tell?"
"Ah, I'm glad to hear that," was his friend's quick response, apparentlymuch relieved, for the fascination of the handsome ballerina for HubertWaldron was the gossip of half the Embassies of Europe. Hubert was arising man, the son of a great diplomat, but that foolish infatuationwould, if continued, most certainty stand in the way of his advancement.Many of his friends, even the Ambassador's wife, had given him broadhints that the friendship was a dangerous one. Yet, unfortunately, hehad not heeded them.
Every man who is over head and ears in love thinks that his adored oneis the perfect incarnation of all the virtues. Even when Waldron hadheard her discussed in the Casino, that smart club in the Calle deAlcata, he refused to credit the stories told of her, of the magnificentpresents she received from admirers, and more especially from thefavoured one, the septuagenarian Duke of Villaneuva y Geltru.
"Why are you so glad to hear it?" Hubert asked, his brow slightly knit,for after all it was a sore subject.
"Well, to tell you the truth, because there is so much gossip flyingabout."
"What gossip?"
"Of course you know quite well. Why ask me to repeat it, old chap?"
"But I don't," was the other's reply.
"Well," exclaimed Jerningham after a pause, "perhaps you are, after all,like most men--you close your ears to the truth because you love her."
"Yes, Jack, I admit it. I do love her."
"Then the sooner you realise the actual truth, the better," declared theother with almost brutal abruptness.
"What truth?"
"My dear fellow, I know--nay, everybody knows--your foolish, quixoticfriendship with the girl. You love her, and naturally you believe herto be all that is your ideal. But I assure you she's not."
"How in the name of Fate can you know?" asked the diplomat, starting upangrily.
"Well--I've been in Spain a lot, remember. I've seen and heard things.Why, only a week ago in this very hotel I met old Zeigler, of the GermanEmbassy at Madrid, and he began to discuss her."
"And what did he say, pray?"
"What everybody else says, that--well, forgive me for saying so--butthat you are a fool to continue this dangerous friendship with a womanwhose notoriety has now become European."
"Why should people interest themselves in my affairs?" he cried in angryprotest.
"Who knows? It's the same the world over. But I suppose you know thatBeatriz has gone to London with the old Duke?"
"It does not surprise me. She asked me to accompany her and tointroduce her, but I couldn't get back from here in time."
"She asked you, well knowing that you were tied by the leg--eh?" laughedJack. "Well, my dear fellow," he sighed, "I think you're terriblyfoolish to continue the acquaintanceship. It can only bring you griefand sorrow. Think of what she was, and what she is now. Can any girlrise from obscurity in such a short time without the golden ladder? Askyourself."
"You need not cast ugly insinuations," was Hubert's angry retort, yettruth to tell, that fact had ever been in his mind--a suspicion thefirst seeds of which had been sown one night in the Casino Club, andwhich had now grown within his heart.
"Please forgive me if I've hurt your feelings, but we're old friends andyou know how very blunt I am. It's my failing," he said in a tone ofapology. "But the name of the fair Beatriz has of late been coupledwith half a dozen admirers. When I was in Madrid four months ago Iheard that Enrique de Egas, the director of the opera, was her veryintimate friend, and also that young Juan Ordonez had given her a pearlnecklace worth eighteen thousand pounds, while there were whispersconcerning Pedro de Padras, Conrado Giaquinto, Sanchez Ferrer andseveral other nuts of the Spanish nobility with whom you are acquainted.They laugh at you behind your back."
"Yes," Hubert responded, quite undisturbed. "But surely you know thatit gratifies the vanity of those young bloods of Madrid if their namesare coupled with that of a pretty woman. It is the same in Vienna, thesame in Rome."
"Ah, my dear fellow, I see you are hopelessly in love," declared theother. "I was--once. But the scales fell from my eyes just in time, asI sincerely hope they will fall from yours."
Waldron remained silent. In his pocket lay a letter which he hadreceived only that morning from Beatriz, dated from the Carlton Hotel inLondon, a letter full of expressions of undying affection, and oflonging to be again at his side.
Were those her true sentiments, he wondered? Had Jack Jerningham, onthe other hand, told him the bitter truth? He had first met her acouple of months after her arrival in Madrid when she, poor and simplydressed, was dancing at the Trianon, and as yet unknown. Young Regan,one of the attaches, had introduced her, and the trio had had suppertogether at Lhardy's, in the Carrera de San Jeronimo, and on thefollowing day he had taken her for a drive in the El Retero, thebeautiful park of Madrid, and afterwards to the Plaza de Toros where thefamous Sevilian Espada Ricardo Torres, known to all Spain as "Bombita,"dispatched five bulls after some marvellous _pases de pecho, redondos_and _cambiados_ before giving the _estocada_, or death-blow.
He remembered the hot afternoon and the breathless tension of themultitude as "Bombita" with his red cloth met the rush of the infuriatedbull, stepped nimbly aside and then plunged his sword downwards throughthe animal's neck into its heart. Then came the roar of wild applausein which his dark-haired companion joined with such enthusiasm that hercheeks glowed red with excitement.
In that crowded bar, thick with tobacco smoke and noisy with thelaughter of well-dressed men, the beautiful face of the dancer who,since that blazing well-remembered day, had won fame all over Europe,rose before him in the mists. Did he really love her, he asked himselfas Jack Jerningham sat at his side, now smoking in silence. Yes he did,alas! he did.
And yet how strange--how very foolish, after all. He, Hubert Waldron,who for years had lived the exotic social life of diplomacy, who, beinga smart, handsome man, had received the smiles and languishing glancesof a thousand women of all ages, had fallen in love with that girl ofthe people--the daughter of a drunken dock labourer.
His friend Jerningham watched him covertly and wondered what was passingin his mind.
"I hope I haven't offended you, Waldron," he ventured to exclaim atlast. "Perhaps I ought not to have spoken so frankly."
"Oh, you haven't offended me in the least, my dear old chap," was theother's open reply. "I may have been a fool. Probably I am. But tellme frankly are you really certain that all these stories concerningBeatriz have any foundation in fact?"
"Any foundation?" echoed the other, staring at him with his blue eyes."You have only to go about the capital with your ears open, and you willhear stranger and more scandalous stories than those. There is thehusband, you know, the cab-driver, who threatened the Duke with divorce,and has been paid a hundred thousand pesetas as hush-money."
"Is that a fact?" gasped his friend. "Are you quite certain of it? Ican't really believe it."
"I'm quite certain of it. Ask Carreno, the advocate in the Calle Mayor.He made the payment, and told me with his own lips. The story iscommon property all over Madrid."
Waldron's countenance changed, but he made no reply.
"The woman and her husband are making a very substantial harvest out ofit, depend upon it, Hubert. Therefore I do, as your old pal, beg of youto reconsider the whole situation. Is it really judicious for you to beassociated any longer with her? I know I have no right to dictate toyou--or even to make the suggestion. But I venture to do so for yourown sake."
"I know! I know!" was his impatient reply. "Yes. I've been a fool, nodoubt, Jack--a damned idiot."
"No; don't condemn yourself until you have made your own inquiries.When you get back to the Embassy look around and learn the truth. ThenI hope you will become convinced of the foundation of my allegations.When you are, let me know, old chap, won't you?"
At that moment a stout, elderly man, accompanied by another a trifle hisjunior, who wore the button of the Legion d'Honneur in the lapel of his
dress-coat, elbowed their way laboriously up to the bar.
Jack Jerningham's quick eyes discerned them, whereupon in amazement heejaculated in a low whisper the somewhat vulgar expression:
"Good God!"
Hubert looked up and saw old Jules Gigleux.
"What?" he asked in surprise.
"Why, look at the elder man--that old fellow with the white,close-cropped hair. Don't you know him?" he asked in a low voice,indicating Lola's uncle.
"Know him? Yes. He's been up the Nile with us. He is a Frenchmannamed Gigleux."
"Gigleux!" echoed his friend. "By Gad! and a rather good _alias_. No,my dear fellow. Look at him well. He is the greatest and most cunningsecret agent Germany has ever possessed--the arch-enemy of England, theChief of the German Secret Service--an Italian whose real name is LuigiGhelardi, though he goes by a dozen _aliases_. It is he who controlsthe whole service of German espionage throughout the world, and he isthe unscrupulous chief of the horde of spies who are infesting theEastern counties of England and preparing for `the day.'"
At that second the man referred to glanced across and nodded pleasantrecognition with Waldron, though he apparently had no knowledge of hiscompanion.
"Is that really true?" gasped Hubert, utterly astounded and aghast,staring open-mouthed at Lola's uncle.
"Most certainly. I know him by sight, only too well."
"Then that accounts for the fact that I found him prying into mybelongings in my cabin up the Nile!" exclaimed his friend, to whom thetruth had come as an astounding and staggering revelation. And so thedainty Lola--the girl of mystery--was niece of the chief spy ofEngland's enemies.
CHAPTER NINE.
AT DOWNING STREET.
Hubert Waldron mounted the great staircase of the Foreign Office inDowning Street full of trepidation.
The Earl of Westmere, His Majesty's principal Secretary of State forForeign Affairs, desired to see him.
On New Year's night, an hour after his conversation with JackJerningham, he had found in his room at the Savoy an urgent telegramfrom the Embassy recalling him home at once. He had, therefore, leftPort Said by the Indian mail next day, and had travelled post-haste toLondon.
He had arrived at Charing Cross at four o'clock, driven to the StJames's Club, and after a wash, had taken a taxi to Downing Street.
The uniformed messenger who conducted him up the great staircase haltedbefore a big mahogany door, tapped upon it, and next second Hubert foundhimself in that big, old-fashioned, rather severe room wherein, at agreat littered writing-table, sat his white-haired Chief.
"Good afternoon, Waldron," exclaimed the tall, thin-faced statesmanrising briskly and putting out his hand affably, an action which at onceset the diplomat at his ease. He had feared that gossip regarding theopera-dancer had reached his ears, and that his reception might be avery cool one.
"I didn't expect you until to-morrow. You've come from Cairo, haven'tyou?"
"I came straight through by Brindisi," was the other's reply, seatinghimself in the padded chair which his Chief indicated.
"A gay season there, I hear--eh?"
"Quite. But I've been on leave in Upper Egypt."
"And a most excellent spot during this horrible weather we're having inLondon. Wish I were there now."
And the Earl, a rather spare, refined man whose clean-shaven featureswere strongly marked, and who wore the regulation morning coat and greystriped trousers, crossed to the big fireplace and flung into it ashovelful of coals.
That room in which Hubert had only been once before he well-remembered.Its sombre walls that had listened to so many international secrets werepainted dark green; upon one side was an old painting of Palmerston whohad once occupied that selfsame room, while over the black marblemantelshelf hung a fine modern portrait of His Majesty, King George V.
The old Turkey carpet was dingy and worn, and about the place where thedirector of Great Britain's foreign policy so often interviewed theambassadors of the Powers, was an air of sombre, yet dignified gloom.
"I've called you home, Waldron," said the Earl deliberately as here-seated himself at his great table, piled as it was with State papersand dispatches from England's representatives abroad, "because I want tohave a chat with you."
He was interrupted by a tap upon the door, and a man in uniformannounced:
"Captain Rayne, m'lord."
"Oh, come in, Rayne," exclaimed the Minister for Foreign Affairs, as asmart, well-dressed, middle-aged man entered, nodding acquaintance withWaldron. "Let's see! You're taking the turn to Berlin and Petersburg?"
"Yes, sir," replied the King's Foreign Service messenger.
The Earl took from a drawer a letter he had already written and sealedin an official envelope bearing a blue cross, and handed it to himsaying:
"This is for Petersburg--most urgent. I have nothing for Berlin, butSir Charles has, I believe. You will bring me back an answer to thisdispatch with all haste, please."
"To-day is Tuesday, sir; I shall be back next Tuesday if Sir Henry is inPetersburg," replied the King's messenger with an air as unconcerned asthough he were going to Hampstead.
"Yes, he is."
"Then nothing else, sir?"
"Nothing, Rayne--except what Sir Charles may have. Good afternoon."
And the King's messenger, who spent his days travelling to and froacross the face of Europe, placed the confidential dispatch addressed tothe British Ambassador to the Court of the Tzar in his pocket, bowed,and went forth on his weary seven days' journey to the Russian capitaland back.
"As I was saying, Waldron," the Earl continued when the door had againclosed, "I asked you to come home because I consider the time has nowcome when you should have promotion. As a friend of your late,respected father, I have naturally watched your career in the Servicewith greatest interest, and have been much gratified at the shrewdqualities you have shown, therefore I am giving you promotion, and haveappointed you as second secretary to Rome."
"To Rome!" echoed Waldron, his eyes opening widely. "I--I'm sure, LordWestmere, I cannot thank you sufficiently for your appreciation of myservices, or for sending me to the one post I wished for most of all."
"I know, Waldron," laughed his lordship pleasantly. "You know Rome, foryou lived there for some years. You were honorary attache there underyour father, and I think you speak Italian very well indeed, if Iremember aright."
"I have a fair knowledge of the language," was the diplomat's modestresponse.
"Then go to Rome and continue the career you have followed with suchsuccess. Your father's most brilliant work was accomplished in Italy,and I hope his mantle will fall upon you, Waldron."
"Your words are most encouraging, Lord Westmere," declared the youngerman who, on entering there, had feared a reprimand for his friendshipwith the Spanish dancer. "You may rely on me to do my best."
"Of that I am quite certain. The Waldrons have been diplomats for overa century, and you will never disgrace their reputation," said thestrongest man of the British Cabinet, the man who had learned diplomacyunder Salisbury and to whom the nation now entrusted its good relationswith the Powers. "But," his lordship added, "will you, quiteunofficially, allow me to give you a word of friendly advice?" And helooked the secretary of the Embassy full in the face.
"Most willingly. Any advice from my Chief I will be most certain tofollow," was the other's earnest reply.
"Well, perhaps it is a rather delicate matter, and one to which I, in myofficial position, ought not to refer, but as one who takes a very keeninterest in your future, I feel that I must speak."
Waldron grew paler. He knew what was coming. "It is within myknowledge," went on his lordship, "that towards a certain lady in Madridyou have been unduly friendly--a lady whose name is not exactly freefrom scandal."
"That is so," he admitted.
"Then, Waldron, why do you not recollect Palmerston's advice to theyoung man newly appointed to a post abroad?" he asked gravely."Palmersto
n said that the necessary qualifications of a diplomat onbeing attached to an Embassy was that he should be able to lieartistically, to flirt elegantly, to dress smartly, to be polite toevery woman, be she princess or laundress, but never on any account tocommit the fatal error of falling in love. Remember that with thediplomat love at once puts an end to all his sphere of usefulness. Donot let this happen in your case, I beg of you." Hubert did not replyfor some seconds. At last he said in a rather a husky, confused voice:
"It is most kind of you to speak to me in such terms, Lord Westmere, andI fully appreciate the great interest which you have always shown me.Will it be sufficient to promise you that I will not repeat the folly ofwhich I fear I have been guilty?"
"Excellent, my dear Waldron, excellent?" cried the white-haired CabinetMinister, rising and shaking his hand warmly. "I'm glad you've seen thefolly of it all. That dancing-girl is an unfit associate for you,that's certain; so forget her. Take up your post at Rome as early asyou can, and fulfil your promise to me to do your best."
The Earl had risen as a sign that the interview was over. He wasusually a sharp-speaking, brusque and busy man. To interviewers he
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