But in these circumstances is it not our dutyas a friendly Power to place Italy on her guard, and save her frominvasion?"
"Our first duty is to observe our own regulations," replied theAmbassador, one of the old red-tape school, who like the ostrich hid hishead in the sand and still believed in England as the chief andunconquerable Power among nations.
"And not to observe at the same time our cordial relations with a Powerwhich has, on its own initiative, already given us plans of half a dozenimprovements in modern ordnance--plans which we have used to our ownadvantage."
"Well--if you desire, you are at liberty to send a cipher dispatch toLord Westmere and try and obtain leave," was the Ambassador's reply. "Ican, I regret, give no permission myself."
For some seconds Waldron remained silent. He stood near the windowgazing blankly out upon the broad handsome thoroughfare now lit by longrows of electric lights, the fine modern road which led to the PortaPia.
"Very well," he replied savagely, "I will myself obtain leave fromDowning Street," and turning upon his heel, he went away to thechancellerie and there wrote out a telegram which he reduced to cipherby aid of the small blue-covered book which he took from thestrong-room, afterwards taking the message himself to the chieftelegraph office and dispatching it.
The dispatch was a long one, but it was necessary to give fullexplanation.
It was then six o'clock by Italian time, or five o'clock in England.The night express left Rome for Paris at twenty minutes after midnight,and it was his intention to catch it, providing he received a reply intime to have audience with His Majesty prior to leaving.
He dressed and afterwards dined at the Embassy, as was his habit. LadyCathcart, with the hauteur of the Ambassador's wife, sat at the head ofthe table, and several of the staff were present, also two Members ofParliament, men to whom ambassadors always have to be civil. But themeal proved a very dreary one. Both Members--who were quite unimportantpersons, and who would never have appeared in "Who's Who" had not theirConstituents placed them there--aired their ideas upon the Europeansituation--ideas which were ridiculous and unsound, though none presentwere so impolite as to say so.
"Have you sent your dispatch?" asked His Excellency the Ambassador whenthey were alone together for a few moments after dinner.
"Yes," Waldron replied. "I am expecting permission, and if so I shallhave audience at once."
The Ambassador's grey face lit up with a faint smile, as he shook hishead.
"I fear, my dear Waldron, that you will not get permission. The Powersmust look after their own perils."
Hubert, glad enough to escape from the official atmosphere, left theEmbassy shortly afterwards, and after killing time for an hour in theclub--where he chatted with Colonel Sibileff, the Russian militaryattache, and young Count Montoro, one of the _jeunesse doree_ of theEternal City--walked back to his rooms to see if any reply wasforthcoming from London. He had given orders to Sheppard, the conciergeat the Embassy, to send round at once any telegram addressed to him.
"Any message?" he asked eagerly of Peters as he let himself in with hislatch-key.
"Yes, sir, a telegram arrived from the Embassy only two minutes ago."
His master tore it open with eager, trembling fingers, but, alas! it wasin cipher! He had never thought of that.
Dashing downstairs he tore back to the Via Venti Settembre, and in thechancellerie sat down and impatiently worked it out, placing eachdecipher over the code letter until the whole message ran as follows:
"Situation already reported from Vienna. Later inquiries show reportexaggerated. Tension no doubt exists, but not sufficient to warrantbreach of regulations."
Hubert Waldron ground his teeth in despair. Downing Street had givenhim a polite but firm refusal.
And with that he was compelled to be satisfied, even though he knew thatwar was contemplated and was actually imminent.
He was now upon the horns of a dilemma. To wilfully disregard hisinstructions from London was impossible. What, he wondered, did thelater inquiries in Vienna reveal?
He remembered his promise to the Princess. At all hazards he must makea flying visit to the Belgian capital. But during those six days whichhe must of necessity be absent, what might not occur? A great disasterwas fast-approaching.
The Ambassador had gone to the theatre, therefore he left him a note,and again returning to his rooms, he sat down and scribbled a few linesto Her Highness, telling her of his departure. This he posted later onat the railway station soon after midnight, after which he entered thelong, dusty _wagon-lit_ marked "Roma-Torino-Parigi."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
TOLD IN THE CAFE METROPOLE.
Weary and fagged Waldron descended from the sleeping-car at the Gare deLyon in Paris twenty hours later and dispatched a telegram to theaddress Lola had given him. Then he drove in a taxi across the Frenchcapital, and next morning found himself in the Grand Hotel in gay littleBrussels--awaiting a reply.
About eleven o'clock it came--a message by express making an appointmentto meet at noon at the Cafe Metropole a little farther up the boulevard.
Hubert was wasting no time. He had not lost a single moment sinceleaving the Eternal City, and on that rush northward his mind was evercentred upon the crisis between the two Powers which had evidentlyoccurred.
He had left word with Peters that if any person called, or anyone rangup on the telephone, the reply was that he had left Rome on urgentbusiness for three or four days. On no account was his man to saywhither he had gone.
He flung off his coat and cast himself upon the bed to rest for an hour.But the noise in the busy boulevard outside was irritating, worse eventhan the roar of the great international express which had borne himhalf across Europe.
Presently he washed, changed his clothes, and then went forth to thecafe, a popular rendezvous which he had known when, six years before, hehad served temporarily at the Brussels Legation.
It was a huge, square, open place, with walls tiled to represent variousBacchanalian pictures, and many tables, upon half of which were laidcloths for the _dejeuner_. Being winter there were only a dozen tablesset on the pavement outside, but in summer there are a hundred spreadover the broad footway, and in an evening the place, being a highlypapular resort, is crowded to overflowing by the chattering, beardedBruxellois and their female friends.
At that hour, however, the place was nearly empty as Hubert entered, hissharp eyes gazing around. Then suddenly he saw a youngish man in greyovercoat and wearing a Tyrolese hat of dark green plush, seated in a farcorner.
He rose and smiled as Waldron entered, and the latter instantlyrecognised him as the secret lover--the man who had travelled with themdown the Nile, and whose attitude towards Lola had so completelydisarmed all suspicion.
The two men lifted hats to each other in the foreign manner, and thenHubert exclaimed with a pleasant smile:
"This is a strange renewal of our acquaintance, M'sieur Pujalet, is itnot?"
"Hush?" exclaimed the other warningly. "Not Pujalet here--Petrovitch,if you please!" and a mysterious expression crossed his dark, ratherhandsome, features.
"As you wish, of course," replied Waldron with a bright laugh. "You, ofcourse, know the object of my mission? The--"
He hesitated, for he was naturally cautious, and it had suddenlyoccurred to him at that second that this Frenchman was, no doubt, inignorance of the true station of the woman he loved, just as he himselfhad been. So the word "Princess" died from his lips.
"Mademoiselle asked you to give me a letter, did she not?" said the manpolitely in French. "I am sure, M'sieur Waldron, I do not know how tothank you sufficiently for making this long journey in order to meetme."
"No thanks are necessary," the other replied. "I am simply Mam'zelle'smessenger," he laughed, producing the letter from his pocket-book andhanding it to him.
"Ah! but this is really a great service you have done both of us," hedeclared earnestly. "One that I fear I shall never be able to
repay,"he declared, taking the letter in his eager hands.
Waldron, watching keenly, saw that the man's fingers trembled visibly.That letter contained some message of greatest import to him, without adoubt. Yet he held it unopened--not daring, it seemed, to break theseal and learn the truth.
"Candidly," Waldron said, now sitting back easily in a chair oppositePujalet, "I wondered why it could not be entrusted to the post. Itwould in that case have reached you two days earlier."
"Ah! there are some things one does not exactly care to trust to thepost even though registered."
"If a packet is insured it is rarely lost--even in Italy where the postis so uncertain and insecure. The Administration of Posts andTelegraphs does not care to be called upon to pay an indemnity."
Pujalet did not reply. And by
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