued, "here is the marquise herself. Ma'm'selle, we find that the yacht is ready, and that there is no objection, unless you and Madame de Bourbon have any, to starting this afternoon instead of to-morrow morning. Both Mr Vandel and myself have somewhat urgent affairs on the other side of the Atlantic."

"My dear Lord Orrel," replied Adelaide, with a radiant smile, "pray say nothing more; the arrangement will suit my aunt and myself perfectly--and, after all, we are at your service. It is you who are accommodating us. For my part, I think it is always pleasant the first night at sea, especially in summer. One wakes up the next morning to find the sun shining, and the water dancing, and the strong salt breeze ready to give one a most glorious appetite for breakfast. What more would you? The packing, as you call it, is done. For us it is only a question of putting our hats on and going on board--and, voila, c'est fait."

She said this with such a delightful air of insouciance, and with such a radiant smile, that Miss Chrysie felt that she could have shot her there and then. Under the circumstances, she just finished her coffee and said:

"Well, Olive, if that's so, I reckon we'd better go and get fixed up too. I quite agree with the marquise that it's better to start out at night on a voyage and wake up nice and fresh next morning, especially if you don't eat too liberal a dinner before you start."

"Oh yes," said Lady Olive; "I can be quite ready by this afternoon if you can, and if it's anything like the lovely moonlight night it was last night, we shall have a perfectly delicious run through the Solent and past the Needles."

"And along the coast," added Hardress; "the moonlight will last us a bit farther than that. We shall be well away to Portland before you want to go to bed I expect. The _Nadine's_ got to do her best this time, and we've coaled up for a run across the Atlantic at twenty knots. That will be somewhat of an experience for you, marquise, will it not?"

"Yes, viscount," she said, with one of those smiles which Miss Chrysie hated so; "it is a very wonderful speed that, and of course it will be an experience."

"Then that's settled," said Lady Olive, rising, "we shall start this evening. Now let us go and pack."

The _Nadine_, spick and span, and clean as a new pin, was lying alongside the ocean quay at Southampton, her bunkers and half her hold crammed with the finest steaming coal that money could buy, and the steam whistling softly in her pipes.

Her second engineer, an exceedingly clever young fellow of twenty-five, whose good-looking face was marred by a pair of too-closely-set greenish-blue eyes, was leaning on the rail a little forward of the foremast, smoking a pipe and gazing down the water with eyes that saw nothing material. Edward Williams was as good a marine engineer as ever went afloat, but unfortunately he was possessed by the idea, too common among his class, that he possessed a creative and inventive genius as well as real cleverness in his profession.

He had invented what he considered to be improvement after improvement in marine machinery, and Lord Orrel had at first helped him generously to put them into practical form; but as he did not possess the genius, he believed he had, they had one after another failed to stand the test of practice, and at length both Lord Orrel and his son had closed their pockets and given him to understand that he had better devote himself to his profession and leave inventing alone. This produced the usual effect on such a mind as his. He forgot all that they had done for him, and looked upon them as wealthy men whose selfishness deliberately barred his way to the fame and fortune which ought to be his.

Only a month before he had gone to Hardress with the plans of a new type of submarine boat, which he, of course, firmly believed would revolutionise naval warfare. It would only have cost a few hundred pounds to build a model and demonstrate the truth of his theory, but Hardress had kindly but firmly refused to do it. This refusal had soured him utterly, and put him in exactly the frame of mind readiest to succumb to the temptation to commit the only crime of his life.

Sophie had heard something of this in conversations at the Court and on board the yacht, and she instantly divined that if she was to find an instrument to work out her scheme she would find it in the disappointed inventor--and she was right.

Like every man who believes himself to be a genius, and is not, Edward Williams was intensely vain, and when the beautiful and brilliant countess one day asked him to show her over the engines and explain their working he naturally felt intensely flattered. Then Sophie had skilfully led the conversation to his own inventions, sympathised with him very sweetly, and assured him that in Russia such genius as his would certainly not go unrecognised. "But these English," she said, "are always the last to accept new ideas or properly reward their clever men."

After that he had been as wax in her skilful hands. She had even led him to believe she was not indifferent to him personally. After this she had infatuated him still further by giving him appointments in secluded parts of the Court grounds; and so she had gradually led up to the proposal which he had now definitely accepted.

For reasons of state, it was all-important that the _Nadine_ should never reach America. Not the slightest harm was to come to anyone on board her: they would simply be brought back and landed in France, free to get home as they pleased. All that was wanted was a delay of a couple of days or so. Therefore, if the engines of the _Nadine_ broke down at a certain spot in the Atlantic, and remained helpless until the _Vlodoya_ overtook her, he was to receive five thousand pounds in gold and a lucrative dockyard appointment in Russia, which would give him every opportunity of working out his inventions.

To such a man, embittered by disappointment and soured by a sense of imaginary wrongs, such a dazzling temptation was irresistible; and that was why Edward Williams was leaning over the rail of the _Nadine_ a couple of hours before she was to start, dreaming dreams of revenge on those who had wronged him, and of fortune and fame among his country's enemies.

The party from Orrel Court drove down to Southampton immediately after lunch to enable the ladies to do a little final shopping before going on board.

In the course of the afternoon Chrysie and Lady Olive went into the telegraph office to send off a few farewell wires to friends. As they entered, Miss Chrysie's quick eyes at once caught sight of Felice, the marquise's maid, leaning over one of the compartments. She touched Lady Olive's hand and nodded towards her, and said:

"I guess I'd like to see that telegram."

And then, in the most unprincipled fashion, she strolled along the compartments as though she were looking for a form, stopped a moment and looked over the maid's shoulder. Then she came back and did it again. Meanwhile the other compartments had been occupied; so she just stood about until Felice had finished, and then took her place.

As it happened, Felice had been compelled to use one of those adamantine post-office pencils which you have to almost dig through the paper before you can get a legible impression; consequently on the next form on the pad there was a distinct tracing of several words. This Miss Chrysie tore off and appropriated. Then she wrote her own message and went to the counter with it.

When they got out into the street Lady Olive said, a trifle frigidly:

"My dear Chrysie, don't you think you did a rather improper thing in there? I distinctly saw you look over Felice's shoulder. You know, here, we consider a telegram as sacred as a letter."

"Why, certainly!" replied Chrysie, flushing a little at the rebuke: "and so we do over our side: but still, all's fair in--well--in love and war, and I guess you won't think me quite so wicked when I tell you who that telegram's addressed to."

"Really, Chrysie, I don't wish to know, and I don't think you ought to know," said Lady Olive, still more stiffly.

"Well," replied Chrysie, defiantly, "I am sorry I riled you, but I do know it; and honestly, Olive, it's what's you and I and all of us ought to know."

At this Lady Olive's curiosity appealed very strongly to her sense of the proprieties, and she said more amiably:

"Do you really mean, Chrysie, that there's something serious in it--that, for instance, it has anything to do with the works?"

"I don't know yet," said Chrysie, "but I've got a pretty good copy of it in my satchel, thanks to those awful pencils they give you to use in British telegraph offices. Anyhow, it was addressed to Count Valdemar, _Yacht Vlodoya_, Cherbourg; and Cherbourg's not on the way to the Baltic, is it? Let's go and have an ice and some cakes somewhere, so that I can read what is written."

"That's very strange," said Lady Olive, "and the Count professed to be in such a hurry to get back to Petersburg. What on earth can he be doing at Cherbourg?"

"I reckon poppa and the viscount would give something to know that, too," said Chrysie, as they turned into a confectioner's. They ordered ices, and Chrysie took the telegram form out of her satchel and unfolded it gingerly. Her pretty brows puckered over it for a few moments, as she slanted it this way and that to get the light on it. Then she put her elbows on the little marble table, and said in a low tone:

"It's in French, and it tells the Count that the _Nadine_ starts this evening instead of to-morrow morning. The last word is 'Depechez,' and that's French for 'Make haste,' isn't it? Now, do you think I was right in doing a very improper thing--which, of course, it was?"

"I'm afraid you were, Chrysie," said Lady Olive. "It's certainly very mysterious. How is the telegram signed?"

"There isn't any signature," replied Chrysie. "Our friend's a bit too cute for that."

"What on earth do you mean, Chrysie?" said Lady Olive, with a note of alarm in her voice. "What friend?"

Chrysie looked up and said, with a snap of her eyes: "What other friend than M'am'selle Felice's mistress--the noble Adelaide de Conde?"

Lady Olive started. To her straightforward English sense of honour it seemed impossible that a woman so gently bred as Adelaide de Conde could accept her father's hospitality, and yet send such a message as this to those who might before long be the enemies of his country.

"Chrysie," she said, "I could not believe that for a moment. It is utterly incredible that the marquise could be guilty of anything of the sort. I admit that it is very suspicious that the _Vlodoya_ should be at Cherbourg instead of on her way to the Baltic, and that Adelaide's maid should send such a message; but it seems to me much more likely that Felice is in the pay of these Russians, and that her mistress knows nothing about it."

"Well," said Chrysie, rising, "we shall see. Now I guess we'd better be getting down on board. I shall give this to the viscount, and he can have a council of war on it."

"The viscount!" smiled Lady Olive, as they went out into the street. "How very formal we are, Chrysie. Why don't you call him Shafto?"

"Because I won't let him call me Chrysie--yet," was the reply.