Her Majesty's Minister

“An Italian?”

“How did you know that?” she gasped in quick surprise.

“From my own inquiries,” I answered.

“But do take my advice,” she cried earnestly, her hand upon my arm. “Make no further inquiries regarding him; otherwise I may be suspected and all my plans will be frustrated.”

“What plans?”

“Plans I have made for our mutual protection,” she whispered. “If you knew all the details you would not be surprised at my anxiety that you should remain inactive and leave all to me. I am but a woman; nevertheless, I am at least loyal to you, the man I love. Forgive me,” she implored, raising her white, pained face to mine – “forgive me, Gerald, I beg and pray of you. Have confidence in me, and I will some day, ere long, prove to you that I am, after all, worthy of your love.”

“Forgiveness is easy, but forgetfulness difficult,” I said, taking her hand and looking straight into the dark splendour of those soft eyes.

After the shrill-tongued, voluble foreign women by whom I was ever surrounded, this sweet English girl breathed peace and paradise to my wearied heart.

“But you will forgive me?” she implored in deep earnestness. “Say that you will!”

Her attitude impressed upon me forcibly the conviction that, after all, she really loved me. Nevertheless, the whole affair seemed so mysterious and perplexing that I found it difficult to regard her motives with unquestioning faith. “Yes,” I said at length, “I forgive you, Edith. But until you can explain all the mystery, I tell you frankly that I cannot entertain full confidence in you.”

“You will, however, leave me to carry out the plan I have formed?” she urged anxiously.

“If you wish.”

“And if I am denounced by one or other of my enemies, you will not believe that denunciation before I am at liberty to expose to you the whole truth? Promise me that – do!”

“Very well,” I responded, “it shall be as you wish.”

Then as those words left my lips she sprang forward with a loud cry of joy, and, throwing her arms about my neck, kissed me wildly in joy, saying:

“You shall never regret this decision, Gerald, never —never!”

For fully an hour we sat together, our tea untouched, so preoccupied were we with the burden of our hearts; then, declaring that Aunt Hetty would miss her, she reluctantly rose. When I had put her cape round her shoulders, we went downstairs together, I having promised to accompany her in a fiacre as far as the Grand Hotel.

Just as we were about to step into the street, I encountered Kaye, who evidently wished to have a word with me. As he raised his hat, I noticed how intently he was examining my companion’s face; then he passed us and entered the wide hall leading to the stairs. A moment later, however, he turned suddenly, and said:

“Excuse me, Mr Ingram, might I speak with you for one moment? I see you are going out.”

“Certainly,” I answered; and after excusing myself to Edith I moved off a few paces with him.

The words he uttered were spoken in a whisper. They startled me:

“Have a care, Mr Ingram,” he said meaningly. “We know that woman!”

Chapter Twenty Nine

Kaye is Puzzled

Having seen Edith as far as the Grand Hotel, I re-entered the fiacre and at once drove back to my own rooms, where I found the chief of the secret service awaiting me.

“What do you mean by saying that you know that lady?” I inquired breathlessly.

“Simply that we know her, that’s all,” he replied, with an air of mystery.

“Look here, Kaye,” I said, “just tell me plainly and straightforwardly what you know regarding her?”

“She’s a person to be avoided, that’s all.”

“To be avoided!” I echoed. “Why, surely she has no connection with the persons you are watching? She lives in Norfolk, in a little country village, and scarcely ever comes abroad.”

“I know it,” he answered with his sphinx-like smile. “She lives at Great Ryburgh, near Fakenham, is in possession of a fair income, and has a maiden aunt as companion.”

“How did you know that?” I demanded in surprise.

“It is our duty to know all who are the enemies of England.”

“And is she an enemy?”

“Most certainly,” he replied.

“I can’t believe it, Kaye!” I cried, aghast. “I won’t believe it! First you tell me that Yolande de Foville is a spy, and now you denounce Edith Austin.”

“I only tell you the truth,” he answered, leaning against the table and folding his arms.

“Then as you know so much about her, you probably know our relationship,” I said, rather annoyed that this ubiquitous man, whose proclivities for fathoming a secret were prodigious, should have watched her.

“I am quite well aware of it, Mr Ingram,” he responded; “and if I might be allowed to advise you, I should end it at once. It is dangerous.”

“Why?”

“Because she is playing you false.”

“How do you know that?”

“By the same means that I know she is working against us – and against you. If you knew the facts they would astound you. Even I, with all my experience of the ways of felons and spies, was dumbfounded when I learnt the truth.”

“But can’t you see that it’s ridiculous to ask me to cast her aside without giving me any plain and ample reason?”

“The reason is certainly sufficient,” he replied.

“What is it?”

“You visited her at Ryburgh some months ago, and suspected her of having a secret lover. Is not that so?”

“Extraordinary!” I gasped. “How did you know that? You set your spies upon me!” I added angrily.

“No, not upon you,” he said. “She was already under observation.”

“Why?”