It was after half-past ten when Grant, in the suite of his own Ambassador, mounted the stairs of Yeovil House and waited for some time in the block which had collected at the entrance to the reception rooms. From where he stood he suddenly recognised Susan, recognised her with a little shock of mingled pleasure and apprehension. His first impression was that she had changed, had grown older in some marvellous fashion, without the loss of any of her beauty or freshness. She wore the gown in which, only a few months ago, she had been presented. Her hair, in the midst of a galaxy of brilliant coiffures, was arranged as simply as in the old Monte Carlo days, and the jewellery she wore consisted only of a simple rope of pearls. Yet she seemed to have assumed without effort and with perfect naturalness a becoming dignity and ease, wholly in keeping with her position as the hostess of a great gathering, and having a certain piquant charm when associated with her extreme youth. She talked gaily and without embarrassment to every one, passing them on with that tactful little word which is sometimes a hostess’s greatest difficulty and having always the air of thoroughly enjoying her position, of finding real joy in welcoming individually members of the distinguished crowd which streamed slowly by. More than once Lord Yeovil, who in his court dress and dazzling array of orders was himself a striking figure, found time to glance for a moment, half in amusement, half in delight, at the girl by his side, whom the society papers of to-morrow were all to acknowledge as one of London’s most promising hostesses. Step by step they moved on. Glancing upwards, Grant fancied once that she recognised him. If so, there was no change in her expression. She welcomed the Ambassador, talked for a moment with his wife, exchanged some jest about a golf match with the Naval Attache, and finally turned away, to find Grant standing before her. She gave him her hand and smiled as frankly as ever. There was no trace of self-consciousness in her manner. Yet Grant was aware of a great chill of disappointment.
“Welcome back to London, Mr. Slattery,” she said, “You really are a globe trotter, aren’t you? I hope you’ve brought some new bridge problems with you for father. He needs a little distraction, poor dear, with all those terrible newspapers of yours hurling thunderbolts at his head.”
“Glad to see you, Slattery,” Lord Yeovil added, “You’ll find Arthur in the room to the left. If dancing amuses you, he’ll introduce you to some good partners.”
And that was the end of it. Grant found himself one amongst seven or eight hundred people, meeting an old acquaintance occasionally as he strolled about, introduced by Lymane to one or two young women with whom he danced, and all the time conscious of a vague but sickening sense of disappointment. This was the meeting to which he had looked forward so eagerly. He was judged and condemned, wiped out, finished with. And why not? Who in the world would believe that Gertrude had come to him as a stowaway? And, worse still, whom could he tell? It was a little trap of fate, into which he had fallen, a problem to which there seemed no solution.
Later in the evening Arthur Lymane sought him out and presented him to a white-haired, lean-faced man, in the uniform of an admiral.
“Admiral Sullivan would like to have a word or two with you. Grant,” he said, “Unofficially, of course. The Admiral is head of our Naval Intelligence Department.”
“I have heard of Admiral Sullivan often,” Grant declared, shaking hands, “Once in Tokyo, where he wasn’t very popular, and again in Archangel.”
“Don’t mention that,” the Admiral begged, with a little grin, “Tokyo I don’t mind, I hear you fellows are getting the wind up on the other side of the pond.”
“We’re shaking in our shoes,” Grant assured him, “Can we find a place to talk?”
“I know the runs of this house,” was the cheerful reply. “Come along.”
They passed outside the formal suite of reception rooms into an apartment opening from the billiard room,—a small den, in which were a few easy-chairs, a quantity of sporting literature, several decanters, and some soda water.
“This is Arthur Lymane’s little shanty,” Grant’s cicerone explained. “Can I mix you one? Say when.”
They subsided into easy-chairs. The Admiral’s blue eyes were still twinkling.
“By the bye,” he confided, “I’m the man who handled your reports from Archangel and Berlin.”
“You didn’t throw them into the waste basket, I hope?”
“Not on your life,” was the prompt assurance. “I acted upon them, and jolly quick too. They tell me you’ve been doing S. S. work for Washington for the last two years.”
“Two years and a half, to be exact,” Grant admitted. “I’m beginning to piece things together now.”
“Interesting!” his companion murmured. “There have been rummy things going on all over the world—heaps of loose threads we’ve got hold of ourselves. I wonder whether your conclusions are the same as mine?”
“There is no secret about my conclusions, so far as you’re concerned,” Grant replied. “I am convinced that there is a most venomous plot brewing against my country. That is why I am so thankful that the question of our joining the Pact has been raised again. My only fear is that it’s a trifle late.”
The Admiral selected and lit a cigar with deliberate care.
“Well,” he said, “the world knows my opinion of Pacts and Limitation of Armaments Conferences, and all that sort of twaddle. They are started by philanthropic fools to be taken advantage of by rogues. I’ve given Yeovil seven questions to ask the Japanese representative at Washington, and I tell you that there isn’t one of them which he will be able to answer.”
“Thank heavens the Conference comes before the matter of joining the Pact is voted on by the Senate,” Grant exclaimed fervently.
“Damned good job, I should think,” the other agreed. “It’s easy enough to see that your country’s being riddled with propaganda. As regards that Conference, how long is it supposed to last?”
“Usually about a fortnight.”
“Well, I’ll tell you something. This time it won’t last for twenty-four hours.”
“Go on, please,” Grant begged.
“There’ll be a most unholy row,” the Admiral confided. “The only two countries who have kept to their programme are yours and mine. France has built twice her allotted number of submarines, and, to be frank, we’ve winked at it. Germany and Russia between them, as you found out, have kept on exchanging ships and building ships for one another till even the experts can’t keep pace with conditions. If you take my advice, Slattery—and they tell me you’ve got the ear of your Government—you’ll cable home and urge your administration with all the eloquence you can pump out of your brain, to accept Yeovil’s invitation and join the Pact and fight it out with the Senate afterwards. You people have got lots of the right stuff in you, I know, and you can’t believe that anything on God’s earth could hurt you, but you take it from me, there’s a hell of a lot of trouble brewing. Get ’em to sign on to the Pact, Slattery. We shall all have a finger in the pie, then, anyway.”
“I went straight back to Washington from Monte Carlo,” Grant confided, “and I can assure you that I have done my best. The trouble of it is—just as you pointed out a few minutes ago—there’s a propaganda going on over there which one can’t deal with, unless something happens which will drive the truth home to the people. That fellow, Cornelius Blunn, has founded an organisation, with branches in every city in the United States, and that organisation exists primarily to stop America joining the Pact, and secondly, I am convinced, for her destruction. The Press has been tampered with. Blunn has even succeeded in buying the New York.”
“But surely your Government can’t be absolutely blind to what’s going on?”
“They’ve only just begun to realise it,” Grant assured his companion. “That’s why for this visit they’ve given me an official status. If the vote were taken to-day, I think the Senate would reject the proposal to join the Pact by a majority of three to one.”
The Admiral nodded sympathetically.
“It’s a filthy business,” he admitted. “I hate this underground work, myself. All the same, you don’t need to worry. When you people really are waked up, it doesn’t take you long to get going, and the first few hours of the Limitation of Armaments Conference will send all Cornelius Blunn’s propaganda sky high.”
“I must say you put heart into a man,” Grant declared gratefully.
The Admiral rose with a glance at the door and a welcoming smile.
“Well,” he said, “here comes the young lady who’s taken the heart out of a great many of us. Lady Susan, we’ve made free with Arthur’s room and we’ve drunk his whisky. I don’t know what’s going to happen to us. My only excuse is that your father told me off to have a chat with Mr. Slattery.”
She laughed.
“Why should you need an excuse? There isn’t a room in the house where you’re not welcome. Admiral. I was scouting round with Arthur to see if there were any shirkers from the dancing room. We’re so short of men. And, Mr. Slattery, my father wishes to see you before you leave.”
“I’m quite at his service,” Grant replied, rising.
By some means or other the thing he had so greatly desired came to pass—he was left a few yards behind with Susan. She neither avoided nor sought for this contingency. She walked by his side, humming slightly to herself, entirely at her ease.
“Lady Susan,” he began, with less than his usual confidence, “may I remind you of our parting at Monte Carlo, of something I said to you?”
She looked at him with slightly uplifted eyebrows.
“I should consider your doing so in atrociously bad taste,” she replied.
He winced a little. Perhaps she saw that he was genuinely suffering. Perhaps that love of fair play, which was so strong in her, rebelled against the idea of any possible misunderstanding.
She slackened her pace. She made sure that they were well out of hearing of the other two.
“I detest hearsay evidence,” she said. “I shall ask you a question. A terrible thing to do, I suppose, but I shall ask it all the same. Did the Princess von Diss accompany you on your yacht from Monte Carlo to America?”
“She did,” Grant admitted.
“And was she not also a passenger on the steamer from which you landed yesterday?”
“She was, but—”
“Please do not continue, Mr. Slattery,” she begged. “I hated asking you these questions, but I was determined that there should be no risk of any misunderstanding. I do not wish to quarrel with you. I found you a very pleasant companion at Monte Carlo. I hope that we shall continue friends. We can only do so if you will remember that, although I do not think that I am a prude, I should consider any reference to our last conversation at Monte Carlo as an insult. Angela dear, what luck to meet you here! I want to present Mr. Grant Slattery, who is dying to dance,—Lady Angela Brookes. Mr. Slattery is an American, Angela, and I will vouch for his dancing. He used to try and teach me complications, but I am not nimble enough. And, Angie, I don’t think you’d better lose your heart to Mr. Slattery. He makes love to single ladies most fluently, but he runs away with the married ones. And I never thanked you for your roses, Mr. Slattery. Goodnight, all of you. I must go back to my post of duty.”
Grant offered his arm to the very pretty girl to whom he had been introduced.
“I suppose we must obey orders,” she said.
“Part of them,” he answered, a little desperately. “Part of them I hope you will forget.”
She laughed up at him. He had seemed very grave, but perhaps after all he was going to be amusing.
“I’ll see how well you dance,” she promised.