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Great Secret

<h2 id="id02686" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> <h5 id="id02687">THE BLACK BAG</h5> Lady Dennisford had failed. I saw it in her face as soon as I entered the room, and her first few words confirmed it. "It's no use, Jim," she declared. "I've done my best, but there isn't a soul who will listen to me." "Good God!" I murmured, and sat down on the sofa. "There is not a single man in the Cabinet of the slightest influence," she continued, "who will take this affair seriously. Lord Esherville assured me solemnly that the whole affair was absurd and impossible. Polloch declares that we have been brought to the brink of war with Germany twice already, through treating her overtures with too much suspicion. He is absolutely determined that the mistake shall not be repeated." "How about the massing of troops on the French frontier?" I asked. "Ordinary manoeuvres," Lady Dennisford said. "The whole proceeding is absolutely open." "And the reception of the Prince of Normandy by the Emperor?" "An act of private courtesy. He ridicules the idea of German interference in French politics." "And the rifle union?" "If he believes in it at all, he looks upon it simply as a social and patriotic club, with which we have nothing to do. He ridicules the idea of regarding it as a force that could be utilized, even in the event of war." "Then all three things happening together are merely coincidences?" I said bitterly. "He is blind enough to believe that?" "He believes it most sincerely," Lady Dennisford answered. "He will not stop the fleet going to Kiel?" "He almost lost his temper at the bare suggestion," Lady Dennisford answered. "The slight hitch in the Morocco negotiations, he says, is simply owing to a misunderstanding, which will be cleared up in a day or two." "Now I can understand," I said, "why, on the Continent, they always speak of British diplomacy with their tongues in their cheeks. To think that the destinies of a great country should be in the hands of men like this. Why, what can our Secret Service be about?" "I believe," Lady Dennisford said, "that they have lately been presenting some disquieting reports. But it is all of no use. Every member of the Cabinet has got his back up. Lord Polloch says that Germany's friendship is absolutely necessary to us just now, and his Cabinet are determined to secure it." "They will," I muttered, "at a price. Lady Dennisford, you will excuse me, I know. I must hurry back and see Guest." "What is there left for you to do?" "Heaven only knows!" I answered. "I am afraid we are at the end of our tether. If Guest has yet another card up his sleeve, he has kept it secret from me. I must see him at once." "You will let me hear from you soon?" she begged as I departed. "The newspapers may have more to tell you than I," I answered. "But I will come again—about the situation!" Guest was waiting for me in the little glass enclosure we called an office. He saw my news written in my face. "She has failed," he murmured. "Utterly!" I answered. We were both silent for a moment. The crisis of our fortunes had come, and, for the first time, I saw Guest falter. He removed his spectacles for a moment, and there was despair in his eyes. "To think that we should have done so much—in vain," he muttered. "If one could think of it, there must be a way out." His head drooped for a moment, and, glancing up, I saw Hirsch's dark inquisitive face watching us through the glass. "Put on your spectacles and be careful," I whispered. "We are being watched." Guest was himself again in a moment. I stepped out into the restaurant, where a few early luncheon guests were already arriving, and attended to my duties as well as I could. Hirsch and his wife were at their usual corner table, and they were presently joined by Marx, and two others of the committee before whom I had appeared. They all carried newspapers, and their conversation, though constant and animated, always languished at my approach—a fact which somewhat alarmed me. Madame watched me ceaselessly. I was perfectly certain once, when their heads were very close together, that I was the subject of their conversation. As soon as I realized this, I tried, without pointedly avoiding them, to keep out of their way. We were very full that morning, and every one seemed to linger a long time over their luncheon. I was sick to death of the place, and my weary peregrinations from table to table, of the smile I wore, and the small jests and complaints I was forced to receive. The smell of the cooking was like some loathsome poison in my nostrils. I felt that morning, with the depression of despair upon my heart, that this was a fool's game which I had been playing. And then my heart stood still, and my recently developed powers of self-control received a severe shock. A familiar little yap had given me the first warning, I turned sharply round towards the door. Adèle, followed by a small elderly gentleman with a red ribbon in his buttonhole, had just entered. I hastened towards them, and I addressed Adèle without a flicker of recognition in my face. I piloted them to a table a little apart, and handed her the carte. "We shall remain," she said calmly, and with the air of one giving an order, "until the place is nearly empty. Come and talk to us as soon as you can safely." I bowed, and handed them over to the waiter whose duty it was to serve at their table. As I passed down the room, I glanced towards the Hirsch table. They had ceased their conversation. Every one of them was staring at the newcomers. Soon they began to whisper together. Madame beckoned to me. "Do you know who they are, Herr Paul, those people who have just come in?" she asked. "The little old gentleman, for instance! He is a Frenchman, is he not?" I shook my head. "They are strangers, Madame," I told her. "The gentleman has not spoken yet, but he wears a red ribbon in his coat." Madame dismissed me with a little nod. I stood for a moment at a neighboring table, and I heard Hirsch's low voice. "If it is he," he muttered, "there is mischief brewing, but he has come too late." "If it is he," Madame murmured, "there is danger, there is always danger! You remember—at Brussels—" I could hear no more, and I dared not show my curiosity. Somewhat abruptly, it seemed to me, the little party finished their luncheon and departed. The place began to grow emptier, I took careful stock of the few people that were left, and decided that the coast was clear. I returned to Adèle and her friend. "Tell us both quickly," she said in a low tone, "exactly how things stand. This gentleman is the head of the French secret police. He is here to help, if it is possible." "We have collected our material," I answered, "and placed it before the government here. We are up against an impasse. Through different sources we have approached several members of the Cabinet. The result has been the same in every case. We are treated as madmen. Polloch will do nothing. The fleet has sailed, the rifles remain in the alleys of Soho and Heaven knows where. Not a single precautionary measure has been taken." "In a lesser degree," she said, "I, too, have failed. I have succeeded in getting the royalist officers removed from the frontier army, but with regard to the navy, they would do nothing. The French government declined to believe that England might need assistance. We shall get no aid from there." The little old gentleman leaned over and addressed me. "What is your next step?" "We have none," I answered bluntly. "I have only spoken for a minute or two with Guest since we heard of our last failure. Shall I fetch him?" Adèle nodded. I went for Guest, who was promenading the room with his hands behind him, casting every now and then a sharp glance in our direction. "They wish to speak to you," said. He nodded and walked by my side. "Our friend," he said, "is admirably disguised, but I recognized him. It is Monsieur Bardow, the cleverest man in France." The two men exchanged bows and smiles. A waiter was standing near. "I insist, Monsieur," Monsieur Bardow said, "that you and your nephew here join me in a bottle of wine. We will drink luck to your new venture. No! you must seat yourself, you and your nephew also!" The farce was well kept up till the wine had been fetched and the waiter dismissed. Then Monsieur Bardow, with the mild expression of one who is still exchanging compliments, began to talk. "Mr. Guest," he said, "I know you, and I think that you know me. We are both up against a hard thing—officials, who won't believe what does sound a little, perhaps, like a fairy story. I have succeeded a little, you not at all. I consider that a disaster to England, however, would be a disaster also to my country. I am here, therefore, to see if I can be of service to you." Adèle leaned over towards us. "Monsieur Bardow," she said, "has already been to his ambassador here!" "And Monsieur Lestrange, who is good enough to have complete confidence in me, went at once to Downing Street," Monsieur Bardow explained. "When he returned he was angry!" Guest tapped on the table with his forefinger. "We have submitted our proofs," he said, "and they have been received with derision. Your ambassador, Monsieur Bardow, has spoken for us—and in vain! In what different manner can we approach this wooden-headed government? You have come here with something to propose! What is it?" Monsieur Bardow nodded assent. He opened his mouth to speak. Suddenly his expression changed. He pointed to the door. The words came from his lips with the crisp rapidity of a repeating rifle! "Who is that man?" he demanded. "Look! quick!" I was just in time to see Hirsch's figure disappearing through the swing doors. "A man named Hirsch," I answered. "Who is he?" "One of the committee of the Union," I answered. "He left something with a waiter. Call the waiter quickly," Monsieur Bardow demanded. I obeyed at once. The waiter, a Swiss-German, hurried to our table. "What did Mr. Hirsch want?" I asked. "He said that he was coming back to dinner this evening, and he left a bag," the waiter replied. "Bring the bag here at once!" Bardow ordered. Already he had risen to his feet. Something of his excitement had become communicated to us. In obedience to a peremptory gesture from Guest, the waiter hurried off, and returned almost immediately carrying a small black bag. Bardow held it for a moment to his ear. We were all conscious of a faint purring noise. Nagaski began to whine. Monsieur Bardow laid the bag gently down upon the table. "Out of the place for your lives!" he commanded in a tone of thunder. I took Adèle's arm, we all rushed for the door. We had barely reached it before the floor began to heave, the windows to fall in, and a report like thunder deafened us! We emerged into the street, wrapped in a thick cloud of curling smoke, with masonry and fragments of furniture falling all around us. But we emerged safely, though of the Café Suisse there was scarcely left one stone upon another. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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