Whoso Findeth a Wife

Quickly I took his keys, and, unlocking the tiny drawer, opened it.

Inside there reposed a highly-finished cabinet portrait of my wife.

Amazed to find this picture in the possession of my chief, I took it in my hands and stood agape. Its pose was unfamiliar, but the reason I had never before seen a copy of it was instantly made plain. It bore the name of a well-known St Petersburg photographer.

Ella had lied to me when she had denied ever having been in Russia.

Chapter Twenty Five

The Man of the Hour

Months of anxiety went wearily by, but no tidings of Ella could I glean. Time could never efface the bitter memories of the past. The police had, at Lord Warnham’s instigation, exerted every effort to trace her, but without avail. She had disappeared with a rapidity that was astounding, for, apparently expecting that some attempt might be made to follow her, she had ingeniously taken every precaution to baffle her pursuers in the same manner as her mother had done. The cause of her sudden flight was an enigma only equalled by my discovery of her portrait in the Earl’s possession. Although I had several times in conversation led up to the subject of photographs, and shown him Ella’s picture, that had been taken by a firm in Regent Street, the astute old statesman made no sign that he already had her counterfeit presentment hidden among his most treasured possessions. When I recollected, as I often did, how on gazing upon it, while believing me engrossed in the writing of a dispatch, the sight of it had affected him, the new phase of the mystery perplexed me sorely. That they had been previously acquainted seemed more than probable, and his Lordship’s earnest desire to secure knowledge of her whereabouts lent additional colour to this opinion.

Daily the aged statesman grew more gloomy and misanthropic. He lived alone, in an atmosphere of severe officialdom. His only recreation was a formal visit on rare occasions to a reception at one or other of the principal Embassies, or attendance on Her Majesty at Osborne or Balmoral; his brief, far-seeing suggestions at the Cabinet Council were always adopted unanimously, and his peremptory “notes” to the Powers incontrovertible marvels of diplomacy. He hated society, and never went anywhere without some strong motive by which he could further his country’s interests. His eccentricities were proverbial, his caustic observations on men and things the delight of leader-writers on Government journals; and as director of England’s foreign policy he was feared, yet admired, in every capital in Europe. He, however, cared not a jot for notoriety, but with an utter disregard for all else, served his country with a slavish devotion, that even the most scathing Opposition gutter-journal could not fail to recognise.

It was common talk that some strange, romantic incident had overshadowed his life, but with that innate secrecy that was part of his creed he never confided in anybody. Notwithstanding his frigid cynicism, however, he was nevertheless sympathetic, and at any mention of Ella’s name he would rivet his searching eyes upon me, while across the white brow, furrowed by the heavy responsibilities of State through so many years, would spread an expression of regret, anxiety or pain. But he spoke seldom upon that subject. That he regarded my marriage as a deplorable fiasco I was well aware, but felt that in his cold heart, hardened as it was by the artful subterfuges of successful diplomacy, there yet remained a spark of pity, for he still regarded me as his protégé.

On the day after Ella had fled I called at Andrew Beck’s office at Winchester House, Old Broad Street, but found he had sailed a few days before by the Union Liner Scot for Cape Town. Of late he had become connected with several South African gold ventures of enormous extent, and in the interests of some of the companies most prominently before the public, had undertaken the journey. His great wealth, in combination with that of his associates, had inspired public confidence, and there had commenced that feverish tendency in the city that quickly developed, and was later known as the “gold boom.” The movements of the popular member for West Rutlandshire were cabled and chronicled in the newspapers as diligently as if he were a prince of a reigning house, and it was with extreme satisfaction that one morning in June I saw it announced that the mail had arrived at Southampton from the Cape bearing him on board, the same paper printing an account of an interview regarding gold prospects in South Africa which he had given its representative before he left the steamer. I was down at Warnham at the time, but three days later returned to London, and that same night sought Beck at the House of Commons.

I found him in the Members’ Lobby, bustling about in his ill-fitting evening clothes and crumpled shirt-front, looking sun-tanned and well; a trifle more arrogant, perhaps, but nevertheless easy-going and good-natured as usual. He greeted me heartily, and the night being warm we lit cigars and walked out upon the Terrace beside the Thames. Big Ben was chiming the midnight hour. It was bright and star-lit above, but before us the river ran darkly beneath the arches of Westminster Bridge, its ripples glistening under the gas lamps. Across on the opposite bank, in the row of buildings comprising St Thomas’s Hospital, lights glimmered faintly in the windows of the wards, while here and there on the face of the black, silent highway, lights, white, red and green, shone out in silent warning.

As we set foot upon the long, deserted Terrace, strolling slowly forward in the balmy, refreshing night air, my thoughts wandered back to the last occasion when we had spent an evening together beside the Thames, that memorable night at “The Nook,” when we had afterwards discovered Dudley Ogle lying dead.

During the first half-hour we discussed the progress of several questions of foreign policy which had been pursued during his absence, and he, an enthusiast in politics, confided in me his intention to head a select circle of his party to demand a commission of inquiry into the working of our mobilisation scheme for home defence.

“One would think that you desired to obtain further notoriety,” I laughed. “Surely you are popular enough; you are now the man of the hour.”

“Well, I suppose I am,” he answered, a trifle proudly, halting suddenly, leaning with his back to the stone parapet and puffing vigorously at his cigar. “But it isn’t for the sake of notoriety that I’m pressing forward this inquiry. It is for the benefit of the country generally. The scheme for the mobilisation of our forces in case of invasion is utterly rotten, and had we been compelled to fight a little time ago, when France and Russia were upon the point of declaring war, we should have been in a wretched plight. The scheme is all very well on paper, but I and my friends are determined to ascertain whether it will act. It has never been tested, and no doubt it is utterly unworkable. What, indeed, can be said of a scheme which decrees that in case of an enemy landing on our shores a regiment of cavalry, now in London, must draw its horses from Dublin! Why, the thing’s absurd. We don’t mean to rest until the whole matter is thoroughly threshed out.”

“You intend to worry up the War Office a little,” I observed, smiling.

“Yes,” he answered, ostentatiously. “We intend to bring public opinion to bear so heavily upon them that they will be absolutely bound to submit to the inquiry. This is, however, a secret for the present. It is best that the newspapers should not get hold of it yet. You understand?”

“Of course,” I said.

We stood watching the dark, swirling waters and enjoying the cool night breeze that swept along the river, causing the lamps to flicker, when he suddenly asked, – “How is Ella? I quite forgot to ask after your wife.”

“I don’t know,” I replied, after a brief pause.

“Don’t know?” he echoed, looking at me, puzzled. “Why, what’s the matter?”

“She has left me,” I answered gravely.

“Left you!” he cried, removing his cigar and staring at me. “Have you quarrelled?”

“No. On my return home one night in January I found a note of farewell from her. I have heard nothing of her since. Mrs Laing disappeared on the same day.”

“Disappeared!” he gasped. My announcement had caused him the greatest consternation, for he stood agape. “Have you no idea of the reason?”

“None whatever,” I replied. Then confidentially I told him of Ella’s mysterious absences, her walk in Kensington Gardens, and her letters from the unknown individual who had met her so frequently, omitting, however, all mention either of the theft or recovery of the secret convention, for it was Lord Warnham’s wish that I should keep the existence of that instrument a profound secret.

“Have you no idea who this strange fellow is?” he inquired, sympathetically.

“Not the slightest,” I said.

“Ella was not addicted to flirtation,” he observed reflectively, a few moments later. “As you are aware, I have been acquainted with the family for some years, and have known your wife ever since she could toddle.”

“Tell me of them,” I urged impatiently. “I know scarcely anything beyond what Ella and her mother have told me. What do you know of Ella’s past?”

“You speak as if you suspected her to be an adventuress,” he said, and as the lamplight fell upon his face I saw that his lips relaxed into a good-humoured smile. “As far as I’m aware there is no incident of her life prior to marriage that will not bear the fullest investigation; and as for her mother, no more straightforward nor upright woman ever lived. Before poor Robert Laing died I was a frequent visitor at their country house, so I had ample opportunity of noticing what an affectionate family they were; and after his death it was I who succeeded in turning his great business into a limited liability concern.”

To outsiders Beck was a swaggering parvenu, who delighted in exhibiting his wealth to others by giving expensive dinners and indulging in extravagances of speech and beverage; but towards me he had always been honestly outspoken and unassuming – in fact, a typical successful business man, with whose unruffled good humour I had, even when madly jealous of his attentions to Ella, found it impossible to quarrel. I had long ago grown to ridicule the suggestion that any secret had existed between them, and now felt instinctively that he was my friend.

“Do you think – ” I asked him, after a long pause. “Candidly speaking, have you any suspicion that Dudley Ogle was her lover?”

He knit his brows. For an instant a hard expression played about his mouth, and he drew a long breath.

“I didn’t, of course, know so much of Dudley as you did,” he answered, slowly contemplating the end of his cigar. “But to tell you the honest truth, I always suspected that he loved her. In fact her own evidence at the inquest was sufficient proof of that.”

“His death was an enigma,” I observed.

“Entirely so,” he acquiesced, sighing.

“She alleged that he had been murdered, and there is no room for doubt that she entertained certain very grave suspicions.”

“Of what?”

“Of the identity of the murderer,” I said. “She declared to me, times without number, that she would never rest until she had unravelled the mystery.”

“Her theory was a very wild one,” he laughed. “Personally, I do not entertain it for one moment. The medical opinion that he died from a sudden but natural cause is undoubtedly correct,” he said, replacing his dead cigar between his lips, as, slowly striking a vesta, he re-lit it. Then he added, “Her anxiety to avenge Dudley’s death certainly seems to bear out your suspicion that they were lovers.”

“Then you entirely agree with me?” I cried.

“In a measure only,” he answered, his voice suddenly harsh and cold. “I have no suspicion that she ever reciprocated his affection, although in seeking to learn the truth of your friend’s tragic end she must have had some very strong motive.”

“Another fact I also discovered was a trifle curious,” I observed, after we had strolled along the deserted Terrace from end to end, discussing the details of Dudley’s death, and the manner in which it had affected her.

“What was it?” he inquired, glancing towards me.

“I found that she was in the habit of visiting every day a pretty Russian girl with whom I was acquainted.”

“Before marriage?” he asked, raising his eyebrows meaningly.

“Yes,” I answered. “She was a refugee, and I had been enabled to render her father a service some time before; therefore we had become friends. I had lost sight of her for a long time, and when I again met her I discovered that she had not only been an intimate friend of poor Dudley, but that Ella visited her frequently on her bicycle when she was supposed by her mother to be riding in the Park.”

“Was there anything remarkable in that fact?” he inquired, with a half-amused air, nevertheless regarding me with undue keenness, I thought.

“Nothing, except that the little Russian, who, having lost her father, was living a lonely life in a rather large house in Kensington, warned me against Ella, telling me she was my enemy. She, however, left without fulfilling her promise to reveal the details.”

“Your enemy!” he cried, laughing jocosely. “She was evidently jealous of your attentions to her, my boy. A Russian, too! She was a Nihilist, I suppose, or some interestingly romantic person of that sort, eh? Surely you didn’t heed what she said, did you?”

“Of course not,” I replied, with a forced laugh. “I loved Ella too well; so I married her.”

“And you now regret it,” he added abruptly.

Without replying I walked on by his side, smoking furiously. My object in seeking him had been to learn what I could of Ella’s past, but no mysterious incident had, to his knowledge, occurred. Her family were well-known in Yorkshire, respected throughout the county, and no breath of scandal had ever besmirched the fair fame of either Robert Laing’s widow or his daughter. Beck, their intimate friend, concealed nothing from me, but frankly discussed my hopes and fears, expressing his heartfelt sympathy that I should have thus mysteriously lost my well-beloved, and offering me all the assistance that lay in his power.

“It certainly is extremely curious that Mrs Laing should have left Pont Street without sending me a letter to the club, giving me her new address,” he said calmly, after reflection.

“You have not, then, heard from her?”

“No, I have had no letter. A week before I left for South Africa I dined there, and she then told me that she intended to remain in England throughout the year. She expressed the greatest gratification that Ella had married so happily, and seemed in the best of spirits. Yet a few days later, it appears, she fled as secretly as if she had been a criminal. It is really very extraordinary; I can’t account for it in the least.”

“All effort to trace Ella has failed,” I observed gloomily, after a moment’s reflection.

“Whose aid have you sought? A private inquiry agent?”

“No. The police,” I answered.

“Police!” he exclaimed, surprised. “They have committed no crime, surely. I – I mean that the police do not trace missing friends.”

“They will carry out the orders of any Government Department,” I answered. “The request came from my chief.”

“From Lord Warnham! Then you have told him!”

“Of course,” I responded.

In contemplative silence he slowly blew a great cloud of smoke from his lips. Then he said, “There is one thing you haven’t told me, Geoffrey. What was the name of this pretty Russian who made these mysterious allegations against Ella?”

“Her name was Sonia Korolénko.”

“Sonia Korolénko!” he cried in a voice strangely hoarse, halting and glaring at me with wide-open, staring eyes. “Sonia! And she has gone, you say?”

“Yes. She has returned to Russia, I believe. But what do you know of her?” I quickly inquired.

“Nothing. I merely know her by repute as a notorious woman, that’s all,” he answered. “You were certainly wise to discard her allegations.”

“Is she such a well-known person?” I asked.

“I should rather think so,” he answered, elevating his eyebrows. “Her fame has spread all over the Continent. She was leader of a certain circle of questionable society in Vienna a year ago, and narrowly escaped falling into the hands of the police.”

“But what can have induced Ella to associate with her?” I exclaimed in wonderment.

“Ah! That is more than we can tell,” he answered, in a tone of sincere regret. “The ways of women of her type are ofttimes utterly incomprehensible.”

“Were you aware that Ella was acquainted with her?” I inquired earnestly.

At that moment, however, the electric gongs along the Terrace commenced ringing sharply, announcing that the House was about to divide. The division was upon an important amendment, and had been expected at any moment since the dinner-hour. Turning back quickly he hurried through the tea-room along the corridor, and shaking hands with me in haste, promising to resume our conversation on another occasion, disappeared to record his vote.

For a single instant I stood alone in the Lobby, watching the receding figure of the portly man of the hour, and pondering deeply. Then, full of gloomy recollections of the past, I turned on my heel and went out through the long, echoing hall.

Chapter Twenty Six

A Mission and its Sequel

“You fully understand the position, Deedes?”

“Absolutely,” I replied.

“Well, this is your first mission abroad – a secret one and most important – so do your best, and let me see how you shape towards being a diplomatist. Remember you have one main object to bear in mind, as I have already told you; and further, that the strictest secrecy is absolutely necessary.”

It was the Earl of Warnham who thus spoke gravely as we stood opposite one another in the private room of the Minister in attendance at Osborne. Between us was a large table littered with state documents, each of which Her Majesty had carefully investigated before appending her firm, well-written signature. Late on the previous night I had travelled to the Isle of Wight in response to a telegram summoning me and my chief, who, after three rather protracted audiences of Her Majesty during the morning, had instructed me to proceed at once to Paris, entrusting me with a secret mission. Lord Gaysford, the Under Secretary, would undoubtedly have gone, but as he was away in Scotland attending some election meetings, and as time was pressing, I had, much to my gratification, been chosen. My mission was a rather curious one, not unconnected with Her Majesty’s personal affairs, and the instructions I had to deliver to the Marquis of Worthorpe, our Ambassador to the French Republic, were of such a delicate nature that if written in a formal dispatch would, the Earl feared, cause that skilled and highly-valued diplomatist to send in his resignation.

I had therefore been chosen to put a suggestion politely to his Excellency, and at the same time deliver the Earl’s instructions with deference, yet so firmly that they could not be disregarded. Mine was certainly a difficult task, nevertheless in my enthusiasm at being chosen to execute this secret mission abroad I was prepared to attempt anything, from the settlement of the Egyptian Question to the formation of a Quadruple Alliance.

“I shall carry out your instructions to the best of my ability,” I assured him, after he had given me various valuable hints how to act.

“Yes,” the aged Minister said, slowly gathering the tails of his black broadcloth frock coat over his arms and thrusting his hands into his pockets, “cross from Newhaven to-night, and you can see Worthorpe at noon to-morrow. Tell him to give you an interview alone; then explain what I have told you. He must obtain an audience of the President some time to-morrow.”

“I shall act as discreetly as possible,” I declared.

“I feel sure you will, Deedes,” he exclaimed, with a look more kindly than usual. “This mission will, I hope, lead to others, further afield, perhaps. But remember that you were once victimised by a spy; therefore exercise the greatest care and caution in this and all matters.”

“I certainly shall,” I answered, smiling; then, after the further discussion of a point upon which I was not perfectly clear, I wished my chief adieu.

As I passed out of the room he said, —

“Put up at the Continental. If I have any further instructions, I’ll wire in cypher.”

“Very well,” I replied, and as I went forth I met on the threshold a servant in the royal livery who had come to summon the trusted Minister to another audience with his Sovereign.

Eager to fulfil my mission to the satisfaction of the eccentric old statesman, who, if to others was a martinet, was to me a firm and sympathetic friend, I at once set out, crossed to Dieppe that night, and duly arrived in Paris next day. Shortly before noon I presented myself at the handsome official residence of the British Ambassador, and was quickly ushered into his presence. We were not strangers, having met on several occasions when he visited London and called to consult the chief; therefore he welcomed me cordially when I entered his private room. The Marquis was a tall, brown-bearded, pleasant-faced man, who had graduated in the Constantinople and Vienna schools of diplomacy before being appointed Ambassador in Paris, and who had achieved considerable reputation as a skilled negotiator of the most delicate points.

Seated opposite one another in softly-padded armchairs, we chatted affably for perhaps a quarter of an hour. First, he inquired after our chief’s health, and then endeavoured to ascertain from me the policy about to be pursued towards Russia in view of our recent strained relations, but I strenuously avoided answering any of his artfully-concealed questions. A dozen times, with that consummate tact acquired by a lifetime of diplomacy, he endeavoured to get me to hazard an opinion or express a doubt, but I always refused. Lord Warnham’s instructions were that I should say nothing of those affairs of State which, in my capacity of private secretary, were well-known to me, hence my determination to maintain silence.

Presently the Marquis smilingly exclaimed, “Lord Warnham has evidently taught you the first requisite of the successful diplomatist – namely, secrecy. You’ve borne well the test I have applied, Deedes. By the same questions I have just put to you I could have learnt just what I wanted from half the diplomatic circle here in Paris, yet you have fenced with me admirably. I shall not omit to mention the fact to Lord Warnham when next I call at the Foreign Office.”

I thanked his Excellency, adding, with a smile, “One learns the value of silence with our chief.”

“Yes,” he answered, slowly tapping his table with a quill. “He’s a curious man, extremely curious. His very eccentricity causes him to be feared by every Cabinet in Europe. Is he really as impetuous and strange in private life as he is in public?”

I paused, looking fixedly into my companions dark eyes.

“The object of my visit, your Excellency, is not to discuss the merits of my chief or the policy of the Home Government, but to make a suggestion which he has desired me to place before you with all deference to your wide experience as Ambassador, and your unequalled knowledge of the French people,” I said gravely, and then, clearly and succinctly, I placed before him the Earl’s ideas, together with the instructions he had entrusted me to deliver.

At first the Ambassador, resenting my interference with his actions, seemed disinclined to entertain the suggestions; but using the arguments my chief had advanced, I at length induced him to view the matter from the same standpoint. I even obtained from him what was practically an admission that the policy he had pursued in the past regarding the question under discussion was not altogether sound, and once having obtained that, I felt confident of gaining my point without any unpleasant incident. From that moment, indeed, he recognised that I bore a message from the chief, therefore he treated me pleasantly, and announced his intention of seeking an audience with the President of the Republic at the Elysée at four o’clock, to enter upon negotiations which Her Majesty earnestly desired should be carried forward without delay.