Behind the Throne

by William Le Queux

hands.

  "No," he declared. "They expect you in England next week. The younglady, your pupil, is to begin her studies at once--while you willcommence to study other matters on our behalf," he added, his dark facerelaxing into a meaning grin.

  She was silent, twisting her handkerchief nervously in her gloved hand.She realised that so cleverly during the past three years had this manweaved a net about her she was now bound to obey him. But she had neverdreamed that the services she rendered to the Ministry of War were totake her abroad--to England.

  There, in Bologna, her status as the daughter of a colonel who hadserved with distinction and had died a commendatore gave her the_entree_ into what was a select circle of society for a provincial town,but strange perhaps to English ideas--a society composed mostly of needycounts and seedy countesses, marquises who lived in bare, half-furnishedpalaces upon the remnant of what past generations of gamblers andspendthrifts had left them, and government employees, together with theofficers of the garrison. It was a degrading thing that she should goout as a governess, yet if it were really necessary, she must, she knew,bow to the inevitable.

  At first she resisted his request, urging that it was impossible. Shehad only made the suggestion as a joke; she was ready to serve theMinistry of War at home in her own small way, but to go abroad, tobecome a secret agent of Italy in England, was quite another matter.

  He smoked on in silence, standing at the window and pretending to beinterested in the people passing in the street below.

  "My dear signorina," he exclaimed at last, turning his thin,unprepossessing face to her, and looking straight at her with his dark,crafty eyes, "I quite admit that to leave your home and friends is not apleasant outlook. But you see it is imperative--absolutely imperative.You can render us most valuable assistance. Indeed, we are relyingentirely upon you."

  "My mother will never consent to it," she assured him.

  "Leave the signora to me," he laughed drily. "She will believe that youhave become companion to an English lady. I will arrange it all. Youknow what entire confidence the signora has in me!"

  Filomena smiled. This man, who held such a high office in the Ministry,had always been a friend of her family. Indeed, the colonel's widow wasgreatly indebted to him, for, through him, the War Office now paid her asmall sum annually in recognition of her late husband's services to thekingdom, a payment which was not legal, but which had been ordered byBorselli and made law by decree of the Minister Morini himself.

  "You will have a very pleasant time of it in England, I assure you," hewent on. "As governess you will, of course, be treated as an underling,but remain patient, watchful, and attentive always to your instructions.Remember that upon you depends much, that you may render greaterservice to Italy than even her ambassadors. Knowledge is power, is anold and trite saying--and knowledge is in no place more powerful thanthe Ministry of War."

  He treated her with a certain fatherly solicitude and confidence whichimpressed her. Four years ago, when she left the convent school atRavenna and resumed the acquaintance formed in her childhood, he hadgradually taken her into his confidence. He required certaininformation regarding certain officers in the Bologna garrison whichwith her woman's subtle way of learning secrets she could obtain, whileon his part he was ready to further her interests, to obtain that verynecessary income for her mother--to act, in fact, as her friend, and toplace her, in secret, under the protection of the Ministry of War. Butsecrecy was to be observed--secrecy in everything. To him alone was sheto report, by letter or verbally. She was to act the spy on his behalfwith cunning, care, and caution.

  In the various tasks he had set her she had acquitted herself well, moreespecially in the mysterious affair of Captain Solaro, the man who, tohis cost, had fallen in love with her. At heart she hated herself forthe despicable part she had been compelled to play, yet she had becomeBorselli's spy in order that she and her mother should receive thatsmall but very necessary pension from the War Department.

  In character she was one of those silent, watchful women whom nothingescapes, and who note every look and every gesture--one of the fewwomen, indeed, who can keep a secret. Borselli, the man who used theMinister Morini as his cat's-paw, and was as cunning an adventurer asthere was in all the length of Italy, had recognised these qualities asthose of a secret agent of the most successful type, and therefore hadresolved to turn to account his ascendency over her.

  She had taken up her little fan and was fanning herself with quicknervousness. The evening was a stifling one in September, for in thatmonth Bologna, with its long streets of stucco porticos, is a veritableoven.

  "The address of your new mistress is here," remarked theUnder-Secretary, producing a card from his pocket-book, whereon waswritten in pencil in an English hand: "Mrs Charles Fitzroy, 186, BrookStreet, Grosvenor Square, W."

  "It is in the best and most fashionable part of London," he added. "Andthey have a fine place out in the country. The child whom you are toteach is aged eight--a little friend of mine. So you see I havearranged it all for you. You have only to go there and commence yourduties."

  She shrugged her shoulders. The idea of taking a situation as governessdid not appeal to her. She would, indeed, have refused point-blank ifshe dared, only refusal might mean the cessation of her mother's slenderincome.

  She knew Angelo Borselli's wife and son, and had visited them in Rome.The Signora Borselli was a stout woman of rather coarse type, proud ofher position, fond of crude colours and a dazzling show. Her carriagein Rome was painted a bright grass green, and the livery of her servantswas a blue-grey with yellow cockades. She dressed expensively, butwithout taste, as might be expected of one who was daughter of a strawhat manufacturer at Sancasciano. The son was aged eighteen, a superbyoung cub, who was now at the University of Ferrara studying law.Filomena Nodari was of gentle birth, and therefore despised the womanwho had treated her so patronisingly. She looked upon Angelo Borsellias her dead father's most devoted friend and her mother's benefactor,but the wife of the Under-Secretary she held in disdain as an uncouthcountrywoman aspiring to a great position--as indeed she really was.

  "England is a long way off, signore," she remarked in a blank voice,after a long pause, the silence being unbroken save for the strains ofthe military band playing outside in the piazzi, as it does everyevening in summer. "Cannot you send someone else?" she begged.

  "There is no one so well adapted as yourself," he declared. "You knowEnglish and French, and could act the part of governess to perfection.I admit that to accept a menial office is not really pleasant, yet youmust recollect that as a servant of the Ministry you are acting yourpart for the benefit of Italy--just as your poor father so valiantlyacted his part through all his life."

  She sighed, and lapsed again into thought. Like a thousand other girlsliving at home upon slender means, she had often longed for a change oflife and for sight of those foreign places about which she had read somuch--and most of all of London. And here, he pointed out, was anopportunity of serving Italy abroad.

  She believed all that he told her--how the information she furnished wasnecessary for the successful conduct of the Ministry in order to thwartthe machinations of Italy's enemies. She had no idea that her actionsand inquiries, directed by him, were always with one end in view--tooust from office the Minister himself.

  On the one hand, Filomena Nodari was extremely clever and far-seeing, averitable genius in the discovery of secrets, while on the other she wasas wax in the hands of this man whom for so many years she had regardedas her friend.

  "Am I to write to this person, my employer?" she asked with a slightsigh, still holding the card in her hand.

  "Only to announce the day and hour of your arrival in London--at thestation of Charing Cross, remember. I told Mrs Fitzroy who and whatyou are--that you are tired of sleepy Bologna, that you were anofficer's daughter, and all the rest of it. Your wages are sevenhundred francs a year, or twenty-four pounds in English money, wit
h yourrailway fare paid to London, and your return fare if you don't suit.But," he added, with a meaning laugh, "you will suit, signorina--youmust suit, recollect?"

  She shrugged her shoulders dubiously, saying--

  "Of course, if it is really necessary, I will go. But I fear I mayfail."

  "Not if you are determined to succeed," he assured her. "You have goodlooks, and they go such a very long way. That is why a pretty woman isso successful as a secret agent."

  She flushed slightly at his flattery.

  "Well, and what am I to do? What information do you require?" sheasked, speaking almost mechanically and gazing fixedly across the room.

  "The facts, simply told, are these," he said, tossing his cigarette intothe ash-tray and halting before her. "This Mrs