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The Lady in the Car

Год написания книги
2017
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“The girl in white chiffon was perfect in figure, in daintiness and chic, and a splendid dancer. We sat out two dances, and waltzed twice together, I afterwards taking her down to supper. She spoke French excellently, a little English, and a little Bulgarian, while Russian was her own language. Her father lived in Moscow, she told me, and she had spent four years in Constantinople with her aunt – the ugly old woman in purple.

“The sallow-faced, beady-eyed Turk who did not dance, and who took no champagne, was evidently her particular friend. I inquired of the Italian minister and found that the thin-faced bearded attaché was named Mehmed Zekki, and that he had been in Sofia only a couple of months.

“Towards me he was quite affable, even effusive. He mentioned that he had noticed me in the Club, dining with the Prime Minister, and he referred to a number of people in Belgrade who were my friends. He was attaché there, he told me, for two years – after the coup d’état.

“Twice during next day I encountered the charming Olga, driving with her aunt, in a smart victoria, and during the next week met them at several diplomatic functions.

“One afternoon, Olga and her chaperone accepted my invitation for a run on the ‘sixty,’ and I took them for a little tour of about thirty miles around the foot of the high Balkans, returning along the winding banks of the Isker. They were delighted, for the afternoon was perfect. I drove, and she sat up beside me, her hand on the horn.

“One night, ten days later, we were sitting out together in the bright moonlight in the garden of the Austrian Legation, and I found her not averse to a mild flirtation. I knew that the frock-coated Turk was jealous, and had become amused by it. On four or five occasions she had been out for runs with me – twice quite alone.

“I mentioned the Turk, but she only laughed, and shrugging her shoulders, answered:

”‘All Turks are as ridiculous as they are bigoted. Mehmed is no exception.’

“I was leaving Bulgaria next morning, and told her so.

”‘Perhaps, mademoiselle, we shall meet again some day, who knows?’ I added, ‘You have many friends in the diplomatic circle, so have I.’

”‘But you are not really going to-morrow!’ she exclaimed with undisguised dismay, opening her blue eyes widely, ‘surely you will stay for the ball at the palace on Wednesday.’

”‘I regret that is impossible,’ I replied, laughing. ‘I only wish I could remain and ask you to be my partner, but I have urgent business in Bucharest.’

”‘Oh! you go to Roumania!’ she cried in surprise. ‘But,’ – she added wistfully, ‘I – I really wish you could remain longer.’

“During our brief friendship I had, I admit, grown to admire her immensely, and were it not for the fact that a very urgent appointment called me to Roumania, I would have gladly remained. She had taken possession of my senses.

“But I took her soft hand, and wished her adieu. Then we returned into the ballroom, where I found several of my friends, and wished them farewell, for my train left at nine next morning.

“In a corner of the room stood the veteran Prime Minister, with a star in brilliants upon his dress-coat, the empty sleeve of which hung limply at his side.

”‘Au revoir, mon cher ami,’ he said grasping my hand warmly. ‘Recollect what I told you this morning – and return soon to Bulgaria again. Bon voyage!’

“Then I passed the police-guard at the door, and drove back to the Hôtel de Bulgarie.

“That night I slept but little. Before me constantly arose the childlike beautiful face of Olga Steinkoff that had so strangely bewitched me.

“I knew that I was a fool to allow myself to be attracted by a pair of big eyes, confirmed bachelor and constant traveller that I am. Yet the whole night through I seemed to see before my vision the beautiful face, pale and tearful with grief and sorry. Was it at my departure?

“Next day I set out in the car across the Shipka, and three nights later took up my quarters at that most expensive hotel, the ‘Boulevard,’ at Bucharest, the Paris of the Near East. Next day I paid several visits to diplomats I knew. Bucharest is always full of life and movement – smart uniforms and pretty women – perhaps the gayest city in all the Continent of Europe.

“On the third evening of my arrival I returned to the hotel to dress for dinner, when, on entering my sitting-room, a neat female figure in a dark travelling-dress rose from an armchair, and stood before me gazing at me in silence.

“It was Olga!

”‘Why, mademoiselle!’ I cried, noticing that she was without her hat, ‘fancy you – in Bucharest! When did you arrive?’

”‘An hour ago,’ she answered, breathlessly. ‘I – I want your assistance, M’sieur Martin. I am in danger – grave danger!’

”‘Danger! Of what?’

”‘I hardly know – except that the police may follow me and demand my arrest. This place – like Sofia – swarms with spies.’

”‘I know,’ I said, much interested, but surprised that she should have thus followed me. ‘But why do you fear?’

”‘I surely need not explain to you facts – facts that are painful!’ she said, looking straight at me half-reproachfully with those wonderful blue eyes that held me so fascinated. ‘I merely tell you that I am in danger, and ask you to render me assistance.’

”‘How? In what manner can I assist you?’

”‘In one way alone,’ was her quick, breathless answer. ‘Ah! if you would only do it – if you would only save my life!’ And with her white ungloved hands clenched in desperation, she stood motionless as a statue.

”‘Save your life!’ I echoed. ‘I – I really don’t understand you, mademoiselle.’

”‘Before they arrest me I will commit suicide. I have the means here!’ and she touched the bodice of her dress. ‘Ah, m’sieur, you do not know in what a position I find myself. I prefer death to save my honour, and I appeal to you, an English gentleman to help me!’

“Tears were rolling down her pale cheeks as she snatched up my hand convulsively, imploring me to assist her. I looked into her countenance and saw that it was the same that I had seen in those dark night hours in Sofia.

”‘But, mademoiselle, how can I help you?’ I inquired. ‘What can I do?’

”‘Ah! I – I hardly like to ask you,’ she said, her cheeks flushing slightly. ‘You know so very little of me.’

”‘I know sufficient to be permitted to call myself your friend,’ I said earnestly, still holding her tiny hand.

”‘Then I will be frank,’ she exclaimed, raising her clear eyes again to mine. ‘The only way in which you can save me is to take me at once to England – to – to let me pass as your wife!’

”‘As my wife!’ I gasped, staring at her. ‘But – ’

”‘There are no buts!’ she cried, clinging to me imploringly. ‘To me it is a matter of life – or death! The Orient Express passes here at three to-morrow morning for Constantza, whence we can get to Constantinople. Thence we can go by steamer on to Naples, and across to Calais by rail. For me it is unsafe to go direct by Budapest and Vienna. Already the police are watching at the frontier.’

“For a moment I was silent. In the course of years of travel I had met with many adventures, but none anything like this! Here was a charming girl in dire distress – a girl who had already enchanted me by her beauty and grace – appealing to my honour to help her out of a difficulty. Nay to save her life!

“She was Russian – no doubt a political suspect.

”‘Where is Madame?’ I inquired.

”‘Gone to Belgrade. We parted this morning, and I came here to you.’

”‘And your friend, Mehmed?’

”‘Bah! the yellow-faced fool!’ she cried impatiently with a quick snap of her white fingers. ‘He expects to meet me at the Court ball to-night!’

”‘And he will be disappointed!’ I added with a smile, at the same time reflecting that upon my passport already viséd for Constantinople – covered as it was, indeed, with visés for all the East – I could easily insert after my own name the words, ‘accompanied by his wife Louisa.’

“Besides, though I had several times been in the Sultan’s capital, I knew very few people there. So detection would not be probable.

“Olga saw my hesitation, and repeated her entreaty. She was, I saw, desperate. Yet though I pressed her to tell me the truth, she only answered:

”‘The police of Warsaw are in search of me because of the events of May last. Some day, when we know each other better, I will tell you my strange story. I escaped from the “Museum of Riga”’!”
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