Her Majesty's Minister

“Well,” I said with a sad smile, “you are really awfully frank.”

“Just as you are with me. You’re always chaffing me about my partners at dances, and making all sorts of rude remarks. Now, when I have a chance to retaliate, it isn’t to be supposed that I shall let it slip.”

“Certainly not,” I laughed. “Now describe all my shortcomings, and make a long list of them. It will be entertaining to the Baronne, who dearly loves to hear a little private history.”

“Now, m’sieur, that is really too bad,” the other protested. “You Englishmen are always so very cynical.”

“We find it very necessary for our existence, I assure you, madame.”

“Just as Yolande was once necessary for your existence – eh?” she added mischievously, as they both laughed in chorus at my discomfiture.

“Well, and if I admit it?”

“If you admit it you will perhaps set our minds at rest as to the reason of her sudden departure from Paris yesterday,” exclaimed the Baronne, with a strange expression upon her face, as though she knew more than she would admit.

“I have no idea of the reason. They have gone for their cure at Marienbad, I believe.” Madame smiled, pushing a little tendril of her auburn hair from off her brow.

“You believe!” she echoed. “Are you not certain?”

“No, I’m not certain. They left hurriedly. That is all I know.”

“And all you care?” asked Sibyl, regarding me very gravely.

“And all I care,” I added.

“What a courteous cavalier!” exclaimed madame, laughing. Then she added: “I’ve known Yolande and her mother for quite a number of years. Yolande is a most charming girl.”

“I’ve heard that she is now engaged,” I observed, resolved upon a ruse. “Giraud, of the Belgian Embassy, told me the other day that she was to marry some German – I think he is – named Wolf. Do you know him?”

“Wolf!” ejaculated the Baronne, her fine eyes fixed upon me with a strange look, as though in a moment she had become paralysed by some sudden fear. The next instant, however, with a woman’s marvellous self-possession, she made shift to answer:

“No, the name is quite unfamiliar to me.”

“Why,” cried Sibyl suddenly, “that was the name of the dark-bearded man who was so charming to me at the de Chalencon’s the other night. Is he the same?”

“Yes,” I said. “His character, however, is none of the best. I would only warn you to have nothing whatever to do with him – that’s all.”

“He was awfully kind to me the other evening,” she protested.

“Well,” I replied earnestly, “but you and I are friends of old standing, and I consider that I have a right to give you warning when it seems to be necessary.”

“And is one actually needed regarding Rodolphe Wolf?” asked the Baronne, evidently much puzzled, for she undoubtedly knew him, even though she had declared her ignorance of his existence.

“Yes,” I said, “he is a person to be avoided. More, I cannot tell you.”

Chapter Fifteen

Across the Channel

A week went by, but the war-cloud still hung heavily upon the political horizon.

At my direction Grew, assisted by other members of the secret service, had searched high and low in Paris for Rodolphe Wolf; but in vain. After entering that dingy old house on the Quai, he had suddenly and unaccountably disappeared. The fishing-tackle shop was not, as I had believed, his headquarters, but he had evidently only made a visit there, and had afterwards left Paris suddenly, at almost the same time as the Countess de Foville and Yolande. The ladies had also completely eluded us. They were not in Marienbad, for inquiries had been made in that town without result.

I was in daily expectation of Kaye’s return to Paris; but he did not arrive, and I had heard nothing of his whereabouts. The astute secret agent had a habit of being lost to us for weeks, and of then returning with some important piece of information; not infrequently with a copy of some diplomatic document by means of which our Chief was able to foil the machinations of England’s enemies. Nevertheless, in view of the curious events which had occurred, I was anxious to learn what facts he might have ascertained in Berlin regarding Yolande.

Lady Barmouth was receiving in the grand salon of the Embassy one afternoon, the fine apartment being full to overflowing with the usual chattering cosmopolitan men and women who circle about from one embassy to another, when I suddenly encountered my friend Captain Giraud, the Belgian military attaché. He had been absent on leave for several days, and had only just returned to Paris.

“I’ve been to Brussels,” he exclaimed, after we had exchanged greetings. “A cousin of mine has been married, and I went to the feasting.”

“And now you have the usual attack of liver, I suppose?”

“Yes,” he laughed. “I’m feeling a little bit seedy after all the merry-making. But, by the way, you knew my cousin, Julie Montbazon? She was often a guest of the Countess de Foville at the château.”

“Of course I remember her. She was tall, fair-haired, and spoke English extremely well,” I said.

“The same. Well, she has married the son of Tanchot, the banker, of Antwerp – an excellent match.”

“And the Countess and Yolande, what news of them?”

“They are in Paris, are they not?”

“No, they left suddenly some days ago.”

“Well, they are not to be blamed,” he said, smiling. “No one stays in Paris during this heat if they can possibly avoid it. Yolande told me she was going to Marienbad.”

“She told me so, too. But they have altered their plans, it seems.”

“Oh! So you have met again?” he cried, opening his eyes widely. “I thought your friendship had ended long ago?”

“So it had.”

“Then it has been resumed?”

“No, it has not,” I replied.

“Are you certain?” he inquired, with sudden earnestness. He had been one of my most intimate friends in Brussels in the old days, and knew well the secret of our broken engagement.

“Quite certain.”

“And they have left for some destination unknown to you?”

“Yes.”

“But why did you seek her again, my dear Ingram? It was scarcely wise, was it?”

“Wisdom has to be thrown to the winds in certain circumstances,” I answered. “I was in this instance compelled to see her.”

“Compelled?” he echoed, puzzled. “Then you did not call upon her of your own free will?”