He watched the people take their seats in the train with idle eyes; he was not interested in any of them. He scarcely saw their faces; they were not of his world nor he of theirs. But suddenly he received a rude shock. He sat upright and wiped away the moisture from the window in order that he might see more clearly. A young man in a long ulster was buying newspapers from a boy only a yard or two away. Something about the figure and manner of standing seemed to Mr. Sabin vaguely familiar. He waited until his head was turned, and the eyes of the two men met—then the last vestige of doubt disappeared. It was Felix! Mr. Sabin leaned back in his corner with darkening face. He had noticed to his dismay that the encounter, surprising though it had been to him, had been accepted by Felix as a matter of course—he was obviously prepared for it. He had met Mr. Sabin’s anxious and incredulous gaze with a faint, peculiar smile. His probable presence in the train had evidently been confidently reckoned upon. Felix had been watching him secretly, and knowing what he did know of that young man, Mr. Sabin was seriously disturbed. He did not hesitate for a moment, however, to face the position. He determined at once upon a bold course of action. Letting down the window he put out his head.
“Are you going to town?” he asked Felix, as though seeing him then was the most natural thing in the world.
The young man nodded.
“Yes, it’s getting pretty dreary down here, isn’t it? You’re off back, I see.”
Mr. Sabin assented.
“Yes,” he said, “I’ve had about enough of it. Besides, I’m overdue at Pau, and I’m anxious to get there. Are you coming in here?”
Felix hesitated. At first the suggestion had astonished him; almost immediately it became a temptation. It would be distinctly piquant to travel with this man. On the other hand it was distinctly unwise; it was running an altogether unnecessary risk. Mr. Sabin read his thoughts with the utmost ease.
“I should rather like to have a little chat with you,” he said quietly; “you are not afraid, are you? I am quite unarmed, and as you see Nature has not made me for a fighting man.”
Felix hesitated no longer. He motioned to the porter who was carrying his dressing-case and golf clubs, and had them conveyed into Mr. Sabin’s carriage. He himself took the opposite seat.
“I had no idea,” Mr. Sabin remarked, “that you were in the neighbourhood.”
Felix smiled.
“You have been so engrossed in your—golf,” he remarked. “It is a fascinating game, is it not?”
“Very,” Mr. Sabin assented. “You yourself are a devotee, I see.”
“I am a beginner,” Felix answered, “and a very clumsy beginner too. I take my clubs with me, however, whenever I go to the coast at this time of year; they save one from being considered a madman.”
“It is singular,” Mr. Sabin remarked, “that you should have chosen to visit Cromer just now. It is really a most interesting meeting. I do not think that I have had the pleasure of seeing you since that evening at the ‘Milan,’ when your behaviour towards me—forgive my alluding to it—was scarcely considerate.”
Mr. Sabin was quite friendly and unembarrassed. He seemed to treat the affair as a joke. Felix looked glumly out of the window.
“Your luck stood you in good stead—as usual,” he said. “I meant to kill you that night. You see I don’t mind confessing it! I had sworn to make the attempt the first time we met face to face.”
“Considering that we are quite alone,” Mr. Sabin remarked, looking around the carriage, “and that from physical considerations my life under such conditions is entirely at your mercy, I should like some assurance that you have no intention of repeating the attempt. It would add very materially to my comfort.”
The young man smiled without immediately answering. Then he was suddenly grave; he appeared to be reflecting. Almost imperceptibly Mr. Sabin’s hand stole towards the window. He was making a mental calculation as to what height above the carriage window the communication cord might be. Felix, watching his fingers, smiled again.
“You need have no fear,” he said; “the cause of personal enmity between you and me is dead. You have nothing more to fear from me at any time.”
Mr. Sabin’s hand slid down again to his side.
“I am charmed to hear it,” he declared. “You are, I presume, in earnest?”
“Most certainly. It is as I say; the cause for personal enmity between us is removed. Save for a strong personal dislike, which under the circumstances I trust that you will pardon me”—Mr. Sabin bowed—“I have no feeling towards you whatever!”
Mr. Sabin drew a somewhat exaggerated sigh of relief. “I live,” he said, “with one more fear removed. But I must confess,” he added, “to a certain amount of curiosity. We have a somewhat tedious journey before us, and several hours at our disposal; would it be asking you too much——”
Felix waved his hand.
“Not at all,” he said. “A few words will explain everything. I have other matters to speak of with you, but they can wait. As you remark, we have plenty of time before us. Three weeks ago I received a telegram from Brussels. It was from—forgive me, if I do not utter her name in your presence; it seems somehow like sacrilege.”
Mr. Sabin bowed; a little red spot was burning through the pallor of his sunken cheeks.
“I was there,” Felix continued, “in a matter of twenty- four hours. She was ill—believed herself to be dying. We spoke together of a little event many years old; yet which I venture to think, neither you, nor she, nor I have ever forgotten.”
Mr. Sabin pulled down the blind by his side; it was only a stray gleam of wintry sunshine, which had stolen through the grey clouds, but it seemed to dazzle him.
“It had come to her knowledge that you and I were together in London—that you were once more essaying to play a part in civilised and great affairs. And lest our meeting should bring harm about, she told me—something of which I have always been in ignorance.”
“Ah!”
Mr. Sabin moved uneasily in his seat. He drew his club-foot a little further back; Felix seemed to be looking at it absently.
“She showed me,” he continued, “a little pistol; she explained to me that a woman’s aim is a most uncertain thing. Besides, you were some distance away, and your spring aside helped you. Then, too, so far as I could see from the mechanism of the thing—it was an old and clumsy affair—it carried low. At any rate the shot, which was doubtless meant for your heart, found a haven in your foot. From her lips I learned for the first time that she, the sweetest and most timid of her sex, had dared to become her own avenger. Life is a sad enough thing, and pleasure is rare, yet I tasted pleasure of the keenest and subtlest kind when she told me that story. I feel even now some slight return of it when I look at your—shall we call deformity, and consider how different a person——”
Mr. Sabin half rose to his feet; his face was white and set, save where a single spot of colour was flaring high up near his cheek-bone. His eyes were bloodshot; for a moment he seemed about to strike the other man. Felix broke off in his sentence, and watched him warily.
“Come,” he said, “it is not like you to lose control of yourself in that manner. It is a simple matter. You wronged a woman, and she avenged herself magnificently. As for me, I can see that my interference was quite uncalled for; I even venture to offer you my apologies for the fright I must have given you at the ‘Milan.’ The account had already been straightened by abler hands. I can assure you that I am no longer your enemy. In fact, when I look at you”—his eyes seemed to fall almost to the ground—“when I look at you, I permit myself some slight sensation of pity for your unfortunate affliction. But it was magnificent! Shall we change the subject now?”
Mr. Sabin sat quite still in his corner; his eyes seemed fixed upon a distant hill, bordering the flat country through which they were passing. Felix’s stinging words and mocking smile had no meaning for him. In fact he did not see his companion any longer, nor was he conscious of his presence.
The narrow confines of the railway carriage had fallen away. He was in a lofty room, in a chamber of a palace, a privileged guest, the lover of the woman whose dark, passionate eyes and soft, white arms were gleaming there before his eyes. It was but one of many such scenes. He shuddered very slightly, as he went back further still. He had been faithful to one god, and one god only—the god of self! Was it a sign of coming trouble, that for the first time for many years he had abandoned himself to the impotent morbidness of abstract thought? He shook himself free from it with an effort; what lunacy! To-day he was on the eve of a mighty success—his feet were planted firmly upon the threshold! The end of all his ambitions stood fairly in view, and the path to it was wide and easy. Only a little time, and his must be one of the first names in Europe! The thought thrilled him, the little flood of impersonal recollections ebbed away; he was himself again, keen, alert, vigorous! Suddenly he met the eyes of his companion fixed steadfastly upon him, and his face darkened. There was something ominous about this man’s appearance; his very presence seemed like a foreboding of disaster.
“I am much obliged to you for your little romance,” he said. “There is one point, however, which needs some explanation. If your interest is really, as you suggest, at an end, what are you doing down here? I presume that your appearance is not altogether a coincidence.”
“Certainly not,” Felix answered. “Let me correct you, however, on one trifling point. I said, you must remember—my personal interest.”
“I do not,” Mr. Sabin remarked, “exactly see the distinction; in fact, I do not follow you at all!”
“I am so stupid,” Felix declared apologetically. “I ought to have explained myself more clearly. It is even possible that you, who know everything, may yet be ignorant of my present position.”
“I certainly have no knowledge of it,” Mr. Sabin admitted.
Felix was gently astonished.
“Really! I took it for granted, of course, that you knew. Well, I am employed—not in any important post, of course—at the Russian Embassy. His Excellency has been very kind to me.”
Mr. Sabin for once felt his nerve grow weak; those evil forebodings of his had very swiftly become verified. This man was his enemy. Yet he recovered himself almost as quickly. What had he to fear? His was still the winning hand.
“I am pleased to hear,” he said, “that you have found such creditable employment. I hope you will make every effort to retain it; you have thrown away many chances.”
Felix at first smiled; then he leaned back amongst the cushions and laughed outright. When he had ceased, he wiped the tears from his eyes. He sat up again and looked with admiration at the still, pale figure opposite to him.
“You are inimitable,” he said—“wonderful! If you live long enough, you will certainly become very famous. What will it be, I wonder—Emperor, Dictator, President of a Republic, the Minister of an Emperor? The latter I should imagine; you were always such an aristocrat. I would not have missed this journey for the world. I am longing to know what you will say to Prince Lobenski at King’s Cross.”
Mr. Sabin looked at him keenly.
“So you are only a lacquey after all, then?” he remarked—“a common spy!”
“Very much at your service,” Felix answered, with a low bow. “A spy, if you like, engaged for the last two weeks in very closely watching your movements, and solving the mystery of your sudden devotion to a heathenish game!”
“There, at any rate,” Mr. Sabin said calmly, “you are quite wrong. If you had watched my play I flatter myself that you would have realised that my golf at any rate was no pretence.”
“I never imagined,” Felix rejoined, “that you would be anything but proficient at any game in which you cared to interest yourself; but I never imagined either that you came to Cromer to play golf—especially just now.”
“Modern diplomacy,” Mr. Sabin said, after a brief pause, “has undergone, as you may be aware, a remarkable transformation. Secrecy is now quite out of date; it is the custom amongst the masters to play with the cards upon the table.”
“There is a good deal in what you say,” Felix answered thoughtfully. “Come, we will play the game, then! It is my lead. Very well! I have been down here watching you continually, with the object of discovering the source of this wonderful power by means of which you are prepared to offer up this country, bound hand and foot, to whichever Power you decide to make terms with. Sounds like a fairy tale, doesn’t it? But you obviously believe in it yourself, and Lobenski believes in you.”
“Good!” Mr. Sabin declared. “That power of which I have spoken I now possess! It was nearly complete a month ago; an hour’s work now will make it a living and invulnerable fact.”
“You obtained,” Felix said, “your final success this afternoon, when you robbed the mad Admiral.”
Mr. Sabin shook his head gently.
“I have not robbed any one,” he said; “I never use force.”
Felix looked at him reproachfully.
“I have heard much that is evil about you,” he said, “but I have never heard before that you were known to—to—dear me, it is a very unpleasant thing to say!”
“Well, sir?”
“To cheat at cards!”
Mr. Sabin drew a short, little breath.
“What I have said is true to the letter,” he repeated “The Admiral gave me the trifling information I asked for, with his own hands.”
Felix remained incredulous.
“Then you must add the power of hypnotism,” he declared, “to your other accomplishments.”
Mr. Sabin laughed scornfully, nevertheless he did not seem to be altogether at his ease. The little scene in the library at Deringham Hall was not a pleasant recollection for him.
“The matter after all,” he said coldly, “is unimportant; it is merely a detail. I will admit that you have done your spy’s work well. Now, what will buy your memory, and your departure from this train, at the next station?”
Felix smiled.
“You are becoming more sensible,” he said; “very fair question to ask. My price is the faithful fulfilment of your contract with my chief.”
“I have made no contract with him.”
“You have opened negotiations; he is ready to come to terms with you. You have only to name your price.”
“I have no price,” Mr. Sabin said quietly, “that he could pay.”
“What Knigenstein can give,” Felix said, “he can give double. The Secret Service funds of Russia are the largest in the world; you can have practically a blank cheque upon them.”
“I repeat,” Mr. Sabin said, “I have no price that Prince Lobenski could pay. You talk as though I were a blackmailer, or a common thief. You have always misunderstood me. Come! I will remember that the cards are upon the table; I will be wholly frank with you. It is Knigenstein with whom I mean to treat, and not your chief. He has agreed to my terms—Russia never could.”
Felix was silent for a moment.
“You are holding,” he said, “your trump card in your hand. Whatever in this world Germany could give you, Russia could improve upon.”
“She could do so,” Mr. Sabin said, “only at the expense of her honour. Come! here is that trump card. I will throw it upon the table; now you see that my hands are empty. My price is the invasion of France, and the restoration of the Monarchy.”
Felix looked at him as a man looks upon a lunatic.
“You are playing with me,” he cried.
“I was never more in earnest in my life,” Mr. Sabin said.
“Do you mean to tell me that you—in cold blood—are working for so visionary, so impossible an end?”
“It is neither visionary,” Mr. Sabin said, “nor impossible. I do not believe that any man, save myself, properly appreciates the strength of the Royalist party in France. Every day, every minute brings it fresh adherents. It is as certain that some day a king will reign once more at Versailles, as that the sun will set before many h
ours are past. The French people are too bourgeois at heart to love a republic. The desire for its abolition is growing up in their hearts day by day. You understand me now when I say that I cannot treat with your country? The honour of Russia is bound up with her friendship to France. Germany, on the other hand, has ready her battle cry. She and France have been quivering on the verge of war for many a year. My whole hand is upon the table now, Felix. Look at the cards, and tell me whether we can treat!”
Felix was silent. He looked at his opponent with unwilling admiration; the man after all, then, was great. For the moment he could think of nothing whatever to say.
“Now, listen to me,” Mr. Sabin continued earnestly. “I made a great mistake when I ever mentioned the matter to Prince Lobenski. I cannot treat with him, but on the other hand, I do not want to be hampered by his importunities for the next few days. You have done your duty, and you have done it well. It is not your fault that you cannot succeed. Leave the train at the next station—disappear for a week, and I will give you a fortune. You are young—the world is before you. You can seek distinction in whatever way you will. I have a cheque-book in my pocket, and a fountain pen. I will give you an order on the Crédit Lyonnaise for £20,000.”
Felix laughed softly; his face was full of admiration. He looked at his watch, and began to gather together his belongings.
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