Nigel murmured a few courteous words and watched the retreating figure with some curiosity.
“Your father is very typical,” he declared. “He reminds me of your country itself. He is massive, has suggestions of undeveloped strength.”
“Add that he is a little ponderous,” Naida said lightly, “slow to make up his mind, but as obstinate as the Urals themselves, and you have described him. Now tell me what you think of a young woman who rings you up without the slightest encouragement and invites you to come to the Opera purposely to visit her box.”
“I deny the absence of encouragement, and I am very grateful for the opportunity of coming,” Nigel answered. “And if I were to tell you all that I think of you,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “it would take me a great deal longer than this quarter of an hour’s interval.”
These were their first few moments absolutely alone. Neither of them was unduly emotional, neither wholly free from experience, yet they looked and spoke and felt as though the coming of new things was at hand. The atmosphere of music, still present, was a wonderful background to the intensified sensations of which both were conscious. Naida had the utmost difficulty in steadying her voice.
“I wanted to talk to you seriously because you can help me very much if you will,” she began. “In a sense, I am over here upon a mission. Some of us in Russia feel that your nation is imperfectly understood there. We are bearing grudges against you which may not be wholly justified. You see, to speak very plainly, we are under the constant influence of a people which cherishes no feelings of friendship towards you.”
For a moment the personal element had disappeared. Nigel remembered who his companion was and all that she stood for. He drew his chair a little nearer to hers.
“If you are looking for a typical Englishman,” he said, “I fear that I shall be a disappointment to you. The typical Englishman of to-day is hiding his head in the sand. I am not disposed to do anything of the sort. I recognise a great coming danger, and I am afraid of your country.”
“The attitude of the official Englishman I know,” she declared, a little eagerly. “What I want to find out is whether there are many like yourself, who are awake.”
“I am afraid that I am in the minority,” he confessed. “I am trying to carry on the work which my uncle commenced. I am trying to secure firm and definite evidence of a certain plot which I believe to be brewing in your country and in Germany.”
“Tell me exactly what you know,” she begged.
Nigel looked at her for several moments in silence. She was wearing a Russian headdress, a low tiara of bound coils of pearls. A rope of pearls hung from her neck. Her white net gown was trimmed with ermine. At her first appearance in the front of the box she had created almost a sensation among those to whom she was visible. In these darker shadows the sensuous disturbance of which he had been conscious since his entrance swept over him once more with overmastering power.
“You are very beautiful,” he said, a little abruptly.
“I am glad you think so,” she murmured, with a very sweet answering light in her eyes, “but I am hoping that you have other things to tell me.”
“You are the friend of Immelan,” he reminded her.
“To some extent, yes,” she assented, “but I admit of no prejudices. The greatest friend I have in the world is Paul Matinsky, and it is at his wish that I am here. He is anxious above all things not to make a mistake.”
“Your country is very much under the dominance of Germany,” he ventured.
“Very much, I admit, but not utterly so. You must remember that after the cataclysm of 1917, Russia has been born again in travail and agony. No hand was outstretched to help her, save that of Germany alone, for her own sake ultimately, perhaps, but nevertheless with invaluable results to Russia. We had vast resources which Germany exploited, magnificent human material which Germany has educated and disciplined. The two nations have grown together for their common interest. At the same time, Paul Matinsky and very many others have always felt that there is one of Germany’s great ambitions in which Russia ought not necessarily to become involved. I think—I hope that you understand me.”
“In plain words,” Nigel said, “you refer to this projected plan of isolating England.”
“In plain words, I do,” she admitted. “Russia’s intentions concerning that are trembling in the balance. Germany is pressing her hard. Nothing will be finally decided until I return to Petrograd. You see, I speak to you quite openly, for I myself have had some experience of your present statesmen. I believe if you were to repeat this conversation to any one of them, if, even, you could open their eyes to what is happening, they would only shrug their shoulders and say that they relied for their protection on the League of Nations.”
“You are unhappily right,” Nigel groaned, “yet one perseveres, and after all there is an element of mystery about the whole affair. The French, as you know, have not imitated our blind credulity. Their frontier would seem to be impregnable, and the difficulties of invading England, even from the air, are very much as they were during the last war. It was these considerations which made my uncle persevere in his attempt at secret-service work on the Continent. Everything depends upon our knowing exactly what is in store for us.”
“And have you discovered that?” she enquired.
He shook his head.
“Everything that we have learnt so far has been of negative value,” he replied. “The German citizen army is large, but not threateningly so. So far as we have been able to discover, they do not seem to have any secret store of guns or ammunition. Their docks hold no secrets. Yet we know that there is something brewing. Both the men upon whom my uncle relied have been murdered.”
“But one of them succeeded in getting a dispatch through, did he not?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, he succeeded,” Nigel acknowledged. “My uncle was murdered, however, in the act of decoding it, and the dispatch itself was stolen.”
“You are very frank,” she said. “I suppose I ought to feel flattered that you treat me with so little reserve.”
“If you are a friend to Germany,” he replied, “you probably know all that I can tell you. If you are inclined towards friendship with us, then it is as well that you should know everything.”
“That is reasonable,” she admitted. “Now listen. This conversation can only last a few minutes longer. It is true that Oscar Immelan is my father’s old friend and also mine, but my judgment in all matters which relate to the welfare of my country is not influenced by that fact.”
“There was a report once,” Nigel said, taking his courage into both hands, “that you were engaged to be married to him.”
She looked him in the eyes. Against the whiteness of his skin, the colour of her own seemed more wonderful than ever.
“That is not true,” she replied. “It will never be true.”
“I am glad,” he declared fervently.
There was a brief pause. Both seemed conscious of a renewal of that air of disturbance which had reigned between them during their first few moments alone. It was Naida who made an effort to restore their conversation to its former tone.
“If Germany has any scheme against this country,” she said, “believe me, it will not be so obvious as you seem to think. It will be a scheme which can only be carried out with the assistance of other countries, and that assistance is not yet wholly promised. I cannot betray to you my knowledge of certain things,” she went on, after a moment’s hesitation, “but I can at least give you this warning. It is not for his health alone that Prince Shan is flying from China to Paris. If there is a single member of your Government who has the least apprehension of world politics, now is the time for action.”
“There is no one,” Nigel answered gloomily.
The box was suddenly invaded. Karetsky reappeared with several other men. In the rear of the little procession came Immelan. His face darkened as he recognised Nigel. Naida looked across at h
im with a slight frown upon her forehead.
“You have changed your mind?” she remarked. “I thought you were for Paris to-night?”
“A fortunate chance intervened,” Immelan replied.
“Fortunate?”
Immelan watched Nigel’s retreating figure with a menacing frown.
“I find it so,” he replied. “Our wonderful prima donna is in great voice to-night—and I like to be prepared for all possible combinations.”
CHAPTER XI
Table of Contents
Maggie came suddenly into the library at Belgrave Square, where Jesson, Chalmers and Nigel were talking together. She carried in her hand a note, which she handed to the latter.
“Naida is a dear, after all,” she declared. “There is one person at least who does not wish to have me pass away in a German nursing home or fall a victim to Frau Essendorf’s cooking.”
Nigel read the note aloud. It consisted of only a sentence or two and was dated from the Milan Court that morning:
Maggie dear, this is just a line of advice from your friend. You must not go back to Germany.
Naida.
“I fear,” Maggie sighed, “that my little expedition is scotched, even if I had been able to persuade you others to let me go. Every one seems to have made up their mind that I shall not go to Germany. It will be such a disappointment to those flaxen-haired atrocities, Gertrud and Bertha. Their so-much-loved Miss Brown can never return to them again.”
“In any case, the game was scarcely worth the candle,” Nigel observed. “We have already all the evidence we require that some scheme inimical to this country is being proposed and fostered by Immelan. Our next move must be to find out the nature of this scheme—whether it be naval, military, or political. I don’t think Essendorf would be at all likely to give away any more interesting information in the domestic circle.”
“What are we all going to do, then?” Maggie asked.
“We are met here to discuss it,” Nigel replied. “Jesson is off to Russia this afternoon. I asked him to come round and have a few last words with us, in case there was anything to suggest for us stay-at-homes.”
“We shall have to rely very largely upon luck,” Jesson declared. “There are three places, in any of which we might discover what we want to know. One is Kroten, another is Paris, provided that Prince Shan really goes there, and the third London.”
“London?” Maggie repeated.
“There are two people in London,” Jesson declared, “who know everything we are seeking to discover. One is Immelan and the other Naida Karetsky.”
“It seems to me,” Maggie said, “that if that is so, the place for us is where those two people are. What is the importance of Kroten, Mr. Jesson?”
“Kroten,” Jesson replied, “is the second of what I have seen referred to in a private diplomatic report, written in an enemy country, as the three mystery cities of the world. The first one is in Germany, and I have already explored it. I have information, but information which without its sequel is valueless. Kroten is the second. Ten years ago it was a town of eighteen thousand inhabitants. To-day there are at least two hundred thousand people there, and it is growing all the time.”
“Say, how can a town of that size,” Chalmers enquired, “be termed a mystery city in any sense of the word? Travelling’s free in Russia. I guess any one that wanted could take a ticket to Kroten.”
“A good many do,” Jesson assented calmly, “and some never come back. America and Russia are on friendly terms, yet two men in my branch of the service—good fellows they were, too—started out from Washington for Kroten six months ago. Neither of them has been heard of since; neither ever will be.”
“How’s it done?” Chalmers asked curiously.
“In the first place,” Jesson explained, “the city itself stands at the arm of the river, in a sort of cul-de-sac, with absolutely untraversable mountains on three sides of it. All the roads have to come around the plain and enter from eastwards. There is only one line of railway, so that all the approaches into the city are easily guarded.”
“That’s all right geographically, of course,” Nigel admitted, “but what earthly excuse can any one make for keeping tourists or travellers out of the place if they want to go there?”
“That is perhaps the most ingenious thing of all,” Jesson replied. “You know that Russia is now practically a tranquil country, but there are certain bands of the extreme Bolshevistic faction who never gave in to authority and who practically exist in the little-known places by means of marauding expeditions. The mountains about Kroten are supposed to have been infested by these nomadic companies. Whether the outrages set down to them are really committed or not, I don’t suppose any one knows, but my point of view is that the presence of these people is absolutely encouraged by the Government, to give them an excuse for the most extraordinary precautions in issuing passports or allowing any one from the outside world to pass into the city. If you get in, I understand you are waited upon by the police within half an hour and have to tell them the story of your past life and your future intentions. After that you are allowed to go about on parole. If you get too inquisitive, you are discovered to be in touch with the robber bands, and—well—that’s an end of you.”
“A nice, salubrious spot,” Nigel murmured.
“It sounds most interesting,” Maggie declared. “I think a woman would be less likely to cause suspicion,” she added hopefully.
“Utterly out of the question,” Jesson pronounced. “Kroten is the one place that must be left in my hands. I know more about the getting there than any of you, and I know the tricks of changing my identity.”
“I should rather like to go with you,” Nigel confessed.
“Impossible!” was the brief reply.
“Why?”
Jesson smiled.
“To be perfectly frank,” he said, “because you are developing an interest in the one person in the world who might give success over into our hands. It is necessary for you to remain where you can encourage that interest.”
Nigel was a little staggered.
“My friendship with Mademoiselle Karetsky,” he protested, “is scarcely likely to influence her political views.”
“I am a somewhat close observer,” Jesson continued. “You will not ask me to believe that your conversation with mademoiselle in her box at the Opera last night related all the time to—well, shall we say music?”
“Nigel, you never told me you were at the Opera,” Maggie intervened. “What made you go?”
“I think that it was a message from Mademoiselle Karetsky,” Jesson suggested quietly.
Nigel smiled.
“Upon my word, I think you’re going to be a success, Jesson,” he declared. “Perhaps you can tell me what we did talk about?”
“I believe I almost could,” was the calm reply. “In any case, I think I see the situation as it exists. Mademoiselle Karetsky is a wonderful woman. She has a great, open mind. To a certain extent, of course, she has seen things from the point of view of Paul Matinsky, Immelan, and that little coterie of Russo-Germans who see a future for both countries only in an alliance of the old-fashioned order. Matinsky, however, has always had his doubts. That is why he sent over here the one person whom he trusted. Presently she will make a report, and the whole issue will remain with her. Immelan knows this and pays her ceaseless court. My impression, however, is that his influence is waning. I believe that to-day he is terrified at the bare reflection of how much Naida Karetsky knows.”
“You believe that she does know exactly what is intended?” Nigel asked.
“I am perfectly certain of it,” Jesson replied. “If she could be induced to tell us everything, my journey to Kroten might just as well be abandoned. Yet somehow I do not think she will go so far as that. The most that we can hope for is that she will advise Matinsky to reject Immelan’s proposals, and that she will perhaps bring some influence to bear in the same direction upon Prince Shan.”
“I am inclined to agree with Jesson,” Nigel pronounced, “inasmuch as I believe that Mademoiselle Karetsky is disposed to change or modify her views concerning us. You see, after all, this threatened blow against England is purely a private affair of Germany’s. There is really no reason why Russia or any other country should be dragged into it. She is the monkey pulling the chestnuts out of the fire for her most dangerous rival.”
“Matinsky might be brought to think that way,” Chalmers observed, “but they say half the members of his Cabinet are under German influence.”
“If Matinsky believed that,” Nigel declared, “he is quite strong enough to clear them all out and make a fresh start.”
“In the meantime,” Maggie interposed, “I should like to know in what way you propose to use poor little me? I am not to go to Germany, the man whom I at one time seriously thought of marrying is told off to engage the attentions of another woman, Mr. Jesson here is going to Kroten, and he doesn’t show the slightest inclination to take me with him. Am I to sit here and do nothing?”
“There remains for you the third enterprise,” Jesson replied, “one in which, so far as I can see,” he continued, with a smile, “you have not the faintest chance of success.”
“Tell me what it is, at least?” she begged.
“The conversion of Prince Shan.”
Maggie made a little grimace.
“Aren’t you trying me a little high?” she murmured.
“Very high indeed,” Jesson acknowledged. “Prince Shan, for all his wonderful statesmanship and his grip upon world affairs, is reputed to be almost an anchorite in his daily life. No woman has ever yet been able to boast of having exercised the slightest influence over him. At the same time, he is an extraordinarily human person, and success with him would mean the end of your enemies.”
“It sounds a bit of a forlorn hope,” Maggie remarked cheerfully, “but I’ll do my little best.”
“Prince Shan has abandoned his idea of landing at Paris,” Jesson continued. “He is coming direct to London. I have to thank Chalmers for that information. Immelan will meet him directly he arrives, and their first conversations will make history. Afterwards, if things go well, Mademoiselle Karetsky will join the conference.”
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