Her Royal Highness: A Romance of the Chancelleries of Europe

by William Le Queux

his silence Waldron was convinced that hefeared the letter might have been tampered with and opened--that thesecret it contained might be revealed.

  If this were so, then, after all, it was more than probable that he didreally know Lola's actual identity!

  And again, what had Her Highness meant when she had hinted at blackmail!Why, too, had not Pujalet travelled to Rome himself instead of buryinghimself in Brussels.

  From that moment Waldron viewed Henri Pujalet with suspicion. Whyshould he, a Frenchman, be passing there as a Servian, and living inobscurity? His manner, from the very first moment when he had seen himwith Lola in his arms under those dark palms in far-off Wady Haifa, hadbeen suspicious. For some reason--why, he could not himself tell--Hubert felt a bitter antagonism towards the Frenchman. Surely it was afoolish fancy of Her Royal Highness to allow herself to love that man--aperson whose movements were, on the face of them, not those of anhonourable man.

  Yet, on the other hand, Waldron remembered how devoted the pair hadseemed towards each other. And it was only because of this, because ofhis intense interest and admiration for Lola, that he had declaredhimself her friend, and had undertaken that mad rush across Europe onher behalf.

  "Please disregard me entirely," he said to the Frenchman, "if you wishto open your letter," and taking out his cigarette-case he selected oneand slowly lit it, the while covertly watching the man before him as hebroke the seal and drew forth a sheet of paper.

  Pujalet eagerly devoured what was written there, while Waldron, from theopposite side of the little marble table, watched his countenancekeenly.

  He saw a sudden expression of blank amazement. Then his sharp, darkeyes narrowed, and surprise gave way to a distinct expression of evil.

  Whatever the Princess's missive contained, it certainly caused him bothannoyance and alarm. The man's astute cleverness, however, was shown bythe manner in which he made pretence of disregarding it and treating itwith nonchalance.

  He smiled as he looked again into the face of his companion, though itwas but a strange, sickly smile, like that seen upon a criminal's faceon listening to his sentence. And without a word he signalled to awaiter and called for a cognac.

  Waldron refused his invitation to drink, but watched him as he tossedoff the _petit verre_ at a single gulp.

  "I regret if the news I have brought is unwelcome," Waldron remarked, ashe drew slowly at his cigarette and watched the smoke curling upwards."But m'sieur must forgive me."

  "Oh, no," he laughed, "the news is not unwelcome in the least. At firstI regarded it as such, but on mature reflection I see it is not," hedeclared, quite unperturbed.

  But Waldron knew from the man's manner that he was lying. He felt thatHenri Pujalet was not the charming, educated man which he had believedhim to be on the Nile.

  "I hope Mademoiselle has not been--well, indiscreet," the Englishmanremarked with a smile. "Ladies so often are."

  "Ah, yes. Well--she has, truth to tell, been just a little indiscreet.But it is nothing," he declared, "really nothing whatever."

  "Is there any reply I can convey to her?" asked Waldron. "I am leavingfor Paris at four o'clock."

  "So soon--eh? Will you not remain and be my guest at dinner thisevening?" urged the other. "Do. You must be tired and want rest."

  "Ah, no. I much regret, M'sieur Pujalet. But I have to be back at mypost at the Embassy at once. I travel to Italy direct--just as I came."

  "Of course. You are a diplomat! I clean forgot!" exclaimed the manbefore him. "Ah! yours must be a most interesting profession! I haveseveral good friends at the foreign Embassies in Paris. But I heardyesterday that trouble seems to be brewing in Europe--another war-cloud,they say."

  "Oh!" exclaimed Waldron, in an instant interested. "I know nothing ofit. Who told you?"

  Pujalet seemed upon his guard in an instant.

  "Oh--er--I--well, somebody here in this cafe last night was telling usthat secret mobilisation orders had been given."

  "Secret mobilisation! Where?"

  The Frenchman hesitated and reflected.

  "In Austria--I believe," was his reply. "But, really, I did not takemuch notice."

  Hubert Waldron held his breath for a few seconds. Was the great secretalready out? The political gossip of the cafes was very often correct."Was the man unknown to you?"

  "Quite. While I was seated over yonder with a friend of mine, a bankerof Liege, the man came in, greeted his friend, and joined us. And thenthey began to chat. Personally, I'm tired of all these war alarms.They come too frequently, being set about by unscrupulous operators onthe Bourses."

  "Then you don't believe the rumour--eh?"

  "I never believe rumours which I hear in such circumstances as those.Not until I have some confirmation," the man declared.

  "I have not seen the papers to-day. Is there any mention of thecrisis?" Hubert asked.

  "None that I have seen," Pujalet replied. "It is merely an alarmistrumour, no doubt."

  Waldron lit another cigarette and reflected deeply.

  It was distinctly curious and certainly most alarming that the factwhich was regarded as such a dead secret in Vienna should have beenopenly discussed in that cafe in Brussels on the previous night. On hisjourney he had carefully watched the principal French and Italianpapers, but there was no mention whatever of the affair. Besides,before leaving Rome he had arranged that if anything fresh leaked outregarding the crisis a telegram should meet him on his arrival at theGare de Lyon.

  With that innate cautiousness and shrewd discretion which was inborn inhim, and which had placed him above others in the profession ofdiplomacy, he carefully questioned Henri Pujalet further, asking him theopinion held by the stranger regarding the pending crisis, and othersuch-like questions.

  But the mind of the man seated before him seemed an utter blankregarding what had transpired.

  "All I know is that the man told us that Austria is secretly preparingfor war, and that in a few days Europe would be aflame. I naturally puthim down to be one of those alarmist cranks with whom one so often comesinto contact--a man who exaggerates the gossip of the Bourse and repeatsit as actual fact with embroidery of his own."

  "Your friend was a banker?" Waldron remarked. "Perhaps the man hadreceived some inside knowledge from Vienna for the purpose of operatingon the Bourse?"

  "He may have done," replied the other thoughtfully. "But really I don'tknow. I didn't take much notice of his words."

  Waldron said nothing for a few moments.

  "And your reply to Mam'zelle?" he asked at last.

  "If I bring it to you at the Grand by three o'clock will that beconvenient to you?"

  "Quite," was the reply, and then the two men parted, Hubert taking ataxi up to the British Legation in the Rue de Spa, where he had apleasant luncheon with Hugh Bennett, the Minister, and his wife,returning to the Grand at three o'clock, where in his room he received asealed letter from the Frenchman's hand.

  It was addressed "To Mademoiselle Lola Duprez" and not to the PrincessLuisa of Savoy, as Hubert had half expected.

  "I can, alas! do no more than thank you most warmly and deeply both onmy own behalf and upon Mam'zelle's," said Pujalet in his polite Parisianmanner. "By coming here you have rendered a great service to us both--one that I can never in all my life forget."

  But Hubert Waldron, though he placed the letter in his pocket, held theman in distinct antipathy. He could read men's minds better than mostof his fellows. It was his profession as a diplomat.

  And in the heart of Henri Pujalet, that man who had come up out of thedesert from nowhere, he felt that there was a hidden yet distinct evil.

  Upon him on that grey, wintry afternoon as he drove to the station tocatch the express back to Paris there fell a feeling that a crisis--adangerous and dramatic crisis--was imminent.

  Ah! had he but known the truth--had he had but sight of what thePrincess had written in that fatal letter he had conveyed to her lover--how differently
would he have acted!

  But, alas! he travelled back to the Eternal City bearing the bitterreply of the Princess's secret lover--a reply by which her own younglife was held in the balance, which crushed her soul, which held her inbreathless terror, and, alas! caused her to long for the dark oblivionof death.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN.

  AT THE COURT BALL.

  The second Court ball--one of the most brilliant functions of the Romanseason--was at its height when, having arrived direct from Paris, verydirty and weary, Hubert hastened to his rooms, washed, changed intouniform, and drove at once to the Palace.

  He was all anxiety to hear what had occurred during his absence.

  Pucci had left a note on the previous day