A Cabinet Secret

Though I had only been absent from England a short time, and had not been further than Paris, I discovered that I had a vast amount of news to hear. Men imparted their information to me as if I had that day returned from Central Africa or the Australian Bush. Young Paunceford, the member for Banford, for which place his father had sat before him, was good enough to give me his views on the Crisis. His complaint was that no one would listen to him, and, in consequence, he was only too glad to find some one who required bringing up to date. That I happened to be a Cabinet Minister as well as an old friend made no sort of difference.

"By Jove, I envy you," he said, as he lit a fresh cigar. "I can tell you, if you play your cards carefully, you'll be no end of a swell over this business. Why on earth couldn't I have had such an opportunity?"

"For the simple reason that you know too much, my boy," said a man in the Guards, who happened to be sitting near. "Haven't you heard that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing? They know Manderville's safe on a secret, so they gave him the job. What's the use of a secret unless there's some mystery about it. By the way, talking of mysteries, what's this about Wiltshire House? Somebody tells me that it has been let to the prettiest woman in Europe. Do any of you know anything about her?"

Paunceford was as well informed upon this as upon all other subjects.

"Of course," he replied; "the news is as old as the hills. I heard it from Bill Kingsbury, who was in the agent's shop, or office – whatever they call it – when the business was being arranged. But it's all nonsense about her being the prettiest woman in Europe. Hailed from Jamaica, I believe; has to own to curly hair and to just one touch of the tar-brush."

"Paunceford seems to know all about her," said another man. "He always is well informed, however, upon any matter, whatever it may be. If there's going to be a war the House ought to vote a sum sufficient to send him out, in order that he may keep the Authorities posted on the progress of affairs. You've missed your vocation, Paunceford; you'd make an ideal War Correspondent."

"Too much imagination," said the man in the Guards; "military matters must be taken seriously. But nobody has answered my question yet. Who is this lady who has taken Wiltshire House?"

"I have already told you," said Paunceford sulkily. "I never came across such a set of unbelievers."

"Elderly, coloured, and of West Indian origin?" said the Guardsman. "It doesn't sound well."

I could stand it no longer.

"For goodness sake," I put in, "don't go about the town spreading that report. I assure you Paunceford is, as usual, altogether out of it."

"How do you know that?" asked Paunceford suspiciously.

"Because I happen to have had the good-fortune to travel with the lady from Paris to-day," I replied, with just that little touch of satisfaction the position warranted.

"And yet you kept quiet about it," said another man. "Well, you are a reticent beggar, I must say. Don't you know this has been one of the mysteries of the town. My goodness, man, you shan't escape from this room until you have told us all about her! Who is she? What is she? What is her name? How much money has she? Above all, is she pretty?"

"She is the Countess de Venetza," I replied. "Italian, I should say; rich – since she has taken Wiltshire House; and as for her personal appearance – well, when you see her, you will be able to judge of that for yourselves."

"Excellent!" said the Guardsman. "I prefer Manderville's report to yours, Paunceford. Is she married?"

"A widow, I fancy," I replied.

"Still better! If she is kind to me I will make her reputation, and Wiltshire House shall be the smartest caravansérai in London. Not shooting in your wood, Manderville, I hope?"

"I wish to goodness you men wouldn't spend your time so much in inventing new slang," I answered. "But some of you seem to have nothing else to do. Now that I have satisfied your curiosity, I shall go home to bed. The early bird catches the early news. In these days one lives for the morning papers."

Paunceford saw another opportunity.

"Talking of morning papers – " he began, but before he had finished the sentence I had left the room.

Being tired when I reached home I went straight to bed. Remembering my experience of the previous night, I was determined that this one should make up for it. To my disappointment, however, I discovered that, tired though I was, sleep would not visit my eyelids. I was as wide awake when I had been two hours in bed as I was when I entered my room. Once more, as on the previous night, I was haunted with the remembrance of the Countess's eyes; do what I would, I could not get them out of my mind. Tired at last of tumbling and tossing, and thoroughly angry with myself, and the world in general, I rose, donned a dressing-gown, and went into the small study that adjoins my bedroom. The fire was not quite extinguished, and with some little coaxing I was able to induce it to burn again. Taking a book I drew up my chair, seated myself in it, and tried to read. I must have done so to some purpose, for after a time I fell asleep. Possibly it may have been due to the fact that I had had no rest on the previous night, and that my mind was naturally much occupied with the gravity of England's situation, and the part I had to play in the coming strife; at any rate, my dreams were not only vivid but decidedly alarming. I dreamt that I was in a transport en route to the Cape, and that the vessel struck a rock, and sank with all the troops on board. There was no time to get out the boats, and, in company with some hundreds of others, I was precipitated into the water. While we were still struggling with the waves, a life-boat made her appearance, and, to my intense astonishment, standing in the bows was no less a person than the Countess De Venetza. What was stranger still, she carried in her hand a heavy spear, or harpoon, with which, whenever a drowning man approached the boat, she stabbed him in the back, laughing as she did so. Then, by means of that wonderful mechanical ingenuity with which the theatres of the land of dreams are furnished, the scene changed to a lonely plain at the foot of a rugged mountain-range. A battle had been fought upon it, and the dead and wounded still lay where they had fallen. So real did it appear to me, that when I recognised here and there the faces of friends, I found myself wondering what I should say to their loved ones when I returned to England. Suddenly, in the weird light, for the moon was shining above the mountain-peaks, there appeared from among the rocks on the further side of the plain a woman, whose face I instantly recognised. With stealthy steps she left her hiding-place and descended to where the wounded lay thickest. In her hand she carried the same spear that I remembered in my previous dream, and with it she stabbed every man who remained alive. So terrible was the expression upon her face as she did so, that I turned away from her in loathing and disgust. When I looked again she was bending over the body of a man who still lived, but who was bleeding from a deep wound in his side. Picture my consternation when I discovered that he was none other than the Guardsman who had been so persistent in his inquiries that night concerning her. As I watched, for I was unable to move hand or foot to save him, a low moan escaped his lips, followed by an appeal for water. With the same expression of fiendish rage upon her face that I had noticed before, she raised the spear, and was about to plunge it into his breast, when with a cry I awoke, to find the sun streaming into the room, and my respectable Williams standing before me.

"Good gracious, Williams, how you startled me!" I said. "What on earth am I doing here? Ah, I remember! I could not sleep, so I came in to get a book. I suppose I must have fallen asleep over it. What news is there this morning?"

There was an air of mystery about Williams that I knew heralded the announcement of some extraordinary information.

"Yes, sir," he said, "there is some important news. The papers do say that 'War is declared.'"

CHAPTER III

During the week which followed my return to London, events followed thick and fast upon each other. The now famous Ultimatum issued by the enemy, though surprising enough at the time, was not altogether unexpected. Its presumptuous tone, however, was the cause of general comment. As a matter of fact, it was not until it became known that the enemy, instead of waiting to be attacked in their own territory, had invaded that of Her Majesty the Queen, that the first feeling of amazement changed to one of anger, and, if the truth must be told, to one of no little anxiety. Our Force at the front was well known to be inadequate, and, as we had the best of reasons for being aware, a considerable time would have to elapse before it would be possible for it to be supplemented.

In my new capacity as a member of the Cabinet, my knowledge of the country in which we were about to fight stood me in good stead; consequently, I was kept busily employed after my return to England. The situation, as I have already said, was one of considerable anxiety, but as soon as it was announced that that popular soldier, Sir William Woller, had been selected to proceed to the South, in order to take up the Chief Command, the public fears were in a great measure allayed. With perhaps but three exceptions, no more popular choice could have been made, and I do not think I am breaking faith with my colleagues when I say that we were all agreed upon this point. The decision was arrived at on Wednesday afternoon, and orders were issued that the General in question should sail from Southampton on the following Saturday. On the Friday morning he was to be present at an important Council at the War Office; in the afternoon he was to be received in Audience at Windsor, and at eleven o'clock on Saturday morning he was due to leave Waterloo for Southampton Docks.

Now, Woller and I had been friends for many years, and immediately his appointment was made known, I hastened to write him a letter of congratulation. In it I said that if he should have sufficient time at his disposal to allow me a chance of seeing him, before he left London, I should like to shake him by the hand and wish him God-speed. He replied to the effect that he would be dining with the Commander-in-Chief on Friday evening, and informed me that I was to be one of the party. In confirmation of this the next post brought me an invitation which I hastened to accept.

In due course Friday evening arrived, and the appointed hour found me at the Commander-in-Chief's residence in Bruton Street. I had already been informed that it was to be quite a small and friendly affair – as a matter of fact, the guest of the evening, myself, and two other friends, constituted the party. I was the first to arrive, Sir George Brandon followed me, Berkeley Burroughes came next, and as soon as he had put in an appearance, we only required Woller to make the number complete. He was late, however. Eight o'clock struck, and still there was no sign of him. Our host, in apologising for the delay, reminded us that, owing to the multitudinous claims upon Sir William's time, it might be impossible for him to avoid being just a little late. When, however, the clock upon the mantel-piece stood at half-past eight, we began to look at each other and to wonder what could have become of him. At last the Commander-in-Chief was unable to bear the suspense any longer.

"If you will excuse me," he said, "I will telephone to his house, and find out at what time he left there. Woller is such a punctual man that this delay is, to say the least of it, extraordinary."

He left the room, and during his absence we kept up that desultory kind of conversation with which one endeavours to cover the uneasiness caused by the non-arrival of an anticipated guest. A few moments later the Commander-in-Chief returned with a puzzled expression upon his face.

"It becomes more inexplicable every minute," said he. "From what I can gather Woller has not been seen at his house since he left it for Windsor. It is really most singular, and I am at a loss to know what construction to put upon it. However, if you have no objection, we will give him another quarter of an hour's grace, and if he is not here then, go into dinner."

We waited the allotted time with what patience we could command, and when it had expired, left the drawing-room and proceeded to the dining-room, where we sat down to the long-delayed meal.

I cannot pretend for a moment that the meal was a success. The non-appearance of our old friend, the man who on the morrow was to leave England on one of the most important errands she has ever intrusted to a son, sat like a wet blanket upon us. If at the last moment he had been prevented from coming, how was it that he had not sent a note of apology and explanation to his host? Had he met with an accident, or been taken suddenly ill, he would at least have given instructions that a telegram should be sent. Woller, as we were well aware, was the pink of politeness; he was also a strict disciplinarian, not only of others, but also of himself. That he would, therefore, have treated with discourtesy a man who besides being his senior officer was also his old friend, was the most unlikely thing in the world. There were special reasons that prevented us discussing the matter in all its bearings just then, but that we were all equally disquieted by his absence was quite certain. I was the first to leave the house, and I can remember that it was exactly a quarter past eleven when the front door closed behind me. Up to that moment no word of apology, excuse, or explanation had been received from the missing man.

"It's just possible that I may find a message from him awaiting me when I reach home," I said to myself as I took my place in my brougham.

I was destined to be disappointed, however.

There were several letters and two telegrams lying upon my table, but not one of any sort from Woller.

"Are you quite sure that no messenger has called from Sir William Woller?" I asked Williams, when he came to my dressing-room, a quarter of an hour later.

"No, sir, I am quite sure of that," he replied; "had any one called I should have been informed of it."

With that assurance I was perforce compelled to be content. I can give you my word, however, that I was by no means easy in my mind concerning Sir William's silence.

Next morning, when I was in the middle of my breakfast, a note was handed me from the Commander-in-Chief. It ran as follows: —

"Dear Manderville, – Could you spare me ten minutes as soon as possible after your receipt of this? I would call upon you myself, but for various reasons, which I will explain to you when I see you, I am unable to leave the house until I go down to Pall Mall."

Here followed an assurance that the writer was very truly mine, his signature, and a postscript to the effect that the bearer would wait for an answer. I scribbled a hasty reply, saying that I would come round to Bruton Street at once, and as soon as I had made my toilet, called a cab and set off. On my arrival there I was shown direct to the Commander-in-Chief's study, where I found him awaiting my coming with considerable impatience.

"It is very good of you to come so promptly," he said. "To tell you the truth, I am very uneasy, and as we are both old friends of the man, I thought I would consult you in an ex-officio capacity, before going to the Secretary of State for War."

"I am to gather from this, I suppose, that up to the present, you have not heard anything of Woller," I answered, with a little sinking of the heart, for I made sure that morning would dispel the mystery that enveloped his behaviour.

"You have guessed correctly," he said. "I have caused the most careful enquiries to be made, and have learnt that he left Windsor by the 3.25 train, reached Paddington at 4.2, entered a cab there, and has not since been heard of. Unfortunately, as nobody seems to have been aware of his identity, the number of the cab was not taken, and, so far as we are able to ascertain, none of the drivers in the station-yard at the time appear to be able to recollect whose vehicle it was that he employed. If you reflect that it has been arranged that he shall leave London for Southampton at eleven o'clock this morning, and that an enormous crowd will be at the station to see him off, it will at once become evident to you that his non-appearance will be far from making a good impression upon the public mind."

"But what has become of him? He can't have vanished into space."

"There are many other ways in which he might disappear," said my companion gloomily.

"Surely you don't suppose he has been the victim of foul play?"

I put the question hesitatingly, for I knew the thoughts that were in my own mind.

"I scarcely know what to think," the other replied. "I can only confess that I am alarmed, seriously alarmed, by his prolonged absence. Woller, as you know, is a man who realises to the full the responsibilities entailed by his present position. Duty with him is more than duty, it is a matter of life and death; he knows that the eyes of England, of Europe, and I might even say of the whole world, are upon him, and for that reason alone I feel sure he would not cause us so much anxiety of his own free will."

"In that case, what do you intend doing?" I enquired, for I could well foresee the terrible trouble to which the situation would give rise. "It is now a quarter to ten, and in little more than an hour he will be expected at Waterloo. If the crowd don't see him they will begin to wonder, the man in the street will begin to talk, the newspapers will take up the tale, and in a few hours we shall have entered on a new phase of the situation."

The Commander-in-Chief rose and began to pace the room.

"I have already sent a special messenger with a letter to the Secretary of State," he replied. "In it I have told him what I fear and also what I have done. I shall consult the various heads of Departments as soon as I reach Pall Mall, on the bare chance that one of them may be able to elucidate the mystery.

"At the same time I should communicate with the railway authorities, if I were you," I continued. "I should inform them that, owing to the fact of his being detained by matters of the greatest importance, it is possible that Woller may not be able to travel by that particular train."

"That is a good idea," the Commander-in-Chief replied; "I will act upon it at once. In the event of our receiving no news, that should be sufficient to give us time to arrange some other plan. It will mean delaying the vessel at Southampton, however, and – good gracious me! – what a pile of difficulties it will land us in! The Colonial Secretary must be informed, and the matter must come before the Cabinet. As you said just now, if by any chance it should leak out and the Press get hold of it, there is no telling where it will end."

"You have communicated with Scotland Yard, of course?"

"I sent a messenger to them shortly after midnight, that is to say, as soon as I had found out that Woller had left Windsor, and that he had not been to his Club, or to his own house. Their best men are at work upon it, but so far without any satisfactory result."

"And can his own servants throw any light upon the matter?"

"None whatever!" the Commander-in-Chief replied. "When he left for Windsor he informed them he should be back early, in order to dress for my dinner in the evening. They say he appeared to be in the best of health and spirits, and seemed greatly pleased with the arrangements made for his journey to-day. Lord Laverstock accompanied him from the Castle, and was the last to speak to him at Windsor Station. From the conversation I have had with him by telephone, I gathered that Woller was looking forward to his dinner with us last night. The guard of the train corroborates the fact that he travelled to Paddington. For the reason that the Railway Authorities expected him by the next train, there was no crowd upon the platform to witness his arrival. On alighting he simply called a cab and drove away. After that he vanishes completely."

"There is no way, I suppose, in which we can make further enquiries concerning him?"

"There is nothing so far as I can see. We are doing all that is possible, but our position in the meantime is a most anxious and unpleasant one. Now I shall hasten along to see the Secretary of State for War, and hear what he thinks of the situation. He will doubtless consider it necessary to call an immediate meeting of the Council, when the situation can be discussed in all its bearings."

"Let us hope that he may be heard of before very long," I replied.

So saying I left him and drove home again, feeling sadly upset by the untoward turn events had taken. What could have become of poor Woller? Had he been decoyed into some slum and murdered? A hundred fears for his safety assailed me, each one equally probable and equally cruel.

When I reached my house I found that the letters had arrived, and were spread out upon my study table. Still thinking of Woller, I opened the envelopes and scanned their contents. One was larger than the others, and on opening it I found that it contained a card, upon which the following words were printed: —

"The Countess de Venetza at Home on Wednesday, November the 21st, from nine until eleven o'clock."

In the bottom left-hand corner was the address, "Wiltshire House."

As I stood with the card in my hand, the memory of my first meeting with the Countess came back to me. So rapidly had events moved of late, that it seemed as if a year had elapsed since I had last seen her. I recalled the impression her dark haunting eyes had made upon me, and, discourteous though it may be to say so, I must confess that a shudder passed over me at the recollection. I placed the card upon my mantel-piece, and, for the time being, thought no more about it. There were other and more weighty matters than an invitation from a pretty woman to be considered that day.

Every one who has followed the progress of the war – and there are few who have not – will recall the wave of consternation and dismay that swept over England when the news became known that Sir William Woller, the newly-appointed Commander-in-Chief for South Africa, had disappeared, and could not be found. A thousand rumours, all of them equally sensational, and all equally wide of the mark, flew about the country; but despite the efforts of the police, the jibes of the Press, the scarcely veiled sneers of Little Englanders and the openly-expressed contempt of our Continental neighbours, not a trace of the missing man could be discovered. A meeting of the Cabinet was immediately summoned, with the result that General Grey-Mortimer, a gallant gentleman and an experienced soldier, was at once despatched to the front, in temporary command. In the meantime, the wildest excitement prevailed in England. Transports were leaving the various ports every day, the Reservists were called up, the Militia and Volunteers were being equipped and drilled, if necessary, for active service. Plainly the heart of the country was stirred to the very centre of its being.

Such was the Public Temper at the time that few entertainments were given by Society. Such as there were, and to which I was invited, I, for the most part, declined. An exception was made, however, where the Countess de Venetza was concerned. The temptation to see her play the part of a hostess was more than I could resist, and for this reason, ten o'clock on the night set forth upon her card found me mounting the magnificent staircase of Wiltshire House. From the number of arrivals and the crowding of the stairs, it was plain, despite the excitement of that period, that her "At Home" was likely to be a crowded one. Her beauty, her wealth, the fact that she was for the time being the possessor of Wiltshire House, her famous team of black Orloffs, behind which she drove in the Park, had combined to make her one of the year's sensations. The grandeur of her entertainments had quickly become proverbial, and in consequence, to admit that one had not the entrée to Wiltshire House, was to argue oneself unknown. Ascending the staircase by my side, cool, calm and collected, as if the enormous weight of responsibility he was then carrying were of no account, was no less a person than the Colonial Secretary. When the history of the century, and of this war in particular, shall come to be written, the character of the Honourable Benjamin Castellan will shine prominently out. The possessor of a serene imperturbability that nothing could disturb, a keen observer, a born leader of men, and boasting that most necessary of all qualifications, a firm belief in himself, a better man for the arduous post he occupied could not have been discovered.