“Well!”
The monosyllable was suggestive, almost illuminative. Gertrude had paused for a moment on the threshold of the little salon, which she was entering from her bedchamber. Her unexpected visitor, Mr. Cornelius Blunn, looked across at her with a deprecating smile.
“I am a monument of apologies, Princess,” he said.
“We will take them for granted, then,” she replied. “What do you want?”
He glanced at the clock.
“Five minutes’ conversation,” he begged, “or, if by any fortunate chance, you are disengaged—”
“You know quite well that I am dining with Mr. Slattery,” she interrupted.
“I had imagined so,” he assented. “It is about that dinner engagement that I venture to come and see you.”
“You will, I trust, avoid impertinence.”
“I shall try,” he assured her. “Princess, your mission here was a difficult one. So far you have performed it with much skill.”
“I am flattered,” she murmured, with latent irony.
“I may or may not share your opinion as to Mr. Grant Slattery,” he continued, “but, in other respects, you have done well. I am here to beg you not to spoil the good effects of your work.”
“Will you please say what you want to in as few and as plain words as possible,” she invited.
“I obey,” he answered, with a little bow. “You came here to try and solve for us a somewhat vexed question concerning this young man, Mr. Grant Slattery. You think that you have arrived at the truth concerning him. I am going to be frank with you and tell you that I am not so sure. But I am convinced of one thing,—you have gone as far as Otto would approve in your investigations.”
“You think that I am likely to lose my head about this man?” she asked.
Blunn made no reply. She waited for a moment and then glanced towards the clock.
“Otto is my friend,” he went on, “and Otto, as you know, is of a very jealous temperament. I think you would be wiser to cancel your dinner engagement for this evening.”
“For a clever man,” she said deliberately, “I think you are the biggest fool I ever knew.”
“I am your husband’s friend, and yours,” he reminded her quietly.
“Listen,” she continued. “Otto sent me here and you know my mission. I shall perform it in just the way I think best. What there is to be said about my methods can come from him. You mean well, I think, but anything which you said would be useless.”
“Princess,” Mr. Blunn remonstrated, “you’re a young woman and you have the strong will of your nationality. I am an elderly man and I claim the right of speaking to you frankly. You are going to spend the evening with a man whom three years ago you treated disgracefully. The instinct for atonement is a very dangerous thing.”
“Perhaps,” she admitted. “At any rate, I am my own mistress. What I choose to give, I give, and nothing that you could say, no threat that you could utter, would induce me to change.”
“Your mind is made up. Princess?”
“My mind is utterly and finally made up.”
There was a knock at the door. A messenger from below announced the arrival of a gentleman for Madame la Princesse.
“You can show him up,” Gertrude directed.
The man bowed and left the room. Blunn looked across at her and frowned.
“You will receive him here, in your salon?” he asked.
“Certainly,” she replied. “If it pleased me to do so I should dine here. I am responsible to no one for what I may choose to do.”
Still he made no movement to depart.
“It seems to be my hard fate to anger you, Princess,” he regretted. “And I can assure you that such is not my desire. Yet this I must tell you, that I am used to men, and watching men, and turning them inside out, judging them from their characters and actions and the trifles which escape other people. I have never yet been wrong. This man Slattery is, in my opinion, all that we believed him to be. In my opinion, he is playing a game of his own with you. You think that you have discovered him harmless; you think that his devotion to you is real. You are wrong. You are wrong in both conclusions.”
She smiled. At that moment she was praying that the confidence which her smile was intended to indicate really existed in her heart.
“I think,” she declared, “that a woman is the best judge of a man’s affection for her. I may put Mr. Slattery’s to the test. If I do, I have no fears.”
There was a knock at the door. Grant was ushered in. Gertrude gave him her fingers. He raised them to his lips and turned towards Blunn.
“Have no fear,” the latter said. “I am an uninvited guest and I was just taking my leave. Princess, you will allow me once more to assure you that I never make a mistake.”
She laughed a little scornfully.
“The Kingdom of Fools is peopled by the men who never make mistakes,” she answered.
The door closed upon Blunn. She came a little nearer to Grant.
“What did that fellow want?” he demanded.
“To warn me against you,” she replied.
“What a busybody!”
“He has disappointed me,” she remarked. “I never dreamed that he was the sort of person who would come and talk to a woman as her husband’s friend. Such a terribly obvious attitude.”
“And how ignorant he showed himself of you and your capacity for resistance.”
She came a little nearer to him, raised her eyes, and stood for a moment silent.
“Do you remember the last time you kissed me. Grant?”
“Perfectly well,” he answered. “I stayed with you half an hour after we got back from the opera. I must have interfered with your packing, I’m afraid.”
He saw her wince, but he remained unmoved. He was smiling at her pleasantly, regarding her with genuine admiration.
“You look wonderful to-night, Gertrude,” he said.
“Then why don’t you want to kiss me?” she asked.
“A psychological problem insoluble before dinner,” he assured her with faint irony.
“Then you don’t want to,” she persisted.
He leaned forward, holding her for a moment in his arms, yet gently resisting the abandon of her swaying body. He kissed her on the eyes, drew her hand through his arm, and turned towards the door.
“Five minutes later and Louis would never forgive me,” he said. “He is preparing for us—”
The sentence was never finished. The door was suddenly opened without a knock or any form of warning. A man, in travelling clothes, and carrying a small despatch case, entered.
“Otto!” Gertrude exclaimed, disengaging her arm from Grant’s. “How on earth did you get here—to-night?”
He frowned irritably.
“I sent a telegram,” he replied. “You did not, perhaps, receive it. We found a quicker route. May I be presented to this gentleman?”
“It is Mr. Grant Slattery,” Gertrude murmured. “My husband, Prince von Diss.”
The two men bowed. Neither extended a hand.
“You can scarcely expect me to bid you welcome very heartily,” Grant said, with a secret strain of thanksgiving in his heart. “I was to have had the pleasure of taking your wife out to dinner.”
Prince von Diss glanced around him. He had a most unpleasant face, short, fair moustache, carefully trimmed, well-cut features, a wicked mouth, and cold, unprepossessing eyes. He was very nearly bald.
“I was not aware, Gertrude,” he observed, “that it was your custom to receive your friends in your salon at an hotel of this description.”
“I do as I think well in such matters,” she answered calmly.
There was a moment’s hectic silence. The Prince seemed about to speak but controlled himself with an effort.
“You are probably fatigued with travelling,” she continued, “and would prefer to dine here. In that case I can keep my engagement with Mr. Slattery.”
“On the contrary, I shall beg you to break it,” the Prince declared emphatically. “It is a peculiarity of mine, but I do not permit my wife to dine alone with any man so long as I am within reach. I shall hope to have another opportunity of cultivating Mr. Slattery’s acquaintance.”
“I will provide you with one gladly,” Grant answered, without hesitation.
Gertrude laid her hand upon his arm.
“I do not allow my friends to quarrel with my husband,” she said. “I am very sorry indeed about our dinner. Grant. When will you come and see me?”
“Whenever you choose, Gertrude.”
“To-morrow at four o’clock. You will take tea with me here. In the meantime I cannot tell you how much I regret our dinner.”
Grant was suddenly conscious of the ridiculous side of the situation. He pulled himself together and turned to the newcomer courteously.
“Perhaps you, as well as your wife, would do me the honour of dining?” he suggested. “Dinner is ordered downstairs. Half-an-hour’s delay will be of no consequence.”
The Prince bowed coldly.
“I thank you very much, sir,” he replied, “but to-night I shall prefer to dine tete-a-tete with my wife. I have affairs to attend to. We shall without doubt meet again.”
Grant dined alone in a distant corner of the restaurant, somewhat to his own satisfaction, but very much to the disappointment of the maitre d’h?tel to whom he had confided his orders. Just as he was finishing, Gertrude and her husband entered the room. The latter had changed his clothes but appeared to be in no better humour. He scowled at Grant and ignored his wife, both when he ordered the dinner and the wine. She leaned back in her chair, fanning herself lazily. Her eyes continually sought Grant’s. On the way out he paused for a moment at their table. She made a little grimace of apprehension, but Grant only smiled.
“You have made a very greedy man of me. Princess,” he confessed. “I have had to try and eat the dinner I had ordered for two.”
“I wish you’d sent me my share,” she said. “I have not been consulted about our own, anyway, and I seem to have heard the name of every dish I detest.”
Her husband spoke for the first time.
“The marital feast cloys, I am afraid,” he sneered.
“I have no doubt but that you are right,” Grant assented, with a little bow of farewell. “I’m not married myself, but one seems to discover these things.”
He passed out into the hall and stood for a moment smiling to himself. Then, prompted by a sudden impulse, he opened one of the telephone boxes and rang up the Villa Miranda. In a minute or two Susan came to the telephone.
“What on earth do you want?” she enquired. “You ought to be in the middle of dinner.”
“I am supplanted,” he replied.
“What do you mean? Arthur?” she asked with some excitement.
“Worse! Her husband! The Prince arrived twelve hours before he was expected. It was most awkward.”
“So you haven’t dined with her?”
“He refused to let me. Gertrude did her best but it was quite useless. You should see him, Susan. He’s an insufferable little bounder.”
“You would have dined with her, then, if he had not arrived?” she asked, after a moment’s pause.
“Naturally.”
“Well, good night.”
“Stop a minute,” he insisted. “If I came around—”
“Don’t come to-night,” she interrupted. “Father’s going to bed in a few minutes, and I’m going round to the Lancasters. They’ve some friends in to dance.”
“Why didn’t they ask me?” he grumbled.
“You’re supposed to be engaged,” she reminded him. “Good-by.”
“Aren’t you a little—”
The instrument whirred in his ear. He was disconnected.
“Little cat!” Grant shouted down the instrument. But he was too late. There was no reply.
Grant, who was living on the yacht, had already commenced to undress when the sight of the moon through the porthole window brought him up on deck again. He sank into a basket chair, filled his pipe and sat smoking. The gangway which connected the stern of the yacht to the dock had been pulled in and there was no sound of any movement on board. The Casino was in darkness, but the Sporting Club was still brilliantly illuminated, and here and there on the hillside lights shone out from the villas. A sort of violet curtain of twilight seemed to brood over the place. An automobile with flashing lamps swung around the corner and dashed along the road to Nice. A voiture came down the steep incline towards the harbour. Momentarily curious. Grant watched it. It came along the dockway to within fifty yards of the yacht. Then it stopped. A woman descended and came swiftly along the jetty. The light from an electric standard flashed upon the jewels in her hair as she passed, and Grant sprang suddenly to his feet. He walked hastily towards the stern. The woman had paused, looking at the little chasm of water. She moved out of the shadows and he recognised her.
“Gertrude!” he cried.
“Please put down the gangway,” she called out. “I want to come on board.”
A sailor on night duty hurried forward. Grant gave a brief order and a gangplank was lowered. It was he, however, who made use of it. He met Gertrude at the shore end and gently led her on one side.
“Gertrude,” he told her firmly, “it is impossible for you to come on board at this hour of the night. Tell me what has happened.”
She was looking very white and very determined. She put her arm through his and clung to him.
“Grant,” she said, “He took me away from you once, and he wasn’t altogether honest about it. If you like you can take me back again.”
“My dear Gertrude!” he exclaimed.
“I mean it,” she went on. “I know everything that is in your mind. I don’t care. If I am worth having, take me. Otto has brought it upon himself. I think that I dislike him more than any human being upon the earth.”
All the time he was leading her back slowly towards the waiting voiture.
“Gertrude,” he insisted, “this is not a possibility.”
“Why not?” she demanded. “You’re your own master. You could steam away to-morrow morning before any one was about. You told me only the other day that you were always ready for an emergency.”
“Quite true,” he agreed. “But not this emergency.”
“He has insulted me,” she declared, “and he’s insufferable. No self-respecting woman ought to marry a German. She becomes a worse chattel than the plaything of a Mohammedan.”
“I am terribly sorry for you,” Grant assured her, “but what you are contemplating now would only make matters worse. You must remember this, too. Your husband is a Roman Catholic. He would never divorce you.”
She was silent.
“You don’t want me,” she muttered.
“Perhaps I don’t want you in the spirit in which you have come,” he answered gently. “You simply want to revenge yourself upon your husband and you offer me the chance of revenging myself, too. It isn’t quite a big enough feeling, Gertrude. The satisfaction of it wouldn’t last for the rest of our lives.”
“Since when have you learnt to preach?” she scoffed.
“A man doesn’t need to preach to hesitate about taking another man’s wife,” he rejoined. “This is just an impulse of yours, Gertrude.”
She tried to drag him back toward the gangway.
“Let me come on the yacht,” she begged. “I mean it. I don’t care even if he won’t divorce me.”
“You’re not coming on,” he insisted. “Not to-night, at any rate.”
She looked at him with quick suspicion.
“Have you any one else there?” she demanded.
“You know very well that I have not,” he answered indignantly. “Adventures of that sort do not appeal to me.”
“Very well,” she said. “You won’t let me yield to one impulse. You can’t prevent my yielding to another. I have a disclosure to make. I came to Monte Carlo to spy on you.”
“I knew that quite well,” he replied.
“Knew it? How could you?”
“Because the newspaper you showed me with my name on bore the yellow pencil marks of your Secret Service.”
“Well,” she went on, “I haven’t made much of you,—I’ve learnt more from Arthur Lymane. But I’ve found out a few things and my people are content with what seem to be trifles. You won’t let me give myself away. I’ll give them away. They know that Lord Yeovil is going to propose an invitation to America to join the Pact. They’ll pretend to acquiesce. In reality they’re going to vote against it.”
“Three of them, perhaps,” Grant interposed quickly. “Which; one have they induced to be the fourth?”
“That is what I am going to tell you,” she said. “Baron Funderstrom.”
“The Scandinavian!” Grant exclaimed.
“It has cost them fifty thousand pounds,” she continued, “but they have his promise. Four votes and the motion is lost. Those four are arranged for. Now do you believe that I am in earnest when I tell you that I hate my husband? Do you still forbid me to come on the yacht?”
“Yes,” he answered.
He was standing with his hand upon the rail of the gangplank-She came close to him. Her eyes were filled with tears. “Let me come, Grant,” she begged. “I will be content just to be cared for as you used to care for me. I don’t mind what happens to me. You can hide me away, if you like. You can come back here alone if you want. I won’t complain. Only I must have some one kind to me. Let me come, please.”
His arm barred the way.
“Gertrude,” he said, “this may hurt but it’s best. I care for some one else. I couldn’t have you on the yacht. It wouldn’t be honest.”
“Some one else!” she muttered. “Well, why not?”
She stood away for a moment, on the edge of the dock. She was looking down at the waters of the harbour. He caught her by the arm.
“Gertrude,” he asked, “do you think that they will have missed you yet?”
“I don’t think so,” she answered dully. “They were all talking in Blunn’s rooms. Some one else. Grant! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We were both playing a game,” he declared. “You were trying to learn my secrets. I was trying to learn yours.”
“Who is she?”
“That doesn’t matter, does it? I’m not in the least sure of her or about her, but you see—well, I had to tell you, hadn’t I?”
He led her towards the voiture. Even when they reached it she looked longingly back at the yacht.
“It would have been such wonderful freedom,” she sighed. “You used to care, Grant. I thought that you used to care quite a great deal.”
He handed her into the carriage and tucked the rug around her. The hand which he touched was cold.
“The Hotel de Paris,” he told the man.
She leaned back without another word. He listened to the horses’ hoofs ringing on the hard macadam road. As they turned the corner she waved her hand,—a pitiful little salute.