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Title: The Great Prince Shan

Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim

Release date: August 6, 2004 [eBook #13123]
                Most recently updated: December 18, 2020

Language: English

Credits: E-text prepared by Steven desJardins and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT PRINCE SHAN ***


E-text prepared by Steven desJardins and Project Gutenberg Distributed
Proofreaders



THE GREAT PRINCE SHAN

by

E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

1922







CHAPTER I


"A club for diplomats and gentlemen," Prince Karschoff remarked, looking
lazily through a little cloud of tobacco smoke around the spacious but
almost deserted card room. "The classification seems comprehensive
enough, yet it seems impossible to get even a decent rubber of bridge."

Sir Daniel Harker, a many years retired plenipotentiary to one of the
smaller Powers, shrugged his shoulders.

"Personally, I have come to the conclusion," he declared, "that the
_raison d'être_ for the club seems to be passing. There is no diplomacy,
nowadays, and every man who pays his taxes is a gentleman. Kingley, you
are the youngest. Ransack the club and find a fourth."

The Honourable Nigel Kingley smiled lazily from the depths of his
easy-chair. He was a young Englishman of normal type, long-limbed,
clean-shaven, with good features, a humorous mouth and keen grey eyes.

"In actual years," he admitted, "I may have the advantage of you two,
but so far as regards the qualities of youth, Karschoff is the youngest
man here. Besides, no one could refuse him anything."

"It is a subterfuge," the Prince objected, "but if I must go, I will go
presently. We will wait five minutes, in case Providence should be kind
to us."

The three men relapsed into silence. They were seated in a comfortable
recess of the card room of the St. Philip's Club. The atmosphere of the
apartment seemed redolent with suggestions of faded splendour. There was
a faint perfume of Russian calf from the many rows of musty volumes
which still filled the stately bookcases. The oil paintings which hung
upon the walls belonged to a remote period. In a distant corner, four
other men were playing bridge, speechless and almost motionless, the
white faces of two of them like cameos under the electric light and
against the dark walls. There was no sound except the soft patter of the
cards and the subdued movements of a servant preparing another bridge
table by the side of the three men. Then the door of the room was
quietly opened and closed. A man of youthful middle-age, carefully
dressed, with a large, clean-shaven face, blue eyes, and fair hair
sprinkled with grey, came towards them. He was well set up, almost
anxiously ingratiating in manner.

"You see now what Providence has sent," Sir Daniel Harker observed under
his breath.

"It is enough to make an atheist of one, this!" the Prince muttered.

"Any bridge?" the newcomer enquired, seating himself at the table and
shuffling one of the packs of cards.

The three men rose to their feet with varying degrees of unwillingness.

"Immelan is too good for us," Sir Daniel grumbled. "He always wins."

"I am lucky," the newcomer admitted, "but I may be your partner; in
which case, you too will win."

"If you are my partner," the Prince declared, "I shall play for five
pounds a hundred. I desire to gamble. London is beginning to weary me."

"Mr. Kingley is a better player, though not so lucky," Immelan
acknowledged, with a little bow.

"Never believe it, with all due respect to our young friend here," Sir
Daniel replied, as he cut a card. "Kingley plays like a man with brain
but without subtlety. In a duel between you two, I would back Immelan
every time."

Kingley took his place at the table with a little gesture of
resignation. He looked across the table to where Immelan sat displaying
the card which he had just cut. The eyes of the two men met. A few
seconds of somewhat significant silence followed. Then Immelan gathered
up the cards.

"I have the utmost respect for Mr. Kingley as an adversary," he said.

The latter bowed a little ironically.

"May you always preserve that sentiment! To-day, chance seems to have
made us partners. Your deal, Mr. Immelan."

"What stakes?" the Prince enquired, settling himself down in his chair.

"They are for you to name," Immelan declared.

The Prince laughed shortly.

"I believe you are as great a gambler at heart as I am," he observed.

"With Mr. Kingley for my partner, and the game one of skill," was the
courteous reply, "I do not need to limit my stakes."

A servant crossed the room, bringing a note upon a tray. He presented it
to Kingley, who opened and read it through without change of
countenance. When he had finished it, however, he laid his cards face
downwards upon the table.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I owe you my most profound apologies. I am called
away at once on a matter of urgent business."

"But this is most annoying," the Prince declared irritably.

"Here comes my saviour," Kingley remarked, as another man entered the
card room. "Henderson will take my place. Glad I haven't to break you
up, after all. Henderson, will you play a rubber?"

The newcomer assented. Nigel Kingley made his adieux and crossed the
room. Immelan watched him curiously.

"What is our friend Kingley's profession?" he enquired.

"He has no profession," Sir Daniel replied. "He has never come into
touch with the sordid needs of these money-grubbing days. He is the
nephew and heir of the Earl of Dorminster."

Immelan looked away from the retreating figure.

"Lord Dorminster," he murmured. "The same Lord Dorminster who was in the
Government many years ago?"

"He was Foreign Secretary when I was Governor of Jamaica," Sir Daniel
answered. "A very brilliant man he was in those days."

Immelan nodded thoughtfully.

"I remember," he said.

Nigel Kingley, on leaving the St. Philip's Club, was driven at once, in
the automobile which he found awaiting him, to a large corner house in
Belgrave Square, which he entered with the air of an habitué. The
waiting major-domo took him at once in charge and piloted him across the
hall.

"His lordship is very much occupied, Mr. Nigel," he announced. "He is
not seeing any other callers. He left word, however, that you were to be
shown in the moment you arrived."

"His lordship is quite well, I hope?"

"Well in health, sir, but worried, and I don't wonder at it," the man
replied, speaking with the respectful freedom of an old servant. "I
never thought I'd live to see such times as these."

A man in the early sixties, still good-looking, notwithstanding a
somewhat worn expression, looked up from his seat at the library table
on Kingley's entrance. He nodded, but waited until the door was closed
behind the retreating servant before he spoke.

"Good of you to come, Nigel," he said. "Bring your chair up here."

"Bad news?" the newcomer enquired.

"Damnable!"

There was a brief silence, during which Nigel, knowing his uncle's
humours, leaned back in his chair and waited. Upon the table was a
little pile of closely written manuscript, and by their side several
black-bound code books, upon which the "F.O.Private" still remained,
though almost obliterated with time. Lord Dorminster's occupation was
apparent. He was decoding a message of unusual length. Presently he
turned away from the table, however, and faced his nephew. His hands
travelled to his waistcoat pocket. He drew out a cigarette from a thin
gold case, lit it and began to smoke. Then he crossed his legs and
leaned a little farther back in his chair.

"Nigel," he said, "we are living in strange times."

"No one denies that, sir," was the grave assent.

Lord Dorminster glanced at the calendar which stood upon the desk.

"To-day," he continued, "is the twenty-third day of March, nineteen
hundred and thirty-four. Fifteen years ago that terrible Peace Treaty
was signed. Since then you know what the history of our country has
been. I am not blowing my own trumpet when I say that nearly every man
with true political insight has been cast adrift. At the present moment
the country is in the hands of a body of highly respectable and
well-meaning men who, as a parish council, might conduct the affairs of
Dorminster Town with unqualified success. As statesmen they do not
exist. It seems to me, Nigel, that you and I are going to see in reality
that spectre which terrified the world twenty years ago. We are going to
see the breaking up of a mighty empire."

"Tell me what has happened or is going to happen," Nigel begged.

"Well, for one thing," his uncle replied, "the Emperor of the East is
preparing for a visit to Europe. He will be here probably next month.
You know whom I mean, of course?"

"Prince Shan!" Nigel exclaimed.

"Prince Shan of China," Lord Dorminster assented. "His coming links up
many things which had been puzzling me. I tell you, Nigel, what happens
during Prince Shan's visit will probably decide the destinies of this
country, and yet I wouldn't mind betting you a thousand to one that
there isn't a single official of the Government who has the slightest
idea as to why he is coming, or that he is coming at all."

"Do you know?" Nigel asked.

"I can only surmise. Let us leave Prince Shan for the moment, Nigel. Now
listen. You go about a great deal. What do people say about
me--honestly, I mean? Speak with your face to the light."

"They call you a faddist and a scaremonger," Nigel confessed, "yet there
are one or two, especially at the St. Philip's Club, diplomatists and
ambassadors whose place in the world has passed away, who think and
believe differently. You know, sir, that I am amongst them."

Lord Dorminster nodded kindly.

"Well," he said, "I fancy I am about to prove myself. Seven years ago,
it was," he went on reminiscently, "when the new National Party came
into supreme power. You know one of their first battle cries--'Down with
all secret treaties! Down with all secret diplomacy! Let nothing exist
but an honest commercial understanding between the different countries
of the world!' How Germany and Russia howled with joy! In place of an
English statesman with his country's broad interests at heart, we have
in Berlin and Petrograd half a dozen representatives of the great
industries, whose object, in their own words, is, I believe, to develop
friendly commercialism and a feeling of brotherhood between the nations.
Not only our ambassadors but our secret service were swept clean out of
existence. I remember going to Broadley, the day he was appointed
Foreign Minister, and I asked him a simple question. I asked him whether
he did not consider it his duty to keep his finger upon the pulses of
the other great nations, however friendly they might seem, to keep
himself assured that all these expressions of good will were honourable,
and that in the heart of the German nation that great craving for
revenge which is the natural heritage of the present generation had
really become dissipated. Broadley smiled at me. 'Lord Dorminster,' he
said, 'the chief cause of wars in the past has been suspicion. We look
upon espionage as a disgraceful practice. It is the people of Germany
with whom we are in touch now, not a military oligarchy, and the people
of Germany no more desire war than we do. Besides, there is the League
of Nations.' Those were Broadley's views then, and they are his views
to-day. You know what I did?"

Nigel assented cautiously.

"I suppose it is an open secret amongst a few of us," he observed. "You
have been running an unofficial secret service of your own."

"Precisely! I have had a few agents at work for over a year, and when I
have finished decoding this last dispatch, I shall have evidence which
will prove beyond a doubt that we are on the threshold of terrible
events. The worst of it is--well, we have been found out."

"What do you mean?" Nigel asked quickly.

His uncle's sensitive lips quivered.

"You knew Sidwell?"

"Quite well."

"Sidwell was found stabbed to the heart in a café in Petrograd, three
weeks ago," Lord Dorminster announced. "An official report of the
enquiry into his death informs his relatives that his death was due to a
quarrel with some Russian sailors over one of the women of the quarter
where he was found."

"Horrible!" Nigel muttered.

"Sidwell was one of those unnatural people, as you know," Lord
Dorminster went on, "who never touched wine or spirits and who hated
women. To continue. Atcheson was a friend of yours, wasn't he?"

"Of course! He was at Eton with me. It was I who first brought him here
to dine. Don't tell me that anything has happened to Jim Atcheson!"

"This dispatch is from him," Lord Dorminster replied, indicating the
pile of manuscript upon the table,--"a dispatch which came into my hands
in a most marvellous fashion. He died last week in a nursing home
in--well, let us say a foreign capital. The professor in charge of the
hospital sends a long report as to the unhappy disease from which he
suffered. As a matter of fact, he was poisoned."

Nigel Kingley had been a soldier in his youth and he was a brave man.
Nevertheless, the horror of these things struck a cold chill to his
heart. He seemed suddenly to be looking into the faces of spectres, to
hear the birth of the winds of destruction.

"That is all I have to say to you for the moment," his uncle concluded
gravely. "In an hour I shall have finished decoding this dispatch, and I
propose then to take you into my entire confidence. In the meantime, I
want you to go and talk for a few minutes to the cleverest woman in
England, the woman who, in the face of a whole army of policemen and
detectives, crossed the North Sea yesterday afternoon with this in her
pocket."

"You don't mean Maggie?" Nigel exclaimed eagerly.

His uncle nodded.

"You will find her in the boudoir," he said. "I told her that you were
coming. In an hour's time, return here."

Lord Dorminster rose to his feet as his nephew turned to depart. He laid
his hand upon the latter's shoulder, and Nigel always remembered the
grave kindliness of his tone and expression.

"Nigel," he sighed, "I am afraid I shall be putting upon your shoulders
a terrible burden, but there is no one else to whom I can turn."

"There is no one else to whom you ought to turn, sir," the young man
replied simply. "I shall be back in an hour."




CHAPTER II


Lady Maggie Trent, a stepdaughter of the Earl of Dorminster, was one of
those young women who had baffled description for some years before she
had commenced to take life seriously. She was neither fair nor dark,
petite nor tall. No one could ever have called her nondescript, or have
extolled any particular grace of form or feature. Her complexion had
defied the ravages of sun and wind and that moderate indulgence in
cigarettes and cocktails which the youth of her day affected. Her nose
was inclined to be retroussé, her mouth tender but impudent, her grey
eyes mostly veiled in expression but capable of wonderful changes. She
was curled up in a chair when Nigel entered, immersed in a fashion
paper. She held out her left hand, which he raised to his lips.

"Well, Nigel, dear," she exclaimed, "what do you think of my new
profession?"

"I hate it," he answered frankly.

She sighed and laid down the fashion paper resignedly.

"You always did object to a woman doing anything in the least useful. Do
you realise that if anything in the world can save this stupid old
country, I have done it?"

"I realise that you've been running hideous risks," he replied.

She looked at him petulantly.

"What of it?" she demanded. "We all run risks when we do anything worth
while."

"Not quite the sort that you have been facing."

She smiled thoughtfully.

"Do you know exactly where I have been?" she asked.

"No idea," he confessed. "What my uncle has just told me was a complete
revelation, so far as I was concerned. I believed, with the rest of the
world, what the newspapers announced--that you were visiting Japan and
China, and afterwards the South Sea Islands, with the Wendercombes."

She smiled.

"Dad wanted to tell you," she said, "but it was I who made him promise
not to. I was afraid you would be disagreeable about it. We arranged it
all with the Wendercombes, but as a matter of fact I did not even start
with them. For the last eight months, I have been living part of the
time in Berlin and part of the time in a country house near the Black
Forest."

"Alone?"

"Not a bit of it! I have been governess to the two daughters of Herr
Essendorf."

"Essendorf, the President of the German Republic?"

Lady Maggie nodded.

"He isn't a bit like his pictures. He is a huge fat man and he eats a
great deal too much. Oh, the horror of those meals!" she added, with a
little shudder. "Think of me, dear Nigel, who never eat more than an
omelette and some fruit for luncheon, compelled to sit down every day to
a _mittagessen_! I wonder I have any digestion left at all."

"Do you mean that you were there under your own name?" he asked
incredulously.

She shook her head.

"I secured some perfectly good testimonials before I left," she said.
"They referred to a Miss Brown, the daughter of Prebendary Brown. I was
Miss Brown."

"Great Heavens!" Nigel muttered under his breath. "You heard about
Atcheson?"

She nodded.

"Poor fellow, they got him all right. You talk about thrills, Nigel,"
she went on. "Do you know that the last night before I left for my
vacation, I actually heard that fat old Essendorf chuckling with his
wife about how his clever police had laid an English spy by the heels,
and telling her, also, of the papers which they had discovered and
handed over. All the time the real dispatch, written by Atcheson when
he was dying, was sewn into my corsets. How's that for an exciting
situation?"

"It's a man's job, anyhow," Nigel declared.

She shrugged her shoulders and abandoned the personal side of the
subject.

"Have you been in Germany lately, Nigel?" she enquired.

"Not for many years," he answered.

She stretched herself out upon the couch and lit a cigarette.

"The Germany of before the war of course I can't remember," she said
pensively. "I imagine, however, that there was a sort of instinctive
jealous dislike towards England and everything English, simply because
England had had a long start in colonisation, commerce and all the rest
of it. But the feeling in Germany now, although it is marvellously
hidden, is something perfectly amazing. It absolutely vibrates wherever
you go. The silence makes it all the more menacing. Soon after I got to
Berlin, I bought a copy of the Treaty of Peace and read it. Nigel, was
it necessary to have been so bitterly cruel to a beaten enemy?"

"Logically it would seem not," Nigel admitted. "Actually, we cannot put
ourselves back into the spirit of those days. You must remember that it
was an unprovoked war, a war engineered by Germany for the sheer
purposes of aggression. That is why a punitive spirit entered into our
subsequent negotiations."

She nodded.

"I expect history will tell us some day," she continued, "that we needed
a great statesman of the Beaconsfield type at the Peace table. However,
that is all ended. They sowed the seed at Versailles, and I think we are
going to reap the harvest."

"After all," Nigel observed thoughtfully, "it is very difficult to see
what practical interference there could be with the peace of the world.
I can very well believe that the spirit is there, but when it comes to
hard facts--well, what can they do? England can never be invaded. The
war of 1914 proved that. Besides, Germany now has a representative on
the League of Nations. She is bound to toe the line with the rest."

"It is not in Germany alone that we are disliked," Maggie reminded him.
"We seem somehow or other to have found our way into the bad books of
every country in Europe. Clumsy statesmanship is it, or what?"

"I should attribute it," Nigel replied, "to the passing of our old
school of ambassadors. After all, ambassadors are born, not made, and
they should be--they very often were--men of rare tact and perceptions.
We have no one now to inform us of the prejudices and humours of the
nations. We often offend quite unwittingly, and we miss many
opportunities of a _rapprochement_. It is trade, trade, trade and
nothing else, the whole of the time, and the men whom we sent to the
different Courts to further our commercial interests are not the type to
keep us informed of the more subtle and intricate matters which
sometimes need adjustment between two countries."

"That may be the explanation of all the bad feeling," Maggie admitted,
"and you may be right when you say that any practical move against us is
almost impossible. Dad doesn't think so, you know. He is terribly
exercised about the coming of Prince Shan."

"I must get him to talk to me," Nigel said. "As a matter of fact, I
don't think that we need fear Asiatic intervention over here. Prince
Shan is too great a diplomatist to risk his country's new prosperity."

"Prince Shan," Maggie declared, "is the one man in the world I am
longing to meet. He was at Oxford with you, wasn't he, Nigel?"

"For one year only. He went from there to Harvard."

"Tell me what he was like," she begged.

"I have only a hazy recollection of him," Nigel confessed. "He was a
most brilliant scholar and a fine horseman. I can't remember whether he
did anything at games."

"Good-looking?"

"Extraordinarily so. He was very reserved, though, and even in those
days he was far more exclusive than our own royal princes. We all
thought him clever, but no one dreamed that he would become Asia's great
man. I'll tell you all that I can remember about him another time,
Maggie. I'm rather curious about that report of Atcheson's. Have you any
idea what it is about?"

She shook her head.

"None at all. It is in the old Foreign Office cipher and it looks like
gibberish. I only know that the first few lines he transcribed gave dad
the jumps."

"I wonder if he has finished it by now."

"He'll send for you when he has. How do you think I am looking, Nigel?"

"Wonderful," he answered, rising to his feet and standing with his elbow
upon the mantelpiece, gazing down at her. "But then you _are_ wonderful,
aren't you, Maggie? You know I always thought so."

She picked up a mirror from the little bag by her side and scrutinized
her features.

"It can't be my face," she decided, turning towards him with a smile. "I
must have charm."

"Your face is adorable," he declared.

"Are you going to flirt with me?" she asked, with a faint smile at the
corners of her lips. "You always do it so well and so convincingly. And
I hate foreigners. They are terribly in earnest but there is no finesse
about them. You may kiss me just once, please, Nigel, the way I like."

He held her for a moment in his arms, tenderly, but with a reserve to
which she was accustomed from him. Presently she thrust him away. Her
own colour had risen a little.

"Delightful," she murmured. "Think of the wasted months! No one has
kissed me, Nigel, since we said good-bye."

"Have you made up your mind to marry me yet?" he asked.

"My dear," she answered, patting his hand, "do restrain your ardour. Do
you really want to marry me?"

"Of course I do!"

"You don't love me."

"I am awfully fond of you," he assured her, "and I don't love any one
else."

She shook her head.

"It isn't enough, Nigel," she declared, "and, strange to say, it's
exactly how I feel about you."

"I don't see why it shouldn't be enough," he argued. "Perhaps we have
too much common sense for these violent feelings."

"It may be that," she admitted doubtfully. "On the other hand, don't
let's run any risk. I should hate to find an affinity, and all that sort
of thing, after marriage--divorce in these days is such shocking bad
form. Besides, honestly, Nigel, I don't feel frivolous enough to think
about marriage just now. I have the feeling that even while the clock is
ticking we are moving on to terrible things. I can't tell you quite what
it is. I carried my life in my hands during those last few days abroad.
I dare say this is the reaction."

He smiled reassuringly.

"After all, you are safe at home now, dear," he reminded her, "and I
really am very fond of you, Maggie."

"And I'm quite absurdly fond of you, Nigel," she acknowledged. "It makes
me feel quite uncomfortable when I reflect that I shall probably have to
order you to make love to some one else before the week is out."

"I shall do nothing of the sort," he declared firmly. "I am not good at
that sort of thing. And who is she, anyhow?"

They were interrupted by a sudden knock at the door--not the discreet
tap of a well-bred domestic, but a flurried, almost an imperative
summons. Before either of them could reply, the door was opened and
Brookes, the elderly butler, presented himself upon the threshold. Even
before he spoke, it was clear that he brought alarming news.

"Will you step down to the library at once, sir?" he begged, addressing
Nigel.

"What is the matter, Brookes?" Maggie demanded anxiously.

"I fear that his lordship is not well," the man replied.

They all hurried out together. Brookes was evidently terribly perturbed
and went on talking half to himself without heeding their questions.

"I thought at first that his lordship must have fainted," he said. "I
heard a queer noise, and when I went in, he had fallen forward across
the table. Parkins has rung for Doctor Wilcox."

"What sort of a noise?" Nigel asked.

"It sounded like a shot," the man faltered.

They entered the library, Nigel leading the way. Lord Dorminster was
lying very much as Brookes had described him, but there was something
altogether unnatural in the collapse of his head and shoulders and his
motionless body. Nigel spoke to him, touched him gently, raised him at
last into a sitting position. Something on which his right hand seemed
to have been resting clattered on to the carpet. Nigel turned around and
waved Maggie back.

"Don't come," he begged.

"Is it a stroke?" she faltered.

"I am afraid that he is dead," Nigel answered simply.

They went out into the hall and waited there in shocked silence until
the doctor arrived. The latter's examination lasted only a few seconds.
Then he pointed to the telephone.

"This is very terrible," he said. "I am afraid you had better ring up
Scotland Yard, Mr. Kingley. Lord Dorminster appears either to have shot
himself, as seems most probable," he added, glancing at the revolver
upon the carpet, "or to have been murdered."

"It is incredible!" Nigel exclaimed. "He was the sanest possible man,
and the happiest, and he hadn't an enemy in the world."

The physician pointed downwards to the revolver. Then he unfastened once
more the dead man's waistcoat, opened his shirt and indicated a small
blue mark just over his heart.

"That is how he died," he said. "It must have been instantaneous."

Time seemed to beat out its course in leaden seconds whilst they waited
for the superintendent from Scotland Yard. Nigel at first stood still
for some moments. From outside came the cheerful but muffled roar of the
London streets, the hooting of motor horns, the rumbling of wheels, the
measured footfall of the passing multitude. A boy went by, whistling;
another passed, calling hoarsely the news from the afternoon papers. A
muffin man rang his bell, a small boy clattered his stick against the
area bailing. The whole world marched on, unmoved and unnoticing. In
this sombre apartment alone tragedy reigned in sinister silence. On the
sofa, Lord Dorminster, who only half an hour ago had seemed to be in
the prime of life and health, lay dead.

Nigel moved towards the writing-table and stood looking at it in wonder.
The code book still remained, but there was not the slightest sign of
any manuscript or paper of any sort. He even searched the drawers of the
desk without result. Every trace of Atcheson's dispatch and Lord
Dorminster's transcription of it had disappeared!




CHAPTER III


On a certain day some weeks after the adjourned inquest and funeral of
Lord Dorminster, Nigel obtained a long-sought-for interview with the
Right Honourable Mervin Brown, who had started life as a factory
inspector and was now Prime Minister of England. The great man received
his visitor with an air of good-natured tolerance.

"Heard of you from Scotland Yard, haven't I, Lord Dorminster?" he said,
as he waved him to a seat. "I gather that you disagreed very strongly
with the open verdict which was returned at the inquest upon your
uncle?"

"The verdict was absolutely at variance with the facts," Nigel declared.
"My uncle was murdered, and a secret report of certain doings on the
continent, which he was decoding at the time, was stolen."

"The medical evidence scarcely bears out your statement," Mr. Mervin
Brown pointed out dryly, "nor have the police been able to discover how
any one could have obtained access to the room, or left it, without
leaving some trace of their visit behind. Further, there are no
indications of a robbery having been attempted."

"I happen to know more than any one else about this matter," Nigel
urged,--"more, even, than I thought it advisable to mention at the
inquest--and I beg you to listen to me, Mr. Mervin Brown. I know that
you considered my uncle to be in some respects a crank, because he was
far-seeing enough to understand that under the seeming tranquillity
abroad there is a universal and deep-seated hatred of this country."

"I look upon that statement as misleading and untrue," the Minister
declared. "Your late uncle belonged to that mischievous section of
foreign politicians who believed in secret treaties and secret service,
and who fostered a state of nervous unrest between countries otherwise
disposed to be friendly. We have turned over a new leaf, Lord
Dorminster. Our efforts are all directed towards developing an
international spirit of friendliness and trust."

"Utopian but very short-sighted," Nigel commented. "If my uncle had
lived to finish decoding the report upon which he was engaged, I could
have offered you proof not only of the existence of the spirit I speak
of, but of certain practical schemes inimical to this country."

"The papers you speak of have disappeared," Mr. Mervin Brown observed,
with a smile.

"They were taken away by the person who murdered my uncle," Nigel
insisted.

The Right Honourable gentleman nodded.

"Well, you know my views about the affair," he said. "I may add that
they are confirmed by the police. I am in no way prejudiced, however,
and am willing to listen to anything you may have to say which will not
take you more than a quarter of an hour," he added, glancing at the
clock upon his table.

"Here goes, then," Nigel began. "My uncle was a statesman of the old
school who had no faith in the Utopian programme of the present
Government of this country. When you abandoned any pretence of a
continental secret service, he at his own expense instituted a small one
of his own. He sent two men out to Germany and one to Russia. The one
sent to Russia was the man Sidwell, whose murder in a Petrograd café you
may have read of. Of the two sent to Germany, one has disappeared, and
the other died in hospital, without a doubt poisoned, a few days after
he had sent the report to England which was stolen from my uncle's desk.
That report was brought over by Lady Maggie Trent, Lord Dorminster's
stepdaughter, who was really the brains of the enterprise and under
another name was acting as governess to the children of Herr Essendorf,
President of the German Republic. Half an hour before his death, my
uncle was decoding this dispatch in his library. I saw him doing it, and
I saw the dispatch itself. He told me that so far as he had gone
already, it was full of information of the gravest import; that a
definite scheme was already being formulated against this country by an
absolutely unique and dangerous combination of enemies."

"Those enemies being?"

Nigel shook his head.

"That I can only surmise," he replied. "My uncle had only commenced to
decode the dispatch when I last saw him."

"Then I gather, Lord Dorminster," the Minister said, "that you connect
your uncle's death directly with the supposed theft of this document?"

"Absolutely!"

"And the conclusion you arrive at, then?"

"Is an absolutely logical one," Nigel declared firmly. "I assert that
other countries are not falling into line with our lamentable abnegation
of all secret service defence, and that, in plain words, my uncle was
murdered by an agent of one of these countries, in order that the
dispatch which had come into his hands should not be decoded and passed
on to your Government."

The Right Honourable gentleman smiled slightly. He was a man of some
natural politeness, but he found it hard to altogether conceal his
incredulity.

"Well, Lord Dorminster," he promised, "I will consider all that you have
said. Is there anything more I can do for you?"

"Yes!" Nigel replied boldly. "Induce the Cabinet to reëstablish our
Intelligence Department and secret service, even on a lesser scale, and
don't rest until you have discovered exactly what it is they are
plotting against us somewhere on the continent."

"To carry out your suggestions, Lord Dorminster," the Minister pointed
out, "would be to be guilty of an infringement of the spirit of the
League of Nations, the existence of which body is, we believe, a
practical assurance of our safety."

Nigel rose to his feet.

"As man to man, sir," he said, "I see you don't believe a word of what I
have been telling you."

"As man to man," the other admitted pleasantly, as he touched the bell,
"I think you have been deceived."

       *       *       *       *       *

Nigel, even as a prophet of woe, was a very human person and withal a
philosopher. He strolled along Piccadilly and turned into Bond Street,
thoroughly enjoying one of the first spring days of the season. Flower
sellers were busy at every corner; the sky was blue, with tiny flecks of
white clouds, there was even some dust stirred by the little puffs of
west wind. He exchanged greetings with a few acquaintances, lingered
here and there before the shop windows, and presently developed a fit of
contemplation engendered by the thoughts which were all the time at the
back of his mind. Bond Street was crowded with vehicles of all sorts,
from wonderfully upholstered automobiles to the resuscitated victoria.
The shop windows were laden with the treasures of the world, buyers were
plentiful, promenaders multitudinous. Every one seemed to be cheerful
but a little engrossed in the concrete act of living. Nigel almost ran
into Prince Karschoff, at the corner of Grafton Street.

"Dreaming, my friend?" the latter asked quietly, as he laid his hand
upon Nigel's shoulder.

"Guilty," Nigel confessed. "You are an observant man, Prince. Tell me
whether anything strikes you about the Bond Street of to-day, compared
with the Bond Street of, say, ten years ago?"

The Russian glanced around him curiously. He himself was a somewhat
unusual figure in his distinctively cut morning coat, his carefully tied
cravat, his silk hat, black and white check trousers and faultless white
spats.

"A certain decline of elegance," he murmured. "And is it my fancy or has
this country become a trifle Americanised as regards the headgear of its
men?"

Nigel smiled.

"I believe our thoughts are moving in the same groove," he said. "To me
there seems to be a different class of people here, as though the
denizens of West Kensington, suddenly enriched, had come to spend their
money in new quarters. Not only that, but there is a difference in the
wares set out in the shops, an absence of taste, if you can understand
what I mean, as though the shopkeepers themselves understood that they
were catering for a new class of people."

"It is the triumph of your _bourgeoisie_," the Russian declared. "Your
aristocrat is no longer able to survive. _Noblesse oblige_ has no
significance to the shopman. He wants the fat cheques, and he caters for
the people who can write them. Let us pursue our reflections a little
farther and in a different direction, my friend," he added, glancing at
his watch. "Lunch with me at the Ritz, and we will see whether the
cookery, too, has been adapted to the new tastes."

Nigel hesitated for a moment, a somewhat curious hesitation which he
many times afterwards remembered.

"I am not very keen on restaurants for a week or two," he said
doubtfully. "Besides, I had half promised to be at the club."

"Not to-day," Karschoff insisted. "To-day let us listen to the call of
the world. Woman is at her loveliest in the spring. The Ritz Restaurant
will look like a bouquet of flowers. Perhaps 'One for you and one for
me.' At any rate, one is sure of an omelette one can eat."

The two men turned together towards Piccadilly.




CHAPTER IV


Luncheon at the Ritz was an almost unexpectedly pleasant meal. The two
men sat at a table near the door and exchanged greetings with many
acquaintances. Karschoff, who was in an unusually loquacious frame of
mind, pointed out many of the habitués of the place to his companion.

"I am become a club and restaurant lounger in my old age," he declared,
a little bitterly. "Almost a boulevardier. Still, what else is there for
a man without a country to do?"

"You know everybody," Nigel replied, without reference to his
companion's lament. "Tell me who the woman is who has just entered?"

Karschoff glanced in the direction indicated, and for a moment his
somewhat saturnine expression changed. A smile played upon his lips, his
eyes seemed to rest upon the figure of the girl half turned away from
them with interest, almost with pleasure. She was of an unusual type,
tall and dark, dressed in black with the simplicity of a nun, with only
a little gleam of white at her throat. Her hair--so much of it as showed
under her flower-garlanded hat--was as black as jet, and yet, where she
stood in the full glare of the sunlight, the burnish of it was almost
wine-coloured. Her cheeks were pale, her expression thoughtful. Her
eyes, rather heavily lidded, were a deep shade of violet. Her mouth was
unexpectedly soft and red.

"Ah, my friend, no wonder you ask!" Karschoff declared with enthusiasm.
"That is a woman whom you must know."

"Tell me her name," Nigel persisted with growing impatience.

"Her name," Karschoff replied, "is Naida Karetsky. She is the daughter
of the man who will probably be the next President of the Russian
Republic. You see, I can speak those words without a tremor. Her father
at present represents the shipping interests of Russia and England. He
is one of the authorised consuls."

"Is he of the party?"

Karschoff scrutinised the approaching figures through his eyeglass and
nodded.

"Her father is the dark, broad-shouldered man with the square beard," he
indicated. "Immelan, as you can see, is the third. They are coming this
way. We will speak of them afterwards."

Naida, with her father and Oscar Immelan, left some acquaintances with
whom they had been talking and, preceded by a _maître d'hôtel_, moved in
the direction of the two men. The girl recognised the Prince with a
charming little bow and was on the point of passing on when she
appeared to notice his companion. For a moment she hesitated. The
Prince, anticipating her desire to speak, rose at once to his feet.

"Mademoiselle," he said, bending over her hand, "welcome back to
England! You bring with you the first sunshine we have seen for many
days."

"Are you being meteorological or complimentary?" she asked, smiling.
"Will you present your companion? I have heard of Mr. Kingley."

"With the utmost pleasure," the Prince replied. "Mr. Kingley, through
the unfortunate death of a relative, is now the Earl of
Dorminster--Mademoiselle Karetsky."

Nigel, as he made his bow, was conscious of an expression of something
more than ordinary curiosity in the face of the girl who had herself
aroused his interest.

"You are the son, then," she enquired, "of Lord Dorminster who died
about a month ago?"

"His nephew," Nigel explained. "My uncle was unfortunately childless."

"I met your uncle once in Paris," she said. "It will give me great
pleasure to make your better acquaintance. Will you and my dear friend
here," she added, turning to the Prince, "take coffee with us
afterwards? I shall then introduce you to my father. Oscar Immelan you
both know, of course."

They murmured their delighted assent, and she passed on. Nigel watched
her until she took her place at the table.

"Surely that girl is well-born?" he observed. "I have never seen a more
delightful carriage."

"You are right," Karschoff told him. "Karetsky is a well-to-do man of
commerce, but her mother was a Baroness Kolchekoff, a distant relative
of my own. The Kolchekoffs lived on their estates, and as a matter of
fact we never met. Naida has gone over to the people, though, body and
soul."

"She is extraordinarily beautiful," Nigel remarked.

His companion was swinging his eyeglass back and forth by its cord.

"Many men have thought so," he replied. "For myself, there is antagonism
in my blood against her. I wonder whether I have done well or ill in
making you two acquainted."

Nigel felt a sudden desire to break through a certain seriousness which
had come over his own thoughts and which was reflected in the other's
tone. He shrugged his shoulders slightly and filled his glass with wine.

"Every man in the world is the better," he propounded, "for adding to
the circle of his acquaintances a beautiful woman."

"Sententious and a trifle inaccurate," the Prince objected, with a
sudden flash of his white teeth. "The beauty which is not for him has
been many a man's undoing. But seriously, my quarrel with Naida is one
of prejudice only. She is the confidante and the inspiration of
Matinsky, and though one realises, of course, that so long as there is a
Russian Republic there must be a Russian President, I suppose I should
scarcely be human if I did not hate him."

"Surely," Nigel queried, "she must be very much his junior?"

"Matinsky is forty-four," Karschoff said. "Naida is twenty-six or
twenty-seven. The disparity of years, you see, is not so great.
Matinsky, however, is married to an invalid wife, and concerning Naida I
have never heard one word of scandal. But this much is certain. Matinsky
has the blandest confidence in her judgment and discretion. She has
already been his unofficial ambassador in several capitals of Europe. I
am convinced that she is here with a purpose. But enough of my
country-people. We came here to be gay. Let us drink another bottle of
wine."

The joy of living seemed for a moment to reassert itself in Karschoff's
face. His momentary fierceness, reminiscent of his Tartar ancestry, had
passed, but it had left a shadow behind.

"At least one should be grateful," he conceded a moment later, "for the
distinction such a woman as Naida Karetsky brings into a room like this.
Our Bond Street lament finds its proof here. Except for their
clothes--so ill-worn, too, most of them--the women here remind one of
Blackpool, and their men of Huddersfield. I am inclined to wish that I
had taken you to Soho."

Nigel shook his head. His eyes had strayed to a distant corner of the
room, where Naida and her two companions were seated.

"We cannot escape anywhere," he declared, "from this overmastering wave
of mediocrity. A couple of generations and a little intermarriage may
put things right. A Chancellor of the Exchequer with genius, fifteen
years ago, might even have prevented it."

"You can claim, at any rate, a bloodless and unapparent revolution," the
Prince observed. "You chivied your aristocracy of birth out of existence
with yellow papers, your aristocracy of mind with a devastating income
tax. This is the class whom you left to gorge,--the war profiteers. I
hope that whoever writes the history of these times will see that it is
properly illustrated."

In the lounge, they had barely seated themselves before Naida, with her
father and Immelan, appeared. The little party at once joined up, and
Naida seated herself next to Nigel. She talked very slowly, but her
accent amounted to little more than a prolongation of certain syllables,
which had the effect of a rather musical drawl. Her father, after the
few words of introduction had been spoken, strolled away to speak to
some acquaintances, and Immelan and the Prince discussed with measured
politeness one of the commonplace subjects of the moment. Naida and her
companion became almost isolated.

"I met your uncle once," Naida said, "at a dinner party in Paris. I
remember that he attracted me. He represented a class of Englishman of
whom I had met very few, the thinking aristocrat with a sense for
foreign affairs. It was some years ago, that. He remained outside
politics, did he not, until his death?"

"Outside all practical politics," Nigel assented. "He had his interests,
though."

She looked at him thoughtfully.

"Have you inherited them?" she asked.

He declined the challenge of her eyes. After all, she belonged to the
Russia whose growing strength was the greatest menace to European peace,
and whose attitude towards England was entirely uncertain.

"My uncle and I were scarcely intimate," he said. "I was never really in
his confidence."

"Not so much so as Lady Maggie Trent? She would be your cousin?"

"It is not a relationship of blood," Nigel replied. "Lady Maggie was the
daughter of my uncle's second wife."

"She is very charming," Naida murmured.

"I find her delightful," Nigel agreed.

"She is not only charming, but she has intelligence," Naida continued.
"I think that Lord Dorminster was very fond of her, that he trusted her
with many of his secrets."

"Had he secrets?" Nigel asked.

She remained for a moment very thoughtful, smoking a thin cigarette
through a long holder and watching the little rings of smoke.

"You are right," she said at last. "I find your attitude the only
correct one. Did you know that Maggie was a friend of mine, Lord
Dorminster?"

"I can very well believe it," he answered, "but I have never heard her
speak of you."

"Ah! But she has been away for some months. You have not seen much of
her, perhaps, since her return?"

"Very little," he acquiesced. "She only arrived in London just before my
uncle's death, and since then I have had to spend some time at
Dorminster."

"As a matter of curiosity," Naida enquired, "when do you expect to see
her again?"

"This afternoon, I hope," he replied,--"directly I leave here, in fact."

"Then you will give her a little message for me, please?"

"With great pleasure!"

"Tell her from me--mind she understands this, if you please--that she
is not to leave England again until we have met."

"Is this a warning?" he asked.

She looked at him searchingly.

"I wonder," she reflected, "how much of you is Lord Dorminster's
nephew."

"And I, in my turn," he rejoined, with sudden boldness, "wonder how much
of you is Matinsky's envoy."

She began to laugh softly.

"We shall perhaps be friends, Lord Dorminster," she said. "I should like
to see more of you."

"You will permit me to call upon you," he begged eagerly.

"Will you come? We are at the Milan Court for a little time. My father
is trying to get a house. My sister is coming over to look after him. I
am unfortunately only a bird of passage."

"Then I shall not run the risk of missing you," he declared. "I shall
call very soon."

Immelan intervened,--grim, suspicious, a little disturbed. For some
reason or other, the meeting between these two young people seemed to
have made him uneasy.

"Your father has desired me to present his excuses to Lord Dorminster,"
he announced, "and to escort you back to the Milan. He has been
telephoned for from the Consulate."

Naida rose to her feet with some apparent reluctance.

"You will not delay your call too long, Lord Dorminster?" she enjoined,
as she gave him her hand. "I shall expect you the first afternoon you
are free."

"I shall not delay giving myself the pleasure," he assured her.

She nodded and made her adieux to the Prince. The two men stood together
and watched her depart with her companion.

"Really, one gains much through being an onlooker," the Prince
reflected. "There go the spirit of Russia and the spirit of Germany. You
dabble in these things, my friend Dorminster. Can you guess what they
are met for--for whom they wait?"

"I might guess," Nigel replied, "but I would rather be told."

"They wait for the master spirit," Karschoff declared, taking his arm.
"They wait for the great Prince Shan."




CHAPTER V


Nigel and Maggie had tea together in the little room which the latter
had used as a boudoir. They were discussing the question of her future
residence there.

"I am afraid," he declared, "that you will have to marry me."

"It would have its advantages," she admitted thoughtfully. "I am really
so fond of you, Nigel. I should be married at St. Mary Abbot's,
Kensington, and have the Annersley children for bridesmaids. Don't you
think I should look sweet in old gold and orange blossoms?"

"Don't tantalise me," he begged.

"We really must decide upon something," she insisted. "I hate giving up
my rooms here, I should hate having my worthy aunt as resident duenna,
and I suppose it would be gloriously improper for us two to go on living
here if I didn't. Are you quite sure that you love me, Nigel?"

"I am not quite so sure as I was this morning," he confessed, holding
out his cup for some more tea. "I met a perfectly adorable girl to-day
at luncheon at the Ritz. Such eyes, Maggie, and the slimmest, most
wonderful figure you ever saw!"

"Who was the cat?" Maggie enquired with asperity.

"She is Russian. Her name is Naida Karetsky. Karschoff introduced me."

Maggie was suddenly serious. There was just a trace of the one
expression he had never before seen in her face--fear--lurking in her
eyes, even asserting itself in her tone.

"Naida Karetsky?" she repeated. "Tell me exactly how you met her?"

"She was lunching with her father and Oscar Immelan. She stopped to
speak to Karschoff and asked him to present me. Afterwards, she invited
us to take coffee in the lounge."

"She went out of her way to make your acquaintance, then?"

"Yes, I suppose she did."

"You know who she is?"

"The daughter of one of the Russian Consuls over here, I understood."

"She is more than that," Maggie declared nervously. "She is the
inspiration of the President himself. She is the most vital force in
Russian politics. She is the woman whom I wanted you to know, to whom I
told you that I wished you to pay attentions. And now that you know her,
I am afraid."

"Where did you meet her?" he asked curiously.

"We were at school together in Paris. She was two years older than I,
but she stayed there until she was twenty. Afterwards we met in
Florence."

Nigel was greatly interested.

"Somehow or other, nothing that you can tell me about her surprises me,"
he admitted. "She has the air of counting for great things in the world.
She is very beautiful, too."

"She is beautiful enough," Maggie replied, "to have turned the head of
the great Paul Matinsky himself. They say that he would give his soul to
be free to marry her. As it is, she is the uncrowned Tsarina of Russia."

Nigel frowned slightly.

"Isn't that going rather a long way?" he objected.

"Not when one remembers what manner of a man Matinsky is," Maggie
replied. "He may have his faults, but he is an absolute idealist so far
as regards his private life. There has never been a word of scandal
concerning him and Naida, nor will there ever be. But in his eyes, Naida
has that most wonderful gift of all,--she has vision. He once told a man
with whom I spoke in Berlin that Naida was the one person in the world
to whom a mistake was impossible. Nigel, did she give you any idea at
all what she was over here for?"

"Not as yet," he replied, "but she has asked me to go and see her."

"Did she seem interested in you personally, or was it because your name
is Dorminster?"

Nigel sighed.

"I hoped it was a personal interest, but I cannot tell. She asked me
whether I had inherited my uncle's hobby."

"What did you tell her?" she asked eagerly.

"Very little. She seemed sympathetic, but after all she is in the enemy
camp. She and Immelan seemed on particularly good terms."

"Yet I don't believe that she is committed as yet," Maggie declared.
"She always used to speak so affectionately of England. Nigel, do you
think that I have vision?"

"I am sure that you have," he answered.

"Very well, then, I will tell you what I see," she continued. "I see
Naida Karetsky for Russia, Oscar Immelan for Germany, Austria and
Sweden, and Prince Shan for Asia--here--meeting in London--within the
next week or ten days, to take counsel together to decide whether the
things which are being plotted against us to-day shall be or shall not
be. Of Immelan we have no hope. He conceals it cleverly enough, but he
hates England with all the fervour of a zealot. Naida is unconvinced.
She is to be won. And Prince Shan--"

"Well, what about him?" Nigel demanded, a little carried away by
Maggie's earnestness.

She shook her head.

"I don't know," she confessed. "If the stories one hears about him are
true, no man nor any woman could ever influence him. At least, though,
one could watch and hope."

"Prince Shan is supposed to be coming to Paris, not to London," Nigel
remarked.

"If he goes to Paris," Maggie said, "Naida and Immelan will go. So shall
we. If he comes here, it will be easier. Tell me, Nigel, did you see the
Prime Minister?"

"I saw him," Nigel replied, "but without the slightest result. He is
clearly of the opinion that the open verdict was a merciful one. In
other words, he believes that it was a case of suicide."

"How wicked!" Maggie exclaimed.

"I suppose it is trying the ordinary Britisher a little high," Nigel
remarked, "to ask him to believe that he was murdered in cold blood,
here in the heart of London, by the secret service agent of a foreign
Power. The strangest part of it all is that it is true. To think that
those few pages of manuscript would have told us exactly what we have to
fear! Why, I actually had them in my hand."

"And I in my corsets!" Maggie groaned.

They were both silent for a moment. Then Nigel moved towards the door
and opened it.

"Come downstairs into the library, will you, Maggie?" he begged. "Let us
go in for a little reconstruction."

They found Brookes in the hall and took him with them. The blinds in
the room had never been raised, and there was still that nameless
atmosphere which lingers for long in an apartment which has become
associated with tragedy. Instinctively they all moved quietly and spoke
in hushed voices. Nigel sat in the chair where his uncle had been found
dead and made a mental effort to reconstruct the events which must have
immediately preceded the tragedy.

"I know that this was all thrashed out at the inquest, Brookes," he
said, "but I want you to tell me once more. You see how far it is from
this table to the door. My uncle must have had abundant warning of any
one approaching. Was there no other way by which any one could have
entered the room?"

"There was, your lordship," the man replied, "and I have regretted
several times since that I did not mention it at the inquest. The
cleaners were here on the morning of that day, and the window at the
farther end of the room was unfastened--I even believe that it was
open."

Nigel rose and examined the window in question. It was almost flush with
the ground, and although there were iron railings separating it from the
street, a little gate opening from the area entrance made ingress not
only possible but easy. Nigel returned to his chair.

"I can't understand this not having been mentioned at the inquest,
Brookes," he said.

"I was waiting for the question to be asked, your lordship. It was
perfectly clear to every one there, if your lordship will excuse my
saying so, that both the coroner and the police seemed to have made up
their minds that it was a case of suicide."

Nigel nodded.

"I had the same idea with reference to the coroner, at any rate,
Brookes," he said. "So long as the verdict was returned in the form it
was, I am not sure that it was not better so."

He dismissed the man with a little nod and sat turning over the code
books which still stood upon the table.

"You and I, at any rate, Maggie, know the truth," he said, "and so long
as we can get no help from the proper quarters, I think that we should
do better to let the matter remain as it is. We don't want to direct
people's attention to us. We want to lull suspicion so far as we can, to
be free to watch the three."

The telephone bell rang, and as Nigel moved his arm to take off the
receiver, he knocked over one of the black, morocco-bound code books, A
sheet of paper with a few words upon it came fluttering to the ground.
Maggie picked it up, glanced at it carelessly at first and then with
interest.

"Nigel," she exclaimed, "you see whose handwriting this is? Could it be
part of the decoded dispatch?"

The telephone enquiry had been unimportant. Nigel pushed the instrument
away. They both looked eagerly at the page of manuscript paper. It was
numbered "8" at the top, and the few words written upon it in Lord
Dorminster's writing were obviously the continuation of a paragraph:

     The name of the middle one, then, of the three secret cities, into
     which at all costs some one must find his way, is Kroten, and the
     telephone number which is all the clue I have been able to get, up
     to the present, to the London end of the affair, is Mayfair 146.

"This is just where he got to in the decoding!" Nigel declared. "I
wonder whether it's any use looking for the rest."

They searched through every page of the heavy code books in vain. Then
they returned to their study of the single page. Nigel dragged down an
atlas and studied it.

"Kroten," he muttered. "Here it is,--a small place about six hundred
miles from Petrograd, apparently the centre of a barren, swampy
district, population thirty thousand, birth rate declining, industries
nil. Cheerful sort of spot it seems!"

"I have more luck than you!" Maggie cried, her finger tracing out a
line in the open telephone book. "Look!"

Nigel glanced over her shoulder and read the entry to which she was
pointing:

"_Immelan Oscar, 13 Clarges Street, W. Mayfair 146._"




CHAPTER VI


Nigel played golf at Ranelagh, on the following Sunday morning, with
Jere Chalmers, a young American in the Diplomatic Service, who had just
arrived in London and brought a letter of introduction to him. They had
a pleasant game and strolled off from the eighteenth green to the
dressing rooms on the best of terms with each other.

"Say, Dorminster," his young companion enjoined, "let's get through this
fixing-up business quickly. I've had a kind of feeling for a cocktail,
these last four holes, which I can't exactly put into words. Besides, I
want to have a word or two with you before the others come down."

"I shan't be a minute," Nigel promised. "I'm going to change into
flannels after lunch--that is, if you don't mind playing a set or two at
tennis. My cousin-in-law Maggie Trent, whom you'll meet at luncheon, is
rather keen, and she doesn't care about golf."

"I'm game for anything," the other agreed, lifting his head spluttering
from the basin. "Gee, that's good! Get a move on, there's a good fellow.
I have a fancy for just five minutes with you out on the lawn, with the
ice chinking in our glasses."

Nigel finished smoothing his hair, and the two men strolled through the
hall, gave an order to a red-coated attendant, and found a secluded
table under a marvellous tree in the gardens on the other side. Chalmers
had become a little thoughtful.

"Dorminster," he declared, "yours is a wonderful country."

"Just how is it appealing to you at the moment?" Nigel enquired.

"I'll try and tell you," was the meditative reply. "It's your
extraordinary insouciance. It seems to me, as a budding diplomat, that
you are running the most ghastly risks on earth."

"In what direction?"

The young American shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, you've got a thoroughly democratic Government--not such a bad
Government, I should say, as things go. They've bled your _bourgeoisie_
a bit, and serve 'em right, but with an empire to keep up you're losing
all touch upon international politics. Your ambassadors have been
exchanged for trade consuls, the whole of your secret service staff has
been disbanded, you place your entire faith on this sacred League of
Nations. Say, Dorminster, you're taking risks!"

"You mustn't forget," Dorminster replied, "that it was your country who
started the League of Nations."

"President Wilson did," Chalmers grunted. "You can't say that the
country ever backed him up. That's the worst of us on the other side--we
so seldom really get a common voice."

"The League of Nations was a thundering good idea," Nigel declared, "but
it belongs to Utopia and not to this vulgar planet."

"Just so," Chalmers rejoined, "and yet you are about the only nation who
ever took it into her bosom and suckled it. To be perfectly frank with
you, now, what other nation in the world is there, except yours, which
is obeying the conventions strictly? I tell you frankly, we keep our eye
on Japan, and we build a good many commercial ships which would astonish
you if you examined them thoroughly. Our National Guard, too, know a bit
more about soldiering than their grandfathers. You people, on the other
hand, seem to have become infatuated pacifists. I can't tell tales out
of school, but I don't like the way things are going on eastwards. Asia
means something different now that that amazing fellow, Prince Shan, has
made a great nation of China."

"I am entirely in accord with you," Nigel agreed, "but what is one to do
about it? Our present Government has a big majority, trade at home and
abroad is prosperous, the income tax is down to a shilling in the pound
and looks like being wiped out altogether. Everybody is fat and happy."

"Just as they were in 1914," Chalmers remarked significantly.

"More so," Dorminster asserted. "In those days we had our alarmists.
Nowadays, they too seem to have gone to sleep. My uncle--"

"Your uncle was an uncommonly shrewd man," Chalmers interrupted. "I was
going to talk about him."

"After lunch," Nigel suggested, rising to his feet. "Here come my cousin
and some of her tennis friends. Karschoff is lunching with us, too. You
know him, don't you? Come along and I'll introduce you to the others."

It was a very cheerful party who, after a few minutes under the trees,
strolled into luncheon and took their places at the round table reserved
for them at the end of the room. Maggie at once took possession of
Chalmers.

"I have been so anxious to meet you, Mr. Chalmers," she said. "They tell
me that you represent the modern methods in American diplomacy, and that
therefore you have been made first secretary over the heads of half a
dozen of your seniors. How they must dislike you, and how clever you
must be!"

"I don't know that I'm so much disliked," the young man answered, with a
twinkle in his eyes, "but I flatter myself that I have brought a new
note into diplomacy. I was always taught that there were thirty-seven
different ways of telling a lie, which is to state a diplomatic fact. I
have swept them all away. I tell the truth."

"How daring," Maggie murmured, "and how wonderfully original! What
should you say, now, if I asked you if my nose wanted powdering?"

"I should start by saying that the question was outside the sphere of my
activities," he decided. "I should then proceed to add, as a private
person, that a little dab on the left side would do it no harm."

"I begin to believe," she confessed, "that all I have heard of you is
true."

"Tell me exactly what you have heard," he begged. "Leave out everything
that isn't nice. I thrive on praise and good reports."

"To begin with, then, that you are an extraordinarily shrewd young man,"
she replied, "that you speak seven languages perfectly and know your way
about every capital of Europe, and that you have ideas of your own as to
what is going to happen during the next six or seven years."

"You've been moving in well-informed circles," he admitted. "Now shall I
proceed to turn the tables upon you?"

"You can't possibly know anything about me," she declared confidently.

"I could tell you what I've discovered from personal observation," he
replied.

"That sounds like compliments or candour," she murmured. "I'm terrified
of both."

"Well, I guess I'm not out to frighten you," he assured her. "I'll keep
the secrets of my heart hidden--until after luncheon, at any rate---and
just ask you--how you enjoyed your stay in Berlin?"

Maggie's manner changed. She lowered her voice.

"In Berlin?" she repeated.

"In the household of the erstwhile leather manufacturer, the present
President, Herr Essendorf. I hope you liked those fat children. They
always seemed to me loathsome little brats."

"What do you know about my stay in Berlin?" she demanded.

"Everything there is to be known," he answered. "To tell you the truth,
our people there were a trifle anxious about you. I was the little angel
watching from above."

"You are, without a doubt," Maggie pronounced, "a most interesting young
man. We will talk together presently."

"A hint which sends me back to my mutton," the young man observed.
"Dorminster," he added, turning to his host, "I heard the other day, on
very good authority, that you were thinking of writing a novel. If you
are, study the lady who has just entered. There is a type for you, an
intelligence which might baffle even your attempts at analysis."

Naida, escorted by her father and Immelan, took her place at an
adjacent table. She bowed to Nigel and Karschoff before sitting down,
and her eyes travelled over the rest of the party with interest. Then
she recognised Maggie and waved her hand.

"Immelan is a very constant admirer," Prince Karschoff remarked, a
little uneasily.

"Is that her father?" Maggie asked.

The Prince nodded.

"He is one of the ambassadors of commerce from my country," he said. "In
place of diplomacy, he superintends the exchange of shipping cargoes and
talks freights. I suppose Immelan and he are all the time comparing
notes, but I scarcely see where my dear friend Naida comes in."

"There is still the oldest interest in the world for her to fall back
upon," Chalmers murmured. "One hears that Immelan is devoted."

"Scandalmonger!" the Prince declared severely. "Young man from the New
World," he proceeded, "get on with your lunch and drink your iced water.
Let the vision of those two remind you that it was your people who
foisted the League of Nations upon us, and be humble, even sorrowful,
when you view one of the sad results."

"I can't be responsible, directly or indirectly, for a political
flirtation," Chalmers grumbled. "Besides, why should there be any
politics about it at all? Mademoiselle Karetsky is quite attractive
enough to turn the head even of a seasoned old boulevardier like you,
Prince."

"That young man," Karschoff said deliberately, "will find himself before
long face to face with a blighted career. He has no respect for age, and
he is shockingly lacking in finesse. All the same, on one point I am
agreed. I don't think there is a man breathing who could resist Naida if
she wished to call him to her."

The little party broke up presently and wandered out into the gardens.
They sat for a while upon the lawn, drinking their coffee and exchanging
greetings with acquaintances. In the distance, the orchestra was playing
soft music, with a fine regard for the atmosphere of the pleasant,
almost languorous spring afternoon. Everywhere were signs of
contentment, even gaiety, and here the alien streak of unfamiliar
newcomers was far less pronounced. When the time came for tennis,
Chalmers led the way with Maggie. As soon as they were out of hearing of
the others, she turned towards him a little abruptly.

"Tell me exactly what you know about my stay in Berlin," she demanded.

"Everything," he answered gravely.

"You mean?"

"I mean that the New World to-day has progressed where the Old World
seems to have been stricken with a terrible blindness. Our
secret-service system has never been better, and frankly I hear many
things which I don't like. I am going to talk to Lord Dorminster this
afternoon very seriously, but in the meantime I wanted to speak to you.
I heard a rumour that you thought of going back to Berlin."

"I don't know how you heard it, but the rumour is not altogether
untrue," she admitted. "I have not yet made up my mind."

"Don't go," he begged.

"You think they really do know all about me?"

"I know that they do. I don't mind telling you that you had the shave of
your life on the Dutch frontier last time, and I don't mind telling you,
also, that we had two of our men shadowing you. One of them acted on his
own initiative, or you would never have crossed the frontier."

"I rather wondered why they let me out," she observed. "Perhaps you can
explain why Frau Essendorf keeps on writing to me under my pseudonym of
'Miss Brown' and to my reputed address in Lincolnshire, begging me to
return."

"I could tell you that, too," he replied. "They want you back in
Berlin."

"They really do know, then, that I brought over the dispatch from
Atcheson?" she asked.

"They know it," he assured her. "They know, too, that it was chiefly a
wasted labour. Their London agents saw to that."

"Perhaps," she suggested, "you know who their London agents are?"

"Sooner or later in our conversation," he remarked, "we were bound to
arrive at a point--"

"Come along and let us make up a set then," she intervened.




CHAPTER VII


Naida, deserted by her father, who had found a taxicab to take him back
to the purlieus of Piccadilly and auction bridge, sauntered along at the
back of the tennis nets until she arrived at the court where Nigel and
his party were playing.

"I should like to watch this game for a few minutes," she told her
companion. "The men are such opposite types and yet both so
good-looking. And Lady Maggie fascinates me."

Immelan fetched two chairs, and they settled down to watch the set.
Nigel, with his clean, well-knit figure, looked his best in spotless
white flannels. Chalmers, a more powerful and muscular type, also
presented a fine appearance. The play was fast and sometimes brilliant.
Nigel had Maggie for a partner, and Chalmers one of her friends, and the
set was as nearly equal as possible. Naida leaned forward in her chair,
following every stroke with interest.

"I find this most fascinating," she murmured. "I hope that Lord
Dorminster and his cousin will win. Your sympathies, of course, are on
the other side."

"You are right," Immelan assented. "My sympathies are on the other
side."

There was a lull in the game for a moment or two. The sun was
troublesome, and the players were changing courts. Naida turned towards
her companion thoughtfully.

"My friend," she said, glancing around as though to be sure that they
were not overheard, "there are times when you move me to wonder. In the
small things as well as the large, you are so unchanging. I think that
you would see an Englishman die, whether he were your friend or your
enemy, very much as you kick a poisonous snake out of your path."

"It is quite true," was the calm reply.

"But America was once your enemy," she continued, watching Chalmers'
powerful service.

"With America we made peace," he explained. "With England, never. If you
would really appreciate and understand the reason for that undying
hatred which I and millions of my fellow countrymen feel, it will cost
you exactly one shilling. Go to any stationer's and buy a copy of the
Treaty of Versailles. Read it word by word and line by line. It is the
most brutal document that was ever printed. It will help you to
understand."

She nodded slowly.

"Paul always declared," she said, "that in those days England had no
statesmen--no one who could feel what lay beyond the day-by-day
horizon. When I think of that Treaty, my friend, I sympathise with you.
It is not a great thing to forge chains of hate for a beaten enemy."

"If you realise this, are you not then our friend?" Immelan asked.

She appeared for a few moments to be engrossed in the tennis. Her
companion, however, waited for her answer.

"In a way," she acknowledged, "I find something magnificent in your
wonderfully conceived plans for vengeance, and in the spirit which has
evolved and kept them alive through all these years. Then, on the other
hand, I look at home, and I ask myself whether you do not make what they
would call over here a cat's-paw of my country."

"Ours is the most natural and most beneficial of all possible
alliances," Immelan insisted. "Germany and Russia, hand in hand, can
dominate the world."

"I am not sure that it is an equal bargain, though, which you seek to
drive with us," she said. "Germany aims, of course, at world power, but
you are still fettered by the terms of that Treaty. You cannot build a
great fleet of warships or æroplanes; you cannot train great armies; you
cannot lay up for yourselves all the store that is necessary for a
successful war. So you bring your brains to Russia, and you ask us to do
these things; but Russia does not aim at world power. Russia seeks only
for a great era of self-development. She, too, has a mighty neighbour
at her gates. I am not sure that your bargain is a fair one."

"It is the first time that I have heard you talk like this," Immelan
declared, with a little tremor in his tone.

"I have been in England twice during the last few months," Naida said.
"You know very well at whose wish I came, I have been studying the
conditions here, studying the people so far as I can. I find them such a
kindly race. I find their present Government so unsuspicious, so
genuinely altruistic. After all, that Treaty belongs to an England that
has passed. The England of to-day would never go to war at all. They
believe here that they have solved the problem of perpetual peace."

Immelan smiled a little bitterly.

"Dear lady," he said, "if I lose your help, if you go back to Petrograd
and talk to Paul Matinsky as you are talking to me, do you know that you
will break the heart of a nation?"

She shook her head.

"Paul does not look upon me as infallible," she protested. "Besides,
there are other considerations. And now, please, we will talk of the
tennis. I do not know whether it is my fancy, but that man there to your
left, in grey, seems to me to be taking an interest in our conversation.
He cannot possibly overhear, and he has not glanced once in our
direction, yet I have an instinct for these things."

Immelan glanced in the direction of the stranger,--a quiet-looking,
spare man dressed in a grey tweed suit, clean-shaven and of early
middle-age. There was nothing about his appearance to distinguish him
from a score or more of other loiterers.

"You are quite right," her companion admitted. "One should not talk of
these things even where the birds may listen, but it is so difficult. As
for that man, he could not possibly hear, but there might be others. One
passes behind on the grass so noiselessly."

They relapsed into silence. Naida, leaning a little forward, became once
more engrossed in the play. Her eyes were fixed upon Nigel. It was his
movements which she followed, his strokes which she usually applauded.
Immelan sat by her side and watched.

"They are well matched," he remarked presently.

"Mr. Chalmers has a wonderful service," she declared, "but Lord
Dorminster has more skill. Oh, bravo!"

The set at that moment was finished by a backhanded return from Nigel,
which skimmed over the net at a great pace, completely out of reach of
the opposing couple. The players strolled across to the seats under the
trees. Naida smiled at Nigel, and he came over to her side. Once again
he was conscious of that peculiar sense of pleasure and well-being
which he felt in her company.

"You play tennis very well, Lord Dorminster," she said.

"I found inspiration," he answered.

"In your partner?"

"Maggie is always charming to play with. I was thinking of the
onlookers."

"Mr. Immelan is very interested in tennis," she remarked, with a smile
which challenged him.

"And you?"

"Even more so."

"Tell me about games in Russia," he begged, seating himself on the grass
by her side.

"We have none," she replied. "I learnt my tennis at Cannes, where,
curiously enough, I saw you play three years ago."

"You were there then?" he asked with interest.

"For a few days only. We were motoring from Spain to Monte Carlo. Cannes
was very crowded, but you see I remembered."

Her voice seemed to have some lingering charm in it, some curiously
potent suggestion of personal interest which stirred his pulses. He
looked up and met her eyes. For a moment the world of tennis fields, of
pleasant chatter and of holiday-makings, passed away. He rose abruptly
to his feet. This time he avoided looking at her.

"You must come over and speak to Maggie," he begged. "Perhaps Mr.
Immelan will spare you for a few moments."

Immelan bowed, sphinxlike but coldly furious. The two strolled away
together.

When the next set was over, Naida, who had rejoined her companion, had
disappeared. On one of their vacated chairs was seated the quiet-looking
stranger in grey. Chalmers passed his arm through Nigel's and led him in
that direction.

"I want you two to know each other," he said. "Jesson, this is Lord
Dorminster--Mr. Gilbert Jesson--Lord Dorminster."

The two men shook hands, Nigel a little vaguely. He was at first unable
to place this newcomer.

"Mr. Jesson," Chalmers explained, dropping his voice a little, "was a
highly privileged and very much valued member of our Intelligence
Department, until he resigned a few months ago. I think that if you
could spare an hour or two any time this evening, Dorminster, it would
interest you very much to know exactly the reason for Mr. Jesson's
resignation."

"I should be very pleased indeed," Nigel replied. "Won't you both come
and dine in Belgrave Square to-night? I was going to ask you, anyhow,
Chalmers. Naida Karetsky has promised to come, and my cousin will be
hostess."

"It will give me very great pleasure," Jesson acquiesced. "You will
understand," he added, "that the information which Mr. Chalmers has
just given you concerning myself is entirely confidential."

Nigel nodded.

"We three will have a little talk to ourselves afterwards," he
suggested. "At eight o'clock--Number 17, Belgrave Square."

Jesson strolled away after a little desultory conversation. Chalmers
looked after him thoughtfully.

"Harmless-looking chap, isn't he?" he observed. "Yet I'll let you in on
this, Dorminster: there isn't another living person who knows so much of
what is going on behind the scenes in Europe as that man."

"Why has he chucked his job, then?" Nigel enquired.

"He will tell you that to-night," was Chalmers' quiet reply.




CHAPTER VIII


"I don't think I shall marry you, after all," Maggie announced that
evening, as she stood looking at herself in one of the gilded mirrors
with which the drawing-room at Belgrave Square was adorned.

"Why not?" Nigel asked, with polite anxiety.

"You are exhibiting symptoms of infidelity," she declared. "Your
flirtation with Naida this afternoon was most pronounced, and you went
out of your way to ask her to dine to-night."

"I like that!" Nigel complained. "Supposing it were true, I should
simply be obeying orders. It was you who incited me to devote myself to
her."

"The sacrifices we women make for the good of our country," Maggie
sighed. "However, you needn't have taken me quite so literally. Do you
admire her very much, Nigel?"

He smiled. His manner, however, was not altogether free from
self-consciousness.

"Of course I do," he admitted. "She's a perfectly wonderful person,
isn't she? Let's get out of this Victorian environment," he added,
looking around the huge apartment with its formal arrangement of
furniture and its atmosphere of prim but faded elegance. "We'll go into
the smaller room and tell Brookes to bring us some cocktails and
cigarettes. Chalmers won't expect to be received formally, and
Mademoiselle Karetsky will appreciate the cosmopolitan note of our
welcome."

"We do look a little too domestic, don't we?" Maggie replied, as she
passed through the portière which Nigel was holding up. "I'm not at all
sure that I ought to come and play hostess like this, without an aunt or
anything. I must think of my reputation. I may decide to marry Mr.
Chalmers, and Americans are very particular about that sort of thing."

"From what I have seen of him, I should think that Chalmers would make
you an excellent husband," Nigel declared, as he rang the bell. "You
need a firm hand, and I should think he would be quite capable of using
it."

"You take the matter far too calmly," she objected. "I can assure you
that I am getting peevish. I hate all Russian women with creamy
complexions and violet-coloured eyes."

"They are wonderful eyes," Nigel declared, after he had given Brookes an
order.

Maggie looked at him curiously.

"Naida is for your betters, sir," she reminded him. "You must not forget
that she is to rule over Russia some day."

"Just at present," Nigel observed, "Paul Matinsky has a perfectly good
wife of his own."

"An invalid."

"Invalids always live long."

"Presidents and emperors can always get divorces," Maggie insisted,
"especially in this irreligious age."

"Matinsky isn't that sort," Nigel said cheerfully. "Even an old gossip
like Karschoff calls him a purist, and you yourself have spoken of his
principles."

Maggie shrugged her shoulders.

"All right," she remarked. "If you are determined to rush into danger, I
suppose you must. There is just one more point to be considered, though.
I suppose you know that if you succeed any farther with Naida, you will
introduce a personal note into our coming struggle."

"What do you mean?" Nigel demanded.

"Why, Immelan, of course," she replied. "He's head over ears in love
with Naida. Any one can see that."

Nigel laughed scornfully.

"My dear child," he protested, "can you imagine a woman like Naida
thinking seriously of a fellow like Immelan?--a scheming, Teutonic
adventurer, without even the breeding of his class!"

Maggie laughed softly for several moments.

"My dear Nigel," she exclaimed, "what a luxury to get at the man of
you! I haven't seen your eyes flash like that for ages. The cocktails,
thank goodness! Shake one for me till it froths all the way up the
glass, please, and then give me a cigarette."

Nigel obeyed orders, helped himself, and glanced at the clock as Brookes
left the room.

"How nice of you to come half an hour early, Maggie!" he remarked.

She made a little grimace.

"The first time you have noticed it," she said dolefully. "Do you
realise, Nigel, that it is nearly a week since you proposed to me? Apart
from your penchant for Naida, don't you really want to marry me any
more?"

He came across the room and stood looking down at her thoughtfully. She
was wearing a somewhat daringly fashioned black lace gown, which showed
a good deal of her white shoulders and neck. Her brown hair was simply
but artistically arranged. She was piquante, alluring, with a
provocative smile at the corners of her lips and a challenging gleam in
her eyes. The daintiness and femininity of her were enthralling.

"You would make an adorable wife," he reflected.

"For some one else?"

"An unspeakable proposition," he assured her.

"You're very nice-looking, Nigel," she murmured.

"You're terribly attractive, Maggie!"

"Then why is it," she sighed, "that we neither of us want to marry the
other?"

"If a serious proposition would really be of interest to you," he
began,--

She made a little grimace.

"You heard them coming," she interrupted.

The three expected guests arrived almost together, bringing with them,
at any rate so far as Chalmers and Naida were concerned, an atmosphere
of light-heartedness which was later on to make the little dinner party
a complete success. Naida, too, was in black, a gown simpler than
Maggie's but full of distinction. She wore no jewellery except a
wonderful string of pearls. Her black hair was brushed straight back
from her forehead but drooped a little over her ears. She seemed to
bring with her a larger share of girlishness than any of them had
previously observed in her, as though she had made up her mind for this
one evening to cast herself adrift from the graver cares of life and to
indulge in the frivolities which after all were the heritage of her
youth. She sat at Nigel's right hand and plied him with questions as to
the lighter side of his life,--his favourite sport, books, and general
occupation. She gave evidences of humour which delighted everybody, and
Nigel, though he would at times have welcomed, and did his best to
initiate, an incursion into more serious subjects, found himself
compelled to admire the tact with which she continually foiled him.

"It is a mistake," she declared once, "to believe that a woman is ever
serious unless she is forced to be. All our natural proclivities are
towards gaiety. We are really butterflies by instinct, and we are at our
best when we are natural. Don't you agree with me, Maggie?"

"From the bottom of my heart," Maggie assented. "Nothing but conscience
ever induces me to pull a long face and turn my thoughts to serious
things. And I haven't a great deal of conscience."

"So you see," Naida continued, smiling up at her host, "when you try to
get a woman to talk politics or sociology with you, you are brushing a
little of the down off her wings. We really want to be told--other
things."

"I should imagine," he replied, "that my sex frequently indulged you."

"Not so much as I should desire," she assured him. "I have somehow or
other acquired an undeserved reputation for brains. In Russia
especially, when I meet a stranger, they don't even look at my frock or
the way my hair is done. They plunge instead into a subject of which I
know nothing--philosophy or history, or international politics."

"Do you know nothing of international politics?" Nigel asked.

"A home thrust," she declared, laughing. "I suppose that is a subject
upon which I have some glimmerings of knowledge. Really not very much,
though, but then I have a theory about that. I think sometimes that the
clearest judgments are formed by some one who comes a little fresh to a
subject, some one who hasn't been dabbling in it half their lifetime and
acquired prejudices. Do you always provide strawberries for your guests,
Lord Dorminster? If so, I should like to come and live here."

"If you will promise to come and live here," he replied, "I will provide
strawberries if I have to start a nursery garden in Jersey."

"Maggie," Naida announced across the table, "Lord Dorminster has
proposed to me. The matter of strawberries has brought us together. I
don't think I shall accept him. There are no means of making him keep
his bargain."

"He'd make an awfully good husband," Maggie declared. "If no one else
wants me, I shall probably marry him myself some day."

Naida shook her head.

"Lord Dorminster is more my type," she declared. "Besides, you have had
your chance if you really wanted him. I have a great friend in Russia
who prophesies that I shall never marry. That does not please me. I
think not to be married is the worst fate that can happen to any woman."

"The remedy," Nigel told her, "is in your own hands."

Jesson, quieter than the others, was still an interesting personality,
often intervening with a shrewd remark and listening to the sallies of
the others with a humorous gleam in his spectacle-shielded eyes. When at
last the girls left them for a time, Nigel led the way at once into the
library, where coffee and liqueurs were served.

"I expect the others will find their way here in a few minutes," he
said, as the door closed behind Brookes and his satellite. "You had
something to say to me, Chalmers, about Mr. Jesson here."

"All that I have to say is in the nature of a testimonial," the young
American replied. "Jesson was easily one of our best men in Europe. He
resigned a few months ago simply because he wants a job with you
fellows."

"I don't quite understand," Nigel began.

"Let me explain," Jesson begged. "I spent the last three years poking
about Europe, and so far as the United States is concerned, there's
nothing doing. My reports aren't worth much more than the paper they are
written on, and while I'm drawing my money from Washington, it's not my
business to collect information that affects other countries. That's why
I've sent in my resignation. There are great events brewing eastwards,
Lord Dorminster, and I want to take a hand in the game."

"Do you want to work for us?" Nigel asked.

"You're right," was the quiet reply. "I guess that's how I've figured it
out. You see, I'm one of those Americans who still consider themselves
half English. Next to the United States, Great Britain is the country
for me. I know what I'm talking about, Lord Dorminster, and I've come to
the conclusion that there's a lot of trouble in store for you people."

"I'm pretty well convinced of that myself," Nigel agreed, "but you know
how things are with us. We have a democratic Government who have placed
their whole faith in the League of Nations, and who are absolutely and
entirely anti-militarist. On paper, the governments of Russia, Germany,
and most of the other countries of Europe, are of the same ilk. Some of
us--my uncle was one--who have studied history and who know something of
the science of international politics, realise perfectly well that no
Empire can be considered secure under such conditions. This country
swarms with foreign secret-service men. What they are planning against
us, Heaven knows!"

"Heaven and Naida Karetsky," Chalmers intervened softly.

"You believe that she is our enemy?" Nigel asked, with a look of trouble
in his eyes.

"She is Immelan's friend," Chalmers reminded him.

"There was a man named Atcheson," Jesson began quietly--

Nigel nodded.

"He was one of the men my uncle sent out. The first one was stabbed in
Petrograd. Jim Atcheson was poisoned and died in Berlin."

"There was rather a scare in a certain quarter about Atcheson," Jesson
observed. "He was supposed to have got a report through to the late Lord
Dorminster."

"He got it through all right," Nigel replied. "My uncle was busy
decoding it, seated in this room, at that table, when he died."

"His death was very sudden," Jesson ventured.

"I have not the faintest doubt but that he was murdered," Nigel
declared. "The document upon which he was working disappeared entirely
except for one sheet."

"You have that one sheet?" Jesson asked eagerly.

Nigel produced it from his pocketbook, smoothed it cut, and laid it upon
the table.

"There are two things worth noticing here," he pointed out. "The first
is that the actual name of a town in Russia is given, and a telephone
number in London. Kroten I have looked up on the map. It seems to be an
unimportant place in a very desolate region. The telephone number is
Oscar Immelan's."

"That is interesting, though not surprising," Jesson declared. "Immelan,
as you of course know, is one of your enemies, one of those who are
working in this country for purposes of his own. But as regards Kroten,
may I ask where you obtained your information about the place?"

Nigel dragged down the atlas and showed them the paragraph. Jesson read
it with a faint smile upon his lips.

"I fancy," he remarked, "that this is a little out of date. I should
like, if you have no objection, to start for Kroten this week."

"Good heavens! Why?" Nigel exclaimed.

"I can scarcely answer that question," Jesson said. "I am like a man
with a puzzle board and a heap of loose pieces. Kroten is one of those
pieces, but I haven't commenced the fitting-in process yet. Here," he
said, "is as much as I can tell you about it. There are three cities,
situated in different countries in the world, which are each in their
way connected with the danger which is brewing for this country. I have
heard them described as the three secret cities. One is in Germany. I
have been there at the risk of my life, and I came away simply puzzled.
Kroten is the next, and of the third I have still to discover the
whereabouts. Are you willing, Lord Dorminster, to let me act for you
abroad? I require no salary or remuneration of any sort. I am a wealthy
man, and investigations of this kind are my one hobby. I shall not move
without your permission, although I recognise, of course, that your own
position is entirely an unofficial one. If you will trust me, however, I
promise that all my energies shall be devoted to the interests of this
country."

Nigel held out his hand.

"It is a pact," he decided. "Before you leave, I will give you the whole
of my uncle's brief correspondence with Sidwell. You may be able to
gather from it what he was after. Sidwell, you remember, was stabbed in
a café in the slums of Petrograd."

"I remember quite well," Jesson admitted quietly. "I knew Sidwell. He
was a clever person in his way, but he relied too much upon disguises. I
fancy that I hear the voices of the ladies coming. I shall just have
time to tell you rather a curious coincidence."

The two men waited eagerly. Jesson touched with his forefinger the sheet
of paper which he had been studying.

"Sidwell," he concluded, "could not have been so far off the mark. The
man with whom he was spending the evening in that café was a mechanic
from Kroten."




CHAPTER IX


Naida, early one afternoon, a few days after the dinner at Belgrave
Square, raised herself on one elbow from the sofa on which she was
resting, glanced at the roses and the card which the maid had presented
for her inspection, and waved them impatiently away.

"The gentleman waits," the woman reminded her.

Naida glanced out of the window across a dull and apparently uninviting
prospect of roofs and chimneys, to where in the background a faint line
of silver and a wheeling flock of sea gulls became dimly visible through
the branches of the distant trees. The window itself was flung wide
open, but the slowly moving air had little of freshness in it. Sparrows
twittered around the window-sill, and a little patch of green shone out
from the Embankment Gardens. The radiance of spring here found few
opportunities.

"The gentleman waits," the serving woman repeated stolidly, speaking in
her native Russian.

"You can show him up," her mistress replied a little wearily.

Immelan entered, a few moments later, spruce and neat in a well-fitting
grey suit, and carrying a grey Homburg hat. He was redolent of soaps
and perfumes. His step was buoyant, almost jaunty, yet in his blue eyes,
as he bent over the hand of the woman upon whom he had come to call,
lurked something of the disquietude which, notwithstanding his most
strenuous efforts, was beginning to assert itself.

"You make me very happy, my dear Naida," he began, "that you receive me
thus so informally. Your good father is smoking in the lounge. He bade
me come up."

She beckoned him to a seat.

"A thousand thanks for your flowers, my friend," she said. "Now tell me
why you are possessed to see me at this untimely hour. I always rest for
a time after luncheon, and I am only here because the sunshine filled my
room and made me restless."

"There is a little matter of news," he announced slowly. "I thought it
might interest you. I hoped it would."

She turned her head and looked at him.

"News?" she repeated. "News from you means only one thing. Is it good or
bad?"

"It is good," he replied, "because it saves me a long and tedious
journey, because it saves me also from a separation which I should have
found detestable."

"Your journey to China, then, is abandoned?"

"It is rendered unnecessary. Prince Shan has decided after all to
adhere to his original plan and come to Europe."

"You are sure?"

"I have an official intimation," he replied. "I may probably have to go
to Paris, but no farther. It is even possible that I might leave
to-night."

She was genuinely interested.

"There is no one in the whole world," she declared, "whom I have wanted
to meet so much as Prince Shan."

"You will not be disappointed," he promised her. "There is no one like
him. When he enters the room, you know that you are in the presence of a
great man. The three of us together! Naida, we will remake the map of
the world."

She frowned a little uneasily.

"Do not take too much for granted, Oscar," she enjoined. "Remember that
I am here to watch and to report. It is not for me to make decisions."

"Then for whom else?" he demanded. "Paul Matinsky himself wrote me that
you had his entire confidence--that you possessed full powers for
action. You will not be faint-hearted, Naida?"

"I shall never be false to my convictions," she replied.

There was a brief silence. He was not altogether satisfied, but he
judged the moment unpropitious for any further reference to the coming
of Prince Shan.

"My plans, as you see, are changed," he said at last, "and for that
reason a promise which I made to myself will not now be kept."

She rose to her feet a little uneasily, shook out her fluffy morning
gown, and retreated towards the door leading to the apartments beyond.
He watched her without movement. She picked up a pile of letters from a
table in the middle of the room, glanced at them, and threw them down.

"It is as well," she warned him, "to keep all promises."

"As for this one," he replied, "I have no responsibility save to myself.
I absolve myself. I give myself permission to speak. Your father is even
wishful that I should do so. I crave from you, Naida, the happiness
which only you can bring into my life. I ask you to become my wife."

She looked at him without visible change of expression. Her lips,
however, were a little parted. The air of aloofness with which she moved
through the world seemed suddenly more marked. He would have been a
brave man, or one entirely without perceptions, who would have advanced
towards her at that moment.

"That is quite impossible," she pronounced.

"I do not admit it," he contended. "No, I will never admit that. The
fates brought us together. It will take something stronger than fate to
drive us apart. I had not meant to speak yet. I had meant to wait until
the great pact was sealed and the glory to come assured, but during
these last few days I have suffered. A strange fancy has come to me. I
seem to feel something between us, so I speak before it can grow. I
speak because without you life for me would be a thing not worth having.
You are my life and my soul. You will not send me away?"

Naida was troubled but unhesitating. It was perhaps at that moment that
a hidden characteristic of her features showed itself. Her mouth,
sometimes almost too voluptuous in its softness, had straightened into a
firm line of scarlet. The deeper violet of her eyes had gone. So a woman
might have looked who watched suffering unmoved, the woman of the bull
or prize fight.

"I am glad that you have spoken, Oscar," she said. "I know a thing now
which has been a source of doubt and anxiety to me. What you ask is
impossible. I do not love you. I shall never love you. A few days ago, I
asked myself the very question you have just asked me, and I could not
answer it. Now I know."

Pain and anger struggled in his face. He was suffering, without a doubt,
but for a moment it seemed as though the anger would predominate. His
great shoulders heaved, his hands were clenched until the signet ring on
his left finger cut into the flesh, his eyes were like glittering points
of fire.

"It is the old dream concerning Paul?" he demanded.

"It has nothing to do with Paul," she assured him. "Concerning him I
will admit that I have had my weak moments. I think that those have
passed. It was such a wonderful dream," she went on reflectively, "the
dream of ruling the mightiest nation in the world, a nation that even
now, after many years of travail, is only just finding its way through
to the light. It seemed such a small thing that stood in the way. Since
then I have met Paul's wife. She does not understand, but at least she
loves."

"She is a poor fool, no helpmate for any man," Immelan declared. "Yet it
is not his cause I plead, but mine. I, too, can minister to your
ambitions. Be my wife, and I swear to you that before five years have
passed I will be President of the German Republic. Germany is no strange
country to you," he went on passionately. "It is you who have helped in
the great _rapprochement_. At times when Paul has been difficult, you
have smoothed the way. I would not speak against your country, I would
not speak against anything which lies close to your heart, but let me
tell you that when the day of purification comes, the day when God gives
us leave to pour out the vials of vengeance, there will be no prouder,
no more glorious people than ours. Our triumph will be yours, Naida. You
yourself will help to cement the great alliance of these years."

She shook her head.

"I am a woman," she said simply. "Incidentally, I am a politician and
something of an altruist, but when it comes to marriage, I am a woman. I
do not love you, Oscar, and I will not marry you."

There was a darker shade upon his face now. Unconsciously he had drawn a
little nearer to her.

"Listen," he begged; "it is perhaps possible that I have not been
mistaken--that a certain change has crept up in you even within the last
few days? Tell me, is there any one else who has found his way into your
heart? No, I will not say heart! It could not be your heart in so short
a time. Into your fancy? Is there any one else, Naida, of whom you are
thinking?"

"That is my concern, Oscar, and mine only," she answered haughtily.

A weaker woman he would have bullied. His veins were filled with anger.
His tongue ached to spend itself. Naida's bearing cowed him. She
remained a dominating figure. The unnatural restraint imposed upon
himself, however, made his voice sound hard and unfamiliar. There were
little patches of white around his mouth; his teeth showed, when he
spoke, more than usual.

"If there were any one else," he declared, "and that some one else
should chance to be an Englishman, I would find a new hell for him."

"There is no one else," she answered calmly, "but if there ever should
be, Oscar Immelan, and if you ever interfered with him, either in this
country or any other, my arm would follow you around the world. Remember
that."

She turned away for a moment, eager to gain a brief respite from his
darkening face. When she looked around, he was gone. She heard his
footsteps passing down the corridor, the bell ringing for the lift, the
clank of the gates as he stepped in. Once more she gazed out over the
uninspiring prospect. There was a little more sunshine upon the river;
more of the dusty chimney-pots seemed bathed in its silvery radiance. As
she stood there, she felt herself growing calmer. The tension passed
from her nerves. Her eyes grew soft again. Then an impulse came to her.
She stretched out her hand for the telephone book, turned over the pages
restlessly, looked through the "D's" until she found the name for which
she was searching. For a long time she hesitated. When at last she took
up the receiver and asked for a number, she was conscious of a slight
thrill, a sense of excitement which in moments of more complete
self-control would at least have served as a warning to her.




CHAPTER X


The curtain fell upon the first act of "Louise." The lights were turned
up, the tenseness relaxed, men made dives for their hats, and the
unmusical murmured the usual platitudes. Naida leaned forward from the
corner of her box to the man who was her sole companion.

"Father," she said, "I am expecting a caller with whom I wish to
speak--Lord Dorminster. If he comes, will you leave us alone? And if any
one else should be here, please take them away."

"More mysteries," her father muttered, not unkindly. "Who is this man
Dorminster?"

Naida leaned back in her chair and fanned herself slowly.

"No one I know very much about," she acknowledged. "I have selected him
in my mind, however as being a typical Englishman of his class. I wish
to talk to him, to appreciate his point of view. You know what Paul said
when he gave you the appointment and sent us over here: 'Find out for me
what sort of men these Englishmen are.'"

"Matinsky should know," her father observed. "He was here twelve years
ago. He came over with the first commission which established regular
relations with the British Government."

"No doubt," she said equably, "he was able to gauge the official
outlook, but this country, during the last ten years, has gone through
great vicissitudes. Besides, it is not only the official outlook in
which Paul is interested. He doesn't understand, and frankly I don't,
the position of what they call over here 'the man in the street.' You
see, he must be either a fool, or he must be grossly deceived."

"So far as my dealings with him go, I should never call the Englishman a
fool," Karetsky confessed.

"There are degrees and conditions of fools," his daughter declared
calmly. "A man with a perfectly acute brain may have simply idiotic
impulses towards credulity, and a credulous man is always a fool.
Anyhow, I know what Paul wants."

There was a knock at the door. Karetsky opened it and stood aside to let
Nigel pass in. Naida held out her hand to the latter with a smile.

"I am so glad that you have come," she said, raising her eyes for a
minute to his. "Father, you remember Lord Dorminster?"

The two men exchanged a few commonplace remarks. Then Karetsky reached
for his hat.

"Your arrival, Lord Dorminster," he observed, "leaves me free to make a
few calls myself. We shall, I trust, meet again."

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 him 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


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."

"I fear," Maggie sighed, "that there will be difficulties in the way of
my establishing confidential relations with Prince Shan."

"There will be difficulties," Jesson assented, "but the thing is not so
impossible as it would be in Paris. Prince Shan has a very fine house
in Curzon Street, which is kept in continual readiness for him. He will
probably entertain to some extent. You will without doubt have
opportunities of meeting him socially."

Maggie glanced at herself in the glass.

"A Chinaman!" she murmured.

"I guess that doesn't mean what it did," Chalmers pointed out. "Prince
Shan is an aristocrat and a born ruler. He has every scrap of culture
that we know anything about and something from his thousand-year-old
family that we don't quite know how to put into words. Don't you worry
about Prince Shan, Lady Maggie. Ask Dorminster here what they called him
at Oxford."

"The first gentleman of Asia," Nigel replied. "I think he deserves the
title."




CHAPTER XII


On the morning following the conclave in Belgrave Square, the Right
Honourable Mervin Brown received two extremely distinguished visitors in
Downing Street. It was doubtful whether the Prime Minister was
altogether at his best. There was a certain amount of irritability
rankling beneath his customary air of bonhommie. He motioned his callers
to take chairs, however, and listened attentively to the few words of
introduction which his secretary thought necessary.

"This is General Dumesnil, sir, of the French Staff, and Monsieur
Pouilly of the French Cabinet. They have called according to
appointment, on Government business."

"Very glad to see you, gentlemen," was the Prime Minister's brisk
welcome. "Sorry I can't talk French to you. Politics, these last ten
years, haven't left us much time for the outside graces."

Monsieur Pouilly at once took the floor. He was a thin, dark man with a
beautifully trimmed black beard, flashing black eyes, and thoughtful,
delicate features. He was attired in the frock coat and dark trousers of
diplomatic usage, and he appeared to somewhat resent the brown tweed
suit and soft collar of the man who was receiving him.

"Mr. Mervin Brown," he began, "you will kindly look upon our visit as
official. We are envoys from Monsieur le Président and the French
Government. General Dumesnil has accompanied me, in case our
conversation should turn upon military matters here or at the War
Office."

The General saluted. The Prime Minister bowed a little awkwardly.

"So far as I am concerned," the latter declared, "I will be perfectly
frank with you from the start. I know nothing whatever about military
affairs. My job is to govern this country, to make the most of its
resources, and to bring prosperity to its citizens from the English
Channel to the North Sea. We don't need soldiers and never shall, that I
can see. I am firmly convinced that the days of wars are over. The
government of every country in the world is getting into the hands of
the democracy, and the democracy don't want war and never did. If any of
the more quarrelsome folk on the continent get scrapping, well, my
conception of my duty is to keep out of it."

Monsieur Pouilly restrained himself. To judge from his appearance,
however, it was not altogether an easy matter.

"You belong, sir," he said, "to a type of statesman whose rise to power
in this country some of us have watched with a certain amount of
concern, for although it is not my mission here to-day to talk politics,
I am yet bound to remind you that you do not stand alone. The very
League of Nations upon which you rely imposes certain obligations upon
you, some actual, some understood. It is to discuss the situation
arising from your neglect to make the provisions called for in that
agreement that I am here to-day."

Mr. Mervin Brown glanced at some figures which his secretary had laid
before him.

"You complain, I presume, of the reduction of our standing army?" he
observed.

"We complain of that," Monsieur Pouilly replied, "and we complain also
of the gradually decreasing interest shown by your Government in matters
of æronautics, artillery, and naval construction. We learnt our lesson
in 1914. If trouble should come again, our country would once more be
the sufferer. You would no doubt do everything that was expected of you,
in time. Before you were ready, however, France would be ruined. You
entered into certain obligations under the League of Nations. My
Government begs to call your attention to the fact that you are not
fulfilling them."

"It is my intention within the course of the next few months," Mervin
Brown declared, "to lay before the League of Nations a scheme for total
disarmament."

Monsieur Pouilly was staggered. A little exclamation escaped the
General.

"What about those nations," the latter enquired, "who were left outside
the League? What of Russia, for instance?"

"Russia is a great and peaceful republic," Mervin Brown replied. "All
her efforts are devoted towards industrial development. No nation would
have less to gain by a return to militarism."

"Pardon, monsieur, but how do you know anything about Russia?" Monsieur
Pouilly asked. "You have not a single secret service agent there, and
your ambassadors are ambassadors of commerce."

"I know what every one else knows," Mervin Brown declared. "Our
commercial travellers are our secret service agents. They travel where
they please in Russia."

"And Germany?" the General queried.

"I defy you to say that there is the slightest indication of any
militarism in Germany," the Prime Minister insisted. "I was there myself
only a few months ago. The country is quiet and moving on now to a new
prosperity. I am absolutely and entirely convinced that the world has
nothing to fear from either Russia or Germany."

"Have you any theory, sir," General Dumesnil enquired, "as to why Russia
refused to join the League of Nations?"

"None whatever," was the genial acknowledgment. "Russia was left out at
the start through jealous statesmanship, and afterwards she preferred
her independence. I have every sympathy with her attitude."

"One more question," the soldier begged. "Are you aware, sir, that since
Japan left the League of Nations on the excuse of her isolation, she has
been building æroplanes and battleships on a new theory, instigated, if
you please, by China?"

"And look at her last balance sheet as a result of it," was the prompt
retort. "If a nation chooses to make herself a bankrupt by building war
toys, no one in the world can help her. Legislation of that sort is
foolish and simply an incitement to revolution. Look at the difference
in our country. Our income tax is practically abolished, our industrial
troubles are over. Our credit never stood so high, the wealth of the
country was never so great. We are satisfied. A peaceful nation makes
for peace. The rattling of the sabre incites military disturbance. Do
not ask us, gentlemen, to train armies or build ships."

"We ask you only to keep your covenant," Monsieur Pouilly pronounced
stiffly.

"Who does keep it?" the Prime Minister demanded. "The world is governed
now by common sense and humanity. I look upon a war of aggression on the
part of any country as a sheer impossibility."

"What about a war of revenge?" the General enquired quietly.

"You can search Germany from end to end," Mervin Brown declared, "and
find no trace of any spirit of the sort. I am sorry if I am a
disappointment to you, gentlemen, but the present Government views your
attitude without sympathy. General Richardson is expecting a visit from
you this morning at the War Office, and he will give you any information
you desire. An appointment has also been made for you this afternoon at
the Admiralty. You are doing me the honour of dining with me here
to-morrow night to meet certain members of my Cabinet, and we will, if
you choose, discuss the matter further then. I have thought it best to
place my views clearly before you, however, at the outset of your visit
here."

The Frenchmen rose a few minutes later and took their leave,
ceremoniously but with obvious discontent. The Prime Minister leaned
back in his chair and awaited his secretary's return with a
well-satisfied smile. In a few minutes the latter presented himself.

"Well, Franklin," the great man said, "I've let them hear the truth for
once. Plain speaking, eh?"

The young man bowed.

"They certainly know your views, sir."

The Minister glanced at his subordinate sharply.

"What's the matter with you this morning, Franklin?" he demanded.

"There is nothing the matter with me, thank you, sir," was the quiet
reply.

"You're not going to tell me that you disapprove of my attitude?"

"By no means, sir," the young man assured his Chief hastily,--"not
altogether, that is to say. At the same time, one wonders how far those
two men represent the feeling of France."

His Chief shrugged his shoulders.

"The military spirit is hard to kill," he said. "It is in the blood of
most Frenchmen. They are not big enough to understand that the world is
moving on to greater things. What did they say to you before they left?"

"Nothing much, sir. The General just asked me whether I thought you
would soon be content to leave London unpoliced."

"What rubbish! Any one else for me to see this morning?"

"You promised to give Lord Dorminster ten minutes," the young man
reminded him. "He is in the anteroom now."

The Prime Minister frowned.

"Dorminster," he repeated. "He is a nephew of the man who was always
worrying the Government to reëstablish the secret service. I remember he
came to see me the other day, declared that his uncle had been
murdered, and a secret dispatch from Germany stolen. I wonder he didn't
wind up with a report that the Chinese were on their way to seize
Ireland!"

"It is the same man, sir."

"Well, I suppose I'd better see him and get it over," his Chief declared
irritably. "If only one could make these people realize how far behind
the times they are!"

Nigel was shown in, a few minutes later. Mr. Mervin Brown was gracious
but terse.

"I haven't had the opportunity of congratulating you upon becoming one
of our hereditary legislators, Lord Dorminster, since you took your seat
in the House of Lords," he said. "Pray let me do so now. I hope that we
may count upon your support."

"My support, sir," Nigel replied, "will be given to any Party which will
take the urgent necessary steps to protect this country against a great
danger."

"God bless my soul!" the Prime Minister exclaimed. "Another of you!"

"I can only guess who my predecessors were," Nigel continued, smiling,
"but I will frankly confess that the object of my visit is to beg you to
reëstablish our secret service in Germany, Russia and China."

"Nothing," the other declared, "would induce me to do anything of the
sort."

"Are you aware," Nigel enquired, "that there is a considerable foreign
secret service at work in this country at the present moment?"

"I am not aware of it, and I don't believe it," was the blunt retort.

"I have absolute proof," Nigel insisted. "Not only that, but two
ex-secret service men whom my uncle sent out to Germany and Russia on
his own account were murdered there as soon as they began to get on the
track of certain things which had been kept secret. A report from one of
these men got through and was stolen from my uncle's library in Belgrave
Square on the day he was murdered. You will remember that I placed all
these facts before you on the occasion of a previous visit."

Mervin Brown nodded.

"Anything else?" he asked patiently.

"You know that a special envoy from China is on his way here at the
present moment to meet Immelan?"

"Oscar Immelan, the German Commissioner?"

"The same," Nigel assented.

"A most delightful fellow," the Prime Minister declared warmly, "and a
great friend to this country."

"I must take the liberty of disagreeing with you," Nigel rejoined,
"because I know very well that he is our bitter enemy. Prince Shan, who
is on his way from China to meet him, is the envoy of the one country
outside Europe whom we might fear. We sit still and do nothing. We have
no means of knowing what may be plotted against us here in London. At
least a polite request might be sent to Prince Shan to ask him to pay
you a visit and disclose the nature of his conference with Immelan."

"If he cares to come, we shall be glad to see him," Mervin Brown
replied, "but I for one shall not go out of my way to talk politics."

"Do you know what politics are, sir?" Nigel asked, in a sudden fury.

The Prime Minister's eyes flashed for a moment. He controlled himself,
however, and rang the bell.

"I have an idea that I do," he answered. "A few millions of my fellow
countrymen believe the same thing, or I should not be here. I think that
you know what my principles are, Lord Dorminster. I am here to govern
this country for the benefit of the people. We don't want to govern any
one else's country, we don't want to meddle in any one else's affairs.
Least of all do we want to revert to the times when your uncle was a
young man, and every country in Europe was sitting with drawn sword,
trusting nobody, fearing everybody, living in a state of nerves, with
the roll of the drum always in their ears. The best preventative of war,
in my opinion, is not to believe in it. Good morning, Lord Dorminster."

It was a dismissal against which there was no appeal. Nigel followed the
secretary from the room.

"You found the Chief a little bit ratty this morning, I expect, Lord
Dorminster," the latter remarked. "We've had the French Mission here."

"Mr. Mervin Brown has at least the virtue of knowing his own mind,"
Nigel replied dryly.




CHAPTER XIII


The automobile turned in through the great entrance gates of the South
London Aeronautic Terminus and commenced a slow ascent along the broad
asphalted road to what, a few years ago, had been esteemed a new wonder
of the world. Maggie rose to her feet with a little exclamation of
wonder.

"Do you know I have never been here at night before?" she exclaimed.
"Isn't it wonderful!"

"Marvellous!" Nigel replied. "It's the largest aeronautic station in the
world--bigger, they say, than all our railway termini put together. Look
at the flares, Maggie! No wonder the sky from the housetop at Belgrave
Square seems always to be on fire at night!"

They were approaching now the first of the huge sheds which were
arranged in circular fashion around an immense stretch of perfectly
level asphalted ground. Every shed was as big as an ordinary railway
station, its arched opening framed with electric illuminations. Inside
could be seen the crowds of people waiting on the platforms; in many of
them, the engine of a great airship was already throbbing, waiting to
start. In the background was a huge wireless installation, and around,
at regular intervals, enormous pillars, on the top of which flares of
different-coloured fire were burning. The automobile came to a
standstill before a large electrically illuminated time chart. Nigel
alighted for a moment and spoke to one of the inspectors.

"Which station for the _Black Dragon_, private ship from China?" he
enquired.

The man glanced at the chart.

"Number seven, on the other side," he replied. "You can drive around."

"How is she for time?"

"She crossed the North Sea punctually," he replied. "We should see her
violet lights in ten minutes. Mind the traffic as you pass number three.
The North ship from Norway is just in."

Nigel addressed a word of caution to the chauffeur, and they drove on.
From the first shed they passed a stream of vehicles was pouring
out,--porters with luggage, jostling throngs of newly arrived passengers
on their way to the Electric Underground. They drove into number seven
shed, left the car, and walked to the end of the long platform. The
great arc of glass-covered roof above them was brilliantly illuminated,
throwing a queer downward light upon the long line of waiting porters,
the refreshment rooms, the kiosks and newspaper stalls. In the far end,
a huge airship, bound for the East, was already filling up. Maggie and
her companion stood for a few minutes gazing into the huge void of
space.

"Tell me about Naida," the former begged, a little abruptly.

"Naida is a wonderful woman," Nigel declared enthusiastically. "We
lunched at Ciro's. She wore a black and white muslin gown which arrived
this morning from Paris. Afterwards we went down to Ranelagh and sat
under the trees."

"Throwing yourself thoroughly into your little job, aren't you!" Maggie
sniffed.

"You'll have a chance to catch me up before long," he replied. "Naida
has promised that she will arrange a meeting with the Prince."

"I wonder what Oscar Immelan will have to say about it," Maggie
reflected.

"To tell you the truth," Nigel said hopefully, "I believe that Immelan
is losing ground. His whole scheme is too selfish. Of course, Naida
won't discuss these things with me in plain words, but she gives me a
hint now and then. Amongst her gifts, she has a marvellous sense of
justice and a hatred of any form of bribery. That is where I feel
convinced that she and Immelan will never come together. Immelan could
never see more than the selfish side, even of a world upheaval. Naida
searches everywhere for motive. She has the altruistic instinct. I
wonder no longer at Matinsky. She is a born ruler herself."

"I'm glad you are getting along with her," Maggie remarked. "Look!" she
broke off, catching at his arm. "The violet lights!"

High up in the sky outside, two violet specks of light suddenly rose and
fell like airballs. A crowd of mechanics appeared through subterranean
doors and stood about in the vast arena. Very soon the airship came into
sight, her cars brilliantly illuminated. She circled slowly round and
came noiselessly to the ground, and with the mechanics running by her
side, and her engines now scarcely audible, came slowly into the shed
and to a standstill by the side of the platform. Maggie and her
companion stood well in the background.

"There he is," the latter whispered.

Immelan, suddenly appeared as though from the bowels of the earth, was
shaking hands warmly with a tall, slender man who was one of the first
to descend from the airship. They talked rapidly together for a few
minutes. Then they disappeared, walking down towards the
luggage-clearing station. Maggie watched the retreating figures
earnestly.

"He doesn't look in the least Chinese," she declared.

"I told you he didn't," Nigel replied. "He was considered the
best-looking man of his year up at Oxford."

Maggie was unusually silent on their way back.

"It was perhaps scarcely worth our while, this little expedition of
ours," Maggie said thoughtfully.

"You're not sorry that we came?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I think not," she replied.

"Why only 'think'?"

She roused herself with an effort.

"I don't know, Nigel," she confessed. "I can't imagine what is wrong
with me. I feel shivery--nervous--as though something were going to
happen."

He looked at her curiously. This was a Maggie whom he scarcely
recognised.

"Presentiments?" he asked.

"Absurd, isn't it!" she replied, with a weak smile. "I'll get over it
directly. I don't think I am going to like Prince Shan, Nigel."

"Well, you haven't been long making up your mind," he observed. "I
shouldn't have thought you had been able even to see his face."

"I had a queer, lightning-like glimpse of it," she reflected. "To me it
seemed as though it were carved out of granite, and as though all that
was human about him were the mouth and the eyes. I wish he hadn't been
looking."

"Are you flattering yourself that he will recognise you?" Nigel asked.

"I know that he will," she answered simply.

       *       *       *       *       *

In a corner of the white-and-gold restaurant at the Ritz on the
following evening, Prince Shan and Immelan dined tête-à-tête, Immelan in
the best of spirits, talking of the pleasant trifles of the world,
drinking champagne and pointing out notabilities; Prince Shan, his
features and expression unchanging, and his face as white as the
perfectly fitting shirt he wore. His clothes were fashionable and
distinctive, his black pearls unobtrusive but wonderful, his smoothly
brushed dark hair, his immaculate finger nails, his skilfully tied tie
all indicative of his close touch with western civilization. There was
nothing, in fact, except his sphinx-like expression, the slightly
unusual shape of his brilliant eyes, and his queer air of personal
detachment, to denote the Oriental. He drank water, he ate sparingly, he
preserved an almost unbroken silence, yet he had the air of one giving
courteous attention to everything which his companion said and finding
interest in it. Only once he asked a question.

"You are well acquainted here, my host," he said. "You know the trio at
the table just behind the entrance--the attractive young lady with her
chaperon, and a gentleman who I rather fancy must be an old college
acquaintance whose name I have forgotten. Tell me some more about them
in their private capacity, and not as saviours of their country."

Immelan frowned slightly as he glanced across the room.

"There is not much to tell," he answered, without enthusiasm. "The young
lady is, as you know, Lady Maggie Trent. The older lady, with the white
hair, is, I believe, her aunt. The name of their escort is Lord
Dorminster. You would probably know him by the name of Kingley--he has
only just succeeded to the title."

Prince Shan was looking straight across the room, his eyes travelling
over the heads of the many brilliant little groups of diners to rest
apparently upon an empty space in the white-and-gold walls. He had been
a great traveller, but always his first evening, when he came once more
into touch with a civilisation more meretricious but more poignant than
his own, resulted in this disturbing cloud of sensations. His
companion's voice sounded emptily in his ears.

"They say that the young lady is engaged to Lord Dorminster. That is
only gossip, however."

For the second time Prince Shan looked directly at the little group. His
eyes rested upon Maggie, simply dressed but wonderfully _soignée_, very
alluring, laughing up into the face of her escort. Their eyes did not
actually meet, but each was conscious of the other's regard. Once more
he felt the disturbance of the West.

"If we should chance to come together naturally," he said, "it would
gratify me to make the acquaintance of Lady Maggie Trent."




CHAPTER XIV


The introduction which Prince Shan had requested came about very
naturally. The lounge of the hotel was more than usually crowded that
evening, and the table towards which an attentive _maître d'hôtel_
conducted Immelan and his companion was next to the one reserved by
Nigel. The transference of a chair opened up conversation. Immelan was
bland and ingenuous as usual, introducing every one, glad, apparently,
to make one common party. Prince Shan remained by Maggie's side after
the introduction had been effected. A chair which Immelan schemed to
offer him elsewhere he calmly refused.

"This is my first evening in London, Lady Maggie," he said. "I am
fortunate."

"Why?" she asked.

He looked at her meditatively. Then he accepted her unspoken invitation
and seated himself on the lounge by her side.

"We who come from the self-contained countries of the world," he
explained, "and China is one of them, come always with the desire and
longing for new experiences, new sensations. My own appetite for these
is insatiable."

"And am I a new sensation?" Maggie asked, glancing up at him innocently
enough, but with a faint gleam of mockery in her eyes.

"You are," he answered placidly. "You reveal--or rather you suggest--the
things of which in my country we know nothing."

"But I thought you were all so hyper-civilised over there," Maggie
observed. "Please tell me at once what it is that I possess which your
womenkind do not."

"If I answered all that your question implies," he said, "I should make
use of speech too direct for the conventions of the world in which you
live. I would simply remind you that whereas we men in China may claim,
I think, to have reached the same standard of culture and civilisation
as Europeans, we have left our womenkind far behind in that respect. The
Chinese woman, even the noble lady, does not care for serious affairs.
The God of the Mountains, as they call him, made her a flower to pluck,
a beautiful plaything for her chosen mate. She remains primitive. That
is why, in time, man wearies of her, why the person of imagination looks
sometimes westward, finds a new joy and a strange new fascination in a
wholly different type of femininity."

"But you have many European women now living in China," Maggie reminded
him,--"American women, too, and they are so much admired everywhere."

"The Chinese, especially we of the nobility," Prince Shan replied, "are
born with racial prejudices. An individual may forgive an affront, a
nation never. The days of retaliation by force of arms may indeed have
passed, but the gentleman of China, even of these days, is not likely to
take to his heart the woman of America."

"Dear me," Maggie murmured, "isn't it rather out of date to persevere in
these ancient feuds?"

"Feeling of all sorts is out of date," he admitted patiently, "yet there
are some things which endure. I should be honoured by your friendship,
Lady Maggie."

"This is very sudden," she laughed. "I am very flattered--but what does
it mean?"

"Permission to call upon you--and your aunt," he added, glancing around
the little circle.

"We shall be delighted," Maggie replied, "but you won't like my aunt.
She is a little deaf, and she has no sense of humour. She has come to
live with us because Lord Dorminster and I are not really related,
although we call ourselves cousins, and I should hate to leave Belgrave
Square. You shall take me out to tea to-morrow afternoon instead, if you
like."

A smouldering fire burned for a moment in his eyes.

"That will make me very happy," he said. "I shall attend you at four
o'clock."

Thenceforward, conversation became general. Prince Shan, with the air
of one who has achieved his immediate object, left his place by Maggie's
side and talked with grave courtesy to her aunt. Presently the little
party broke up, bound, it seemed, for the same theatre. Nigel had become
a little serious.

"Well, you've made a good start, Maggie," he remarked, leaning forward
in his place in the limousine.

"Have I?" Maggie answered thoughtfully. "I wonder!"

"I wish we could get at him in some different fashion," her companion
observed uneasily.

"My dear man, I'm hardened to these enterprises," Maggie assured him. "I
even let the President of the German Republic hold my hand once when his
wife wasn't looking. Nothing came of it," she added, with a little sigh.
"These Germans are terribly sentimental when it doesn't cost them
anything. They've no idea of a fair exchange."

"By a 'fair exchange' you mean," her aunt suggested, a little
censoriously, "that you expected him to barter his country's secrets for
a touch of your fingers?"

"Or my lips, perhaps," Maggie added, with a little grimace. "Please
don't look so serious, Aunt. I'm not really in love with Prince Shan,
you know, and to-night I rather feel like marrying Nigel, if I can get
him back again. I like his waistcoat buttons, and the way he has tied
his tie."

"Too late, my dear," Nigel warned her. "I give you formal notice. I
have transferred my affections."

"That decides me," Maggie declared firmly. "I shall collect you back
again. I hate to lose an admirer."

"The nonsense you young people talk!" Mrs. Bollington Smith observed, as
they reached the theatre.

Chalmers joined them soon after they had reached their box. He sank into
the empty place by Maggie's side which Nigel had just vacated and leaned
forward confidentially.

"So you've started the campaign," he whispered.

"How do you know?" she enquired.

"I was at the Ritz to-night," he told her, "at the far end of the room
with my Chief and two other men. We were behind you in the lounge
afterwards."

"I was so engrossed," Maggie murmured.

Chalmers paused for a moment to watch the performance. When he spoke
again, his voice, was, for him, unusually serious.

"Young lady," he said, "I told you on our first meeting my idea of
diplomacy. Truth! No beating about the bush--just the plain, unvarnished
truth! I have conceived an affection for you."

"Goodness gracious!" Maggie exclaimed softly. "Are you going to
propose?"

"Nothing," he assured her, "is farther from my thoughts. Lest I should
be misunderstood, let me substitute the term 'affectionate interest' for
'affection.' I have felt uneasy ever since I saw Prince Shan watching
you across the restaurant to-night."

"Did he really watch me?" Maggie asked complacently.

"He not only watched you," Chalmers assured her, "but he thought about
you--and very little else."

"Congratulate me, then," she replied. "I am on the way to success."

Chalmers frowned.

"I'm not quite so sure," he said. "You'll think I'm an illogical sort of
person, but I've changed my mind about your rôle in this little affair."

"Why?"

"Because I am afraid of Prince Shan," he answered deliberately.

She looked at him from behind her fan. Her eyes sparkled with interest.
If there were any other feeling underneath, she showed no trace of it.

"What a queer word for you to use!"

He nodded.

"I know it. I would back you, Lady Maggie, to hold your own against any
male creature breathing, of your own order and your own race, but Prince
Shan plays the game differently. He possesses every gift which women and
men both admire, but he hasn't our standards. Life for him means power.
A wish for him entails its fulfilment."

"You are afraid," Maggie suggested, still with the laughter in her eyes,
"that he will trifle with my affections?"

"Something like that," he admitted bluntly. "Prince Shan will be here
for a week--perhaps a fortnight. When he goes, he goes a very long
distance away."

"I may decide to marry him," Maggie said. "One gets rather tired here of
the regular St. George's, Hanover Square, business, and all that comes
afterwards."

"Dear Lady Maggie," Chalmers replied, "that is the trouble. Prince Shan
would never marry you."

"Why not?" she asked simply.

"First of all," Chalmers went on, after a moment's hesitation, "because
Prince Shan, broad-minded though he seems to be and is on all the great
questions of the world, still preserves something of what we should call
the superstition of his country and order. I believe, in his own mind,
he looks upon himself as being one of the few elect of the earth. He
travels, he is gracious everywhere, but though his manner is the
perfection of form, in his heart he is still aloof. He rides through the
clouds from Asia, and he leaves always something of himself over there
on the other side. Let me tell you this, Lady Maggie. I have never
forgotten it. He was at Harvard in my year, and so far as he unbent to
any one, he sometimes unbent to me. I asked him once whether he were
ever going to marry. He shook his head and sighed. 'I can never marry,'
he replied. 'Why not?' I asked him. 'Because there are no women of the
Shan line alive,' he answered. Later, he took pity on my bewilderment.
He let me understand. For two thousand years, no Shan has married, save
one of his own line. To ally himself with a princess of the royal house
of England would be a mésalliance which would disturb his ancestors in
their graves. Of course, this sounds to us very ridiculous, but to him
it isn't. It is part of the religion of his life."

"You are not very encouraging, are you?" Maggie remarked. "Perhaps he
has changed since those days."

Her companion shook his head.

"I should say not," he replied, "the Prince is not of the order of those
who change."

"Is it matrimony alone," she asked, "which he denies himself?"

Chalmers glanced towards Mrs. Bollington Smith, whose eyes were closed.
Then he nodded towards the stage.

"You see the woman who has just come upon the stage?"

Maggie glanced downwards. A very wonderful little figure in white satin,
lithe and sinuous as a cat, Chinese in the subtlety of her looks,
European in her almost sinister over-civilisation, stood smiling
blandly at the applauding audience.

"La Belle Nita," Maggie murmured. "I thought she was in Paris. Well,
what of her?"

"She is reputed to be a protégée of Prince Shan. You see how she looks
up at his box."

Maggie was conscious of a queer and almost incomprehensible stab at the
heart. She answered without hesitation or change of expression, however.

"The Prince must be kind to a fellow countrywoman," she declared
indulgently. "You are talking terrible scandal."

La Belle Nita danced wonderfully, sang like a linnet, danced again and
disappeared, notwithstanding the almost wild calls for an encore. With
the end of her turn came a selection from the orchestra and a general
emptying of the boxes. Presently Chalmers went in search of Nigel. A few
moments later there was a knock at the door. Maggie gripped the sides of
her chair tightly. She was moved almost to fury by the turmoil in which
she found herself. Her invitation to enter was almost inaudible.

"I am deserted," Prince Shan explained, as he made his bow and took the
chair to which Maggie pointed. "My friend Immelan has left me to visit
acquaintances, and I chance to be unattended this evening. I trust that
I do not intrude."

"You are very welcome here," Maggie replied. "Will you listen to the
orchestra, or talk to me?"

"I will talk, if I may," he answered. "Lord Dorminster is not with
you?"

"Nigel went to look up a friend whom he wants to bring to supper. He is
one of those people who seem to discover friends and acquaintances in
every quarter of the globe."

"And to that fortunate chance," her visitor continued, dropping his
voice a little, "I owe the happiness of finding you alone."

Maggie glanced towards her aunt, who was leaning back in her seat.

"Aunt seems to be asleep, but she isn't," she declared. "She is really a
very efficient chaperon. Talk to me about China, please, and tell me
about your _Dragon_ airship. Is it true that you have silver baths, and
that Gauteron painted the walls of your dining salon?"

"One is in the air five days on the way over," he answered
indifferently. "It is necessary that one's surroundings should be
agreeable. Perhaps some day I may have the honour of showing it to you.
In the darkness, and when she is docked, there is little to be seen."

She looked at him curiously.

"You knew that I was there, then?"

"Yours was the first face I saw when I descended from the car," he told
her. "You stood apart, watching, and I wondered why. I knew, too, that
you would be at the Ritz to-night. That is why I came there. As a rule,
I do not dine in public."

"How could you possibly know that I was going to be there?" Maggie asked
curiously.

"I sent a gentleman of my suite to look through the names of those who
had booked tables," he answered. "It was very simple."

"It was only a chance that the table was reserved in my name," she
reminded him.

"It was chance which brought us together," he rejoined. "It is chance
under another name to which I trust in life."

For the first time in her life, in her relations with the other sex,
Maggie felt a queer sensation which was almost fear. She felt herself
losing poise, her will governed, her whole self dominated. Unconsciously
she drew herself a little away. Her eyes travelled around the crowded
house and suddenly rested on the box which her visitor had just vacated.
Seated behind the curtains, but leaning slightly forward, her eyes fixed
intently upon Prince Shan, was La Belle Nita, a green opera cloak thrown
around her dancing costume, a curious, striking little figure in the
semi-obscurity.

"You have some one waiting for you in your box," Maggie told him.

He glanced across the auditorium and rose to his feet. She gave him
credit for the adroitness of mind which rejected the obvious
explanation of her presence there.

"I must go," he said simply, "but I have many things which I desire to
say to you. You will not forget to-morrow afternoon?"

"I shall not forget," she answered, in a low tone.




CHAPTER XV


There was a half reluctant admiration in Prince Shan's eyes as he sat
back in the dim recesses of his box and scrutinised his visitor. La
Belle Nita had learnt all that Paris and London could teach her.

"You are very beautiful, Nita," he said.

"Many men tell me so," she answered.

"Life has gone well with you since we met last?" he asked reflectively.

"The months have passed," she replied.

"You have been faithful?"

"Fidelity is of the soul."

He paused, as though pondering over her answer. A famous French comedian
was holding the stage, and the house rocked with laughter.

"You have the same apartment?"

She pressed the clasp of a black velvet bag which rested on the edge of
the box, opened it, and passed him a key.

"It is the same."

He held the key in his fingers for a moment, but he had the air of a man
to whom the action had no significance.

"You have enough money?" he asked.

"I have saved a million francs," she told him. "I am waiting for my
lord to speak of things that matter. The woman in the box over
there--who is she?"

"An English spy," he answered calmly.

She lowered her eyes for a moment, as though to conceal the sudden soft
flash.

"An English spy," she repeated. "My rival in espionage."

"You have no rival, Nita," he replied, "and she is in the opposite
camp."

Her two red lips were distorted into a pout.

"Is it over, my task?" she asked. "I am weary of Paris. I love it over
here better. I am weary of French officers, of these solemn officials
who come to my room like guilty schoolboys, and who speak of themselves
and their importance with bated breath, as though their whisper would
rock the world. My master has enough information?"

"More than enough," he assured her. "You have done your work
wonderfully."

"Shall I now deal with her?" she continued, with a slight, eager
movement of her head towards the opposite box.

He smiled.

"She is harmless, she and her entourage," he replied. "Some stroke of
good fortune brought them word of the meeting between myself and
Immelan, and beyond that they guessed at its significance. They were at
the shed to watch my arrival. Now, with their mouths open, they sit and
wait for the information which they hope will drop in. They are very
ingenuous, these Anglo-Saxons, but they are not diplomats."

She turned her head and looked across the auditorium. Maggie was talking
to a man whom Nigel had just brought in, and who was bending over her in
obvious admiration. Nita, with her wealth of cosmetics, her over-red
lips, stared curiously at this possible rival, with her clear skin, her
beautiful neck and shoulders, her hair dressed close to her head, her
air of quiet, almost singular distinction.

"The young lady," she confessed, "wears her clothes well for an English
woman. She is _bien soignée_, but she looks a little difficult."

His eyes followed the direction of hers, and her object was achieved.
She read correctly the light that gleamed in them.

"I may come to-night?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head.

"Not again," he replied.

A violinist now held the stage, a Pole newly come to London. La Belle
Nita closed her eyes. For a few minutes her sorrow seemed to throb to
the minor music to which she was listening.

"For all my work, then," she said presently, "for the suffering and the
risk, there is to be nothing?"

"Is it nothing for you to be invited to live in whatsoever manner you
choose?" he remonstrated.

"It is little," she replied steadily. "There are a dozen who would do
this for me, who pray every day that they may do so. What are all these
things beside the love of my master?"

He looked at her a little sadly, yet without any sign of real feeling.
To him she represented nothing more than a doll with brains, from whose
intelligence he had profited, but of whose beauty he was weary.

"You know what our poet says, Nita," he reminded her. "'Love is like the
rustling of the wind in the almond trees before dawn.' We cannot command
it. It comes to us or leaves us without reason."

She looked across the auditorium once more and spoke with her head
turned away from her companion.

"There is no one in the East," she said, "because those who write me
weekly send news of my lord's doings. There is no one in the East,
because there they give the body who know nothing of the soul. And so my
Prince is safe amongst them. But here--these western women have other
gifts. Is that she, master of my life and soul?"

"I met her this evening for the first time," he replied.

She laughed drearily.

"Eyes may meet in the street without speech, a glance may burn its way
into the soul. Once I thought that I might love again, because a
stranger smiled at me in the Bois, and he had grey eyes, and that look
about his mouth which a woman craves for. He passed on, and I forgot.
You see, my lord was still there.--So this is the woman."

"Who knows?" he answered.

Immelan came into the box a little abruptly. There was a cloud upon his
face which he did his best to conceal. Almost simultaneously, a
messenger from behind the scenes arrived for Nita. She rose to her feet
and wrapped her green cloak closely around her lissom figure.

"In a quarter of an hour," she said, "I have to appear again. It is to
be good-night, then?"

She raised her eyes to his, and for a moment the appeal which knows no
nationality shone out of their velvety depths. She stood before him
simply, like a slave who pleads. Not a muscle of Prince Shan's face
moved.

"It is to be good-night, Nita," he answered calmly.

Her head drooped, and she passed out. She had the air of a flower whose
petals have been bruised. Immelan looked after her curiously, almost
compassionately.

"It is finished, then, with the little one, Prince?" he enquired.

"It is finished," was the calm reply.

Immelan stroked his short moustache thoughtfully.

"Is it wise?" he ventured. "She has been faithful and assiduous. She
knows many things."

Prince Shan's eyes were filled with mild wonder.

"She has had some years of my occasional companionship," he said. "It is
surely as much as she could hope for or expect. We are not like you
Westerners, Immelan," he went on. "Our women are the creatures of our
will. We call them, or we send them away. They know that, and they are
prepared."

"It seems a little brutal," Immelan muttered.

"You prefer your method?" his companion asked. "Yet you practise deceit.
Your fancy wanders, and you lie about it. You lose your dignity, my
friend. No woman is worth a man's lie."

Immelan was leaning back in his chair, gazing steadfastly across the
crowded theatre.

"Your principles," he said, "are suited to your own womenkind. La Belle
Nita has become westernised. Are you sure that she accepts the situation
as she would if she dwelt with you in Pekin?"

"I am her master," Prince Shan declared calmly. "I have made no promises
that I have not fulfilled."

"The promise between a man and a woman is an unspoken one," Immelan
persisted. "You have not been in Europe for five months. All that time
she has awaited you."

"Something else has happened," Prince Shan said deliberately.

"Since your arrival in London?"

"Since my arrival in London, since I stepped out of my ship last night."

Immelan was frankly incredulous.

"You mean Lady Maggie Trent?"

"Certainly! I have always felt that some day or other my thoughts would
turn towards one of these strange, western women. That time has come.
Lady Maggie possesses those charms which come from the brain, yet which
appeal more deeply than any other to the subtle desires of the poet, the
man of letters and the philosopher. She is very wonderful, Immelan. I
thank you for your introduction."

Immelan ceased to caress his moustache. He leaned back in his chair and
gazed at his companion. For many years he and the Prince had been
associates, yet at that moment he felt that he had not even begun to
understand him.

"But you forget, Prince," he said, "that Lady Maggie and her friends are
in the opposite camp. When our agreement is concluded and known to the
world, she will look upon you as an enemy."

"As yet," Prince Shan answered calmly, "our agreement is not concluded."

Immelan's face darkened. Nothing but his awe of the man with whom he sat
prevented an expression of anger.

"But, Prince," he expostulated, "apart from political considerations,
you cannot really imagine that anything would be possible between you
and Lady Maggie?"

"Why not?" was the cool reply.

"Lady Maggie is of the English nobility," Immelan pointed out. "Neither
she nor her friends would be in the least likely to consider anything in
the nature of a morganatic alliance."

"It would not be necessary," Prince Shan declared. "It is in my mind to
offer her marriage."

Immelan dropped the cigarette case which he had just drawn from his
pocket. He gazed at his companion in blank and unaffected astonishment.

"Marriage?" he muttered. "You are not serious!"

"I am entirely serious," the Prince insisted. "I can understand your
amazement, Immelan. When the idea first came into my mind, I tore at it
as I would at a weed. But we who have studied in the West have learnt
certain great truths which our own philosophers have sometimes missed.
All that is best of life and of death our own prophets have taught us.
From them we have learnt fortitude and chastity: devotion to our country
and singleness of purpose. Over here, though, one has also learnt
something. Nobility is of the soul. A Prince of the Shans must seek not
for the body but for the spirit of the woman who shall be his mate. If
their spirits meet on equal terms, then she may even share the throne of
his life."

Immelan was speechless. There was something final and convincing in his
companion's measured words. His own protest, when at last he spoke,
sounded paltry.

"But supposing it is true that she is already engaged to Lord
Dorminster?"

Prince Shan smiled very quietly.

"That," he said, "can easily be disposed of."

"But do you seriously believe that you would be able to induce her to
return with you to Pekin?" Immelan persisted.

At that moment it chanced that Maggie turned her head and looked across
at the two men. Prince Shan leaned a little forward to meet her gaze.
His face was expressionless. The lines of his mouth were calm and
restful, yet in his eyes there glowed for a single moment the fire of a
man who looks upon the thing he covets.

"I seriously believe it," he answered under his breath.




CHAPTER XVI


Maggie leaned back in her chair with a little sigh of content. The
scarlet-coated waiter had just removed their tea tray, a pleasant breeze
was rustling through the leaves of the trees under which she and Prince
Shan were seated. From the distance came the low strains of a military
band. Everywhere on the lawns and along the paths men and women were
promenading.

"Confess that this is better than Rumpelmayer's or the Ritz," she
murmured lazily.

"It is better," he admitted. "It is a very wonderful place."

"You have nothing like it in China?" she asked him.

"It would not be possible," he answered. "Democracy there is confined to
politics. In other respects, our class prejudices are far more rigid
than yours. But then I see a great change in this country since I was
here as a student."

"You have lost your affection for it, perhaps?" she ventured, looking at
him through half-closed eyes.

"On the contrary," he assured her, "my gratitude towards her was never
so great as at this moment. Your country has given me nothing I prize
so much, Lady Maggie, as my knowledge of you."

She looked away from his very earnest eyes, and the light retort died
away upon her lips. The men and women whom she watched so steadfastly
seemed like puppets, the flowers artificial, the music unreal. Already
she was beginning to resent the influence which he was establishing over
her. The art of badinage in which she was so proficient stood her in no
stead. Words, even the power of light speech, had deserted her.

"Tell me about the changes that you see," she asked.

"Perhaps," he replied, after a moment's hesitation, "it is because I am
an occasional visitor that differences seem so marked to me, but look at
the tables there. That is the Duke of Illinton, is it not? At the next
table, the man in the strange clothes and uncomfortable hat--it seems to
me that I have seen him somewhere under different circumstances."

Maggie nodded.

"Life is a terrible hotchpotch nowadays," she admitted. "After the war,
our gentry and aristocracy who were not wealthy were taxed out of
existence. The profiteers, and the men who had made fortunes during the
war, took their place. It has made the country prosperous but less
picturesque."

"You put things very clearly," he said. "To-day in England is certainly
the day of the shopkeeper's triumph. Wealth is a great thing, but it is
great only for what it leads to. I think your philosopher of the
streets, your new school of politicians, have alike forgotten that."

"You have lost sympathy with England, have you not, Prince Shan?" Maggie
asked him.

He turned towards her, a faint but kindly smile upon his lips, a light
in his eyes which she did not altogether understand.

"Lady Maggie," he said quietly, "they tell me that you are interested in
the political side of my visit to this country."

"Who tells you that?" she demanded. "What have I to do with politics?"

"You have been gifted with great intelligence," he continued, "and you
are the confidante of your connection, Lord Dorminster. Lord Dorminster
is one of those few Englishmen who realise the ill direction of the
destinies of this country. You would like to help him in his present
very strenuous efforts to ascertain the truth as to certain movements
directed against the British Empire. That is so, is it not?"

"In plain words, you are accusing me of being a spy."

"Ah, no!" he protested gently. "No one can be a spy in one's own
country. You are within your rights as a patriot in seeking to discover
whatever may be useful knowledge to the English Government. That, I
fear, is one reason for your kindness to me, Lady Maggie. I trust that
it is not the only reason."

She knew better than to make the mistake of denial. After all, it was an
absurdly unequal contest.

"It is not the only reason," she assured him, a little tremulously.

"I am glad. One word more upon this subject, and we speak of other
things. Please, Lady Maggie, do not stoop to be hopelessly obvious in
these efforts of yours. If I drop a pocketbook, believe me there will be
nothing in it to interest you. If I speak with Immelan or any other,
save in the secrecy of my chamber, there will be nothing which it will
be worth your while to overhear. If Lord Dorminster should decide to
adopt buccaneering expedients and kidnap me, the attempt would probably
fail; and if it succeeded, it would in the end profit you nothing. As
you say over here, for your sake, Lady Maggie, I will lay the cards upon
the table. I am discussing with Oscar Immelan, and indirectly with an
emissary from Russia, a certain scheme which, if carried out, would
certainly be harmful to this country. I shall decide for or against that
scheme entirely as it seems to me that it will be for the good or evil
of my own country. Nothing will change my purpose in that. In your heart
you know that nothing should change it. But I bring to the deliberations
upon which we are engaged a new sentiment towards your country, since I
have known you. Other things being equal, I shall decline the scheme for
your sake, Lady Maggie."

There was a curious quivering at the corners of her mouth and a lump in
her throat. She was absolutely incapable of speech. His grave and
reasonable words seemed to fill her with a sense of importance. Her
little efforts and schemes seemed puny, almost laughable.

"So you see," he continued, after a moment's pause, "that you have done
your work. You have done it very effectually. You have created a strong
sentiment in my mind in favour of this country, a sentiment which I did
not previously possess. There is no other way in which you could have
influenced the decision soon to be arrived at. In return for what I have
told you, Lady Maggie, I ask for no promise, but I beg you to forget the
role you played in Germany; not to attempt--you will not be
offended?--to influence events so far as I am concerned by any attempt
at spying upon my actions, or by treating me any other way than with
your whole confidence. I do not ask for any promise. I have said
something to you which has been on my mind. Now I shall ask you a
favour," he declared, rising to his feet. "You will walk with me through
the flower gardens yonder. If there is one thing I miss in this country
so much that the want of it makes me sometimes a little homesick," he
went on, as they moved away together, "it is the perfume of the flowers
in the morning and at night from the gardens of my summer palace. Next
time you honour me with an hour or so of your time, I shall ask you to
let me bring some pictures of my favourite home in China."

Maggie walked dutifully by his side, answering his frequent questions
about flowers and shrubs, listening while he told her about his white
peacocks and the tame birds which were his own pets. Suddenly she broke
into a fit of laughter. She looked up into his grave face, her eyes
imploring him for sympathy.

"I feel so like a precocious child," she exclaimed, "who has been put in
her place! No one has ever turned me inside out so skilfully, has made
me feel such an ignorant little donkey. Do you know, I half like you for
it, Prince Shan, and half detest you."

He seemed suddenly to become younger, to meet her upon her own ground.

"Please do not be angry," he begged. "Please do not think that I look
upon you at all as a little child. You have brought something into my
life for which I have searched and hoped, and I am deeply grateful to
you. Shall I--go on?"

She caught at his wrist.

"Please not," she begged breathlessly. "Be content with this moment."

They had paused by the side of an arbour. She suddenly felt the
pressure of his fingers upon her hand.

"I shall be content," he said, in a low tone, the passion of which
seemed to throw her senses into complete turmoil, "only when I have what
my heart desires. But I will wait."

They walked almost into the midst of a little crowd of acquaintances.
Maggie was herself again immediately. She chattered away with Chalmers,
and led him off to see a wonderful yellow rose. He watched her
curiously. When they found themselves isolated at the end of the garden
path, he ignored for a moment their mission.

"Any luck, Lady Maggie?" he asked.

She looked up at him, and to his amazement her eyes were swimming.

"I think that Prince Shan will be on our side," she replied.




CHAPTER XVII


Monsieur Felix Senn, the distinguished Frenchman who had just acquitted
himself of the special mission which had brought him to London, was a
little loath to depart from the historical chamber in Downing Street.
Diplomatically, the interview was over. The Prime Minister, however, on
this occasion, was courteous, even affable. There seemed no reason for
his visitor to hurry away.

"You will accept, I trust, sir," the latter begged, "this assurance of
my extreme regret at the present unfortunate condition of affairs. I am
one of those who threw his hat into the air on the boulevards in August,
1914, when the news came that your great country had decided to fulfil
her unwritten promises and in the cause of honour had declared war
against Germany. I have never forgotten that moment, sir, even in those
months and years of misunderstandings which followed the signing of the
Treaty of Peace. I was one of those who pointed always to the sacrifices
which Great Britain had made on our behalf, to her glorious deeds on
land and sea. I have always been a friend of your country, Mr. Mervin
Brown. That is why I think I was chosen to bring this dispatch."

"You are very welcome," the Prime Minister assured him. "As for the
purpose of your mission, I assure you that I view it less seriously than
you do. Glance with me at the position for a moment. Notwithstanding the
era of peace which has sprung up all over the world, owing to the happy
influence of the League of Nations, France alone has decided to follow
still the path of militarism. Your last year's army estimates were
staggering. The number of men whom you keep out of your factories in
order that they may learn a useless drill and wear an unnecessary
uniform is, to the economist, simply scandalous. Look at the result.
Compare our imports and exports with yours. See the leaps and strides
with which we have improved our financial position during the last ten
years. We have not only recovered from the after effects of the war, but
we have reached a state of prosperity which we never previously
attained. You, on the other hand, are still groaning with enormous
taxes. You carry a burden which is self-imposed and unnecessary. You, of
all the nations, refuse to recognise the fact that the government of the
great countries of the world has passed into the hands of the democracy,
and that democracies will not tolerate war."

"There I join issue with you, sir," the Frenchman replied. "These are
the obvious and expressed views of other European countries, yet month
by month come rumours of the training of great masses of troops, far in
excess of the numbers permitted by the League of Nations. There is all
the time a haze of secrecy over what is going on in certain parts of
Germany. And as for Russia, ostensibly the freest country in the world,
Tsarism in its worst days never imposed such despotic restrictions
concerning the coming and going of foreigners, in one particular
district, at any rate."

"The Russian Government have certainly given us cause for complaint in
that direction," Mr. Mervin Brown admitted. "Strong representations are
being made to them at the present moment. On the other hand, the reason
for their attitude is easily enough understood. In the days when Russia
lay exhausted, foreigners took too much advantage of her, attained far
too close a grip upon her great natural resources. Russia has determined
that what she has left she will keep to herself. The attitude is
reasonable, although I am free to admit that she is carrying her
legislation against foreigners too far."

"What about the number of men she has under arms every year?" Monsieur
Senn enquired.

"Russia has always a possible danger to fear from China, the new
Colossus of Asia," the Prime Minister pointed out. "Even Russia herself
has not made such strides within the last fifteen years as China. The
secession of the Asiatic countries from the League of Nations demanded
certain precautions which Russia is justified in taking."

The Frenchman had risen to his feet, but he still lingered. A tall man,
of commanding presence, with olive complexion, deep brown eyes, and
black hair lightly streaked with grey, Monsieur Felix Senn had been a
great figure in the war of 1914-1918 and had retained since a commanding
position in French politics. It had often been said that nothing but his
great friendship for England had prevented his gaining the highest
honours. His present mission, therefore, which was practically to end
the alliance between the two countries, was a peculiarly painful one to
him.

"I must tell you before we part, Mr. Mervin Brown," he said gravely,
"that neither I nor many of my fellow countrymen share your optimism.
You seem to have inherited the timeworn theory that the War of 1914 was
entirely provoked by the junker class of Germans. That is not true. It
was a people's war, and the people have never forgotten what they were
pleased to consider the harsh terms of the Treaty of Peace. Then as
regards Russia, have you ever considered that Russia financially and
politically is more than half German? When Germany lost the war, she had
one great consolation--she acquired Russia. You have compared the
economic condition of France to-day with that of your country, sir. I
admit your commercial supremacy, but let me tell you this. I would not,
for the greatest boon the gods could offer me, see France in the same
helpless state as England is in to-day."

The Prime Minister rose also to his feet. He wore an air of offended
dignity.

"Monsieur Senn," he declared, "the spirit of militarism is in the blood
of your country. You cannot rid yourself of it in one generation or two.
But, believe me, no people's government at any time in the future,
whether it be English, Russian, German, or American, will ever dare to
suggest or even to dream of a war of aggression or revenge. If we are
comparatively unprotected, it is because we need no protection. We hear
the footfall of your marching millions, and we thank God that that sound
is represented in our country by the roar of machinery and the blaze of
furnaces."

The Frenchman bowed and accepted the hand which the Prime Minister
offered him.

"I present to you once more, sir," he said, "the compliments and
infinite regrets of Monsieur le Président."

A chapter of English history ended with the quiet passing of Monsieur
Senn into the sunlit street. The latter entered his waiting automobile
and drove at once to the French Embassy. The Ambassador listened in
silence to his report.

"What about the Press?" was his only question.

"Monsieur le Président insists upon the truth being known," the emissary
announced. "France has pledged her word against secret treaties.
Besides, the honour of France must never afterwards be called in
question."

The Ambassador sighed. He was new to his present post, but he had grown
grey in the service of his country.

"It is the end of a one-sided arrangement," he declared. "It is
incredible that these people do not realise that it is against their own
country--against themselves--that this slowly fermenting hatred is being
brewed. The racial enmity between Germany and France is nothing compared
with the hate of antagonistic kinship between Germany and England.
However, France is the gainer by to-day's event. We have only our own
frontiers to watch."

Monsieur Felix Senn wandered on to the St. Philip's Club, where he found
his old friend Prince Karschoff talking in a corner of the smoking room
with Nigel. They were both of them prepared for the news which he
presently communicated to them. Karschoff was bitter, Nigel silent.

"Well said Carlyle that 'History is philosophy teaching by examples',"
the former expounded. "How the historian of the future will revel in
this epoch! What treatises he will write, what parallels he will draw!
See him point to the days when the aristocracy ruled England, and
England fought and flourished; then to the epoch when the _bourgeoisie_
took their place, and with a mighty effort, met a great emergency and
flourished. And finally, in sympathy with the great European upheaval,
in sympathy with the great natural law of change, Labour ousts both,
single-eyed Labour, and down goes England, crumbling into the dust!--Let
us lunch, my friends. The cuisine is still good here."

Nigel excused himself.

"I am engaged," he said. "We may meet afterwards."

"Something tells me, my dear Nigel," Karschoff declared, "that you are
bent on frivolity."

"If to lunch with a woman is frivolous, I plead guilty," Nigel replied.

Karschoff's face was suddenly grave. He seemed on the point of saying
something but checked himself and turned away with a little shrug of the
shoulders.

"Each one to his taste," he murmured. "For my aperitif, a dash of
absinthe in my cocktail; for Dorminster here, the lure of a woman's
smile. Perhaps he gains. Who knows?"




CHAPTER XVIII


Nigel waited for his luncheon companion in the crowded vestibule of
London's most famous club restaurant. He was to a certain extent out of
the picture among the crowd of this new generation of pleasure seekers,
on the faces of whom opulence and acquisitiveness had already laid its
branding hand. The Mecca alike of musical comedy and the Stock Exchange,
the place, however, still preserved a curious attraction for the foreign
element in London, so that when at last Naida appeared, she was
exchanging courtesies with an Italian Duchess on one side and a
celebrated Russian dancer on the other. Nigel led her at once to the
table which he had selected in the balcony.

"I have obeyed your wishes to the letter," he said, "and I think that
you are right. Up here we are entirely alone, and, as you see, they have
had the sense to place the tables a long way apart. Am I to blame, I
wonder, for asking you to do so unconventional a thing as to lunch here
again alone with me?"

She drew off her gloves and smiled across the table at him. Her plain,
tailor-made gown, with its high collar, was the last word in elegance.
The simplicity of her French hat was to prove the despair of a
well-known modiste seated downstairs, who made a sketch of it on the
menu and tried in vain to copy it. Even to Nigel's exacting taste she
was flawless.

"Is it unconventional?" she asked carelessly. "I do not study those
things. I lunch or dine with a party, generally, because it happens so.
I lunch alone with you because it pleases me."

"And for this material side of our entertainment?" he enquired, smiling,
as he handed her the menu card.

"A grapefruit, a quail with white grapes, and some asparagus," she
replied promptly. "You see, in one respect I am an easy companion. I
know exactly what I want. A mixed vermouth, if you like, yes. And now,
tell me your news?"

"There is news," he announced, "which the whole world will know of
before many hours are past. France has broken her pact with England."

"It is my opinion," she said deliberately, "that France has been very
patient with you."

"And mine," he acknowledged. "We have now to see what will become of a
fat and prosperous country with a semi-obsolete fleet and a comic opera
army."

"Must we talk of serious things?" she asked softly. "I am weary of the
clanking wheels of life."

He sighed.

"And yet for you," he said, "they are not grinding out the fate of your
country."

"Nevertheless, I too hear them all the time," she rejoined. "And I hate
them. They make one lose one's sense of proportion. After all, it is our
own individual and internal life which counts. I can understand Nero
fiddling while Rome burned, if he really had no power to call up fire
engines."

"Are you an individualist?" he asked.

"Not fundamentally," she replied, "but I am caught up in the throes of a
great reaction. I have been studying events, which it is quite true may
change the destinies of the world, so intently that I have almost
forgotten that, after all, the greatest thing in the world, my world, is
the happiness or ill-content of Naida Karetsky. It is really of more
importance to me to-day that my quail should be cooked as I like it than
that England has let go her last rope."

"You are not an Englishwoman," he reminded her.

"That is of minor importance. We are all so much immersed in great
affairs just now that we forget it is the small ones that count. I want
my luncheon to be perfect, I want you to seem as nice to me as I have
fancied you, and I want you to chase completely away the idea that you
are cultivating my acquaintance for interested motives."

"That I can assure you from the bottom of my heart is not the case," he
replied. "Whatever other interests I may feel in you," he added, after
a moment's hesitation, "my first and foremost is a personal one."

She looked at him with gratitude in her eyes for his understanding.

"A woman in my position," she complained, "is out of place. A man ought
to come over and study your deservings or your undeservings and pore
over the problem of the future of Europe. I am a woman, and I am not big
enough. I am too physical. I have forgotten how to enjoy myself, and I
love pleasure. Now am I a revelation to you?"

"You have always been that," he told her. "You are so truthful
yourself," he went on boldly, "that I shall run the risk of saying the
most banal thing in the world, just because it happens to be the truth.
I have felt for you since our first meeting what I have felt for no
other woman in the world."

"I like that, and I am glad you said it," she declared lightly enough,
although her lips quivered for a moment. "And they have put exactly the
right quantity of Maraschino in my grapefruit. I feel that I am on the
way to happiness. I am going to enjoy my luncheon.--Tell me about
Maggie."

"I saw her yesterday," he answered. "We have arranged for her to come
and live at Belgrave Square, after all."

"My terrible altruism once more," she sighed. "I had meant not to speak
another serious word, and yet I must. Maggie is very clever, amazingly
clever, I sometimes think, but if she had the brains of all of her sex
rolled into one, she would still be facing now an impossible situation."

"Just what do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

"Maggie seems determined to measure her wits with those of Prince Shan,"
she said. "Believe me, that is hopeless."

She looked up at him and laughed softly.

"Oh, my dear friend," she went on, "that wooden expression is wonderful.
You do not quite know where I stand, except--may I flatter myself?--as
regards your personal feelings for me. Am I for Immelan and his schemes,
or for your own foolish country? You do not know, so you make for
yourself a face of wood."

"Where do you stand?" he asked bluntly.

"Sufficiently devoted to your interests to beg you this," she replied.
"Do not let your little cousin think that she can deal with a man like
Prince Shan. There can be only one end to that."

Nigel moved a little uneasily in his place.

"Prince Shan is only an ordinary human being, after all," he protested.

"That is just where you are mistaken," she declared. "Prince Shan is one
of the most extraordinary human beings who ever lived. He is one of the
most farseeing men in the world, and he is absolutely the most
powerful."

"But China," Nigel began--

"His power extends far beyond China," she interrupted, "and there is no
brain in the world to match his to-day."

"If he were a god wielding thunderbolts," Nigel observed, "he could
scarcely do much harm to Maggie here in London."

"There was an artist once," she said reflectively, "who drew a
caricature of Prince Shan and sent it to the principal comic paper in
America. It was such a success that a little time later on he followed
it up with another, which included a line of Prince Shan's ancestors.
Within a month's time the artist was found murdered. Prince Shan was in
China at the time."

"Are you suggesting that the artist was murdered through Prince Shan's
contrivance?"

"Am I a fool?" she answered. "Do you not know that to speak
disrespectfully of the ancestors of a Chinaman is unforgivable? To all
appearances Prince Shan never moved from his wonderful palace in Pekin,
many thousands of miles away. Yet he lifted his little finger and the
man died."

"Isn't this a little melodramatic?" Nigel murmured.

"Melodrama is often nearer the truth than people think," she said.
"Shall I give you another instance? I know of several."

"One more, then."

"Prince Shan was in Paris two years ago, incognito," she continued.
"There was at the time a small but very fashionable restaurant in the
Bois, close to the Pré Catelan. He presented himself one night there for
dinner, accompanied, I believe, by La Belle Nita, the Chinese dancer who
is in London to-day. As you know, there is little in Prince Shan's
appearance to denote the Oriental, but for some reason or other the
proprietor refused him a table. Prince Shan made no scene. He left and
went elsewhere. Three nights later, the café was burnt to the ground,
and the proprietor was ruined."

"Anything else?" Nigel asked.

"Only one thing more," she replied. "I have known him slightly for
years. In Asia he ranks to all men as little less than a god. His
palaces are filled with priceless treasures. He has the finest
collection of jewels in the world. His wealth is simply inexhaustible.
His appearance you appreciate. Yet I have never seen him look at a woman
as he looked at your cousin the first time he met her. I was at the Ritz
with my father, and I watched. I know you think that I am being foolish.
I am not. I am a person with a very great deal of common sense, and I
tell you that Prince Shan has never desired a thing in life to which he
has not helped himself. Maggie is a clever child, but she cannot toss
knives with a conjuror."

Nigel was impressed and a little worried.

"It seems absurd to think that anything could happen to Maggie here in
London," he said, "after--"

He paused abruptly. Naida smiled at him.

"After her escape from Germany, I suppose you were going to say? You
see, I know all about it. There was no Prince Shan in Berlin."

He shrugged his shoulders slightly.

"Well," he admitted, "I don't quite bring myself to believe in your
terrible ogre, so I shall not worry. Tell me what news you have from
Russia?"

"Political?"

"Any news."

She smiled.

"I notice," she said, "that English people are changing their attitude
towards my country. A few years ago she seemed negligible to them. Now
they are beginning to have--shall I call them fears? Even my kind host,
I think, would like to know what is in Paul Matinsky's heart as he hears
the friends of Oscar Immelan plead their cause."

"I admit it," he told her frankly. "I will go farther. I would give a
great deal to know what is in your own mind to-day concerning us and our
destiny. But these things are not for the moment. It was not to discuss
or even to think of them that I asked you here to-day."

"Why did you invite me, then?" she asked, smiling.

"Because I wanted the pleasure of having you opposite me," he
replied,--"because I wanted to know you better."

"And are you progressing?"

"Indifferently well," he acknowledged. "I seem to gain a little and
slide back again. You are not an easy person to know well."

"Nothing that is worth having is easy," she answered, "and I can assure
you, when my friendship is once gained, it is a rare and steadfast
thing."

"And your affection?" he ventured.

Her eyes rested upon his for a moment and then suddenly drooped. A
little tinge of colour stole into her cheeks. For a moment she seemed to
have lost her admirable poise.

"That is not easily disturbed," she told him quietly. "I think that I
must have an unfortunate temperament, there are so few people for whom I
really care."

He took his courage into both hands.

"I have heard it rumoured," he said, "that Matinsky is the only man who
has ever touched your heart."

She shook her head.

"That is not the truth. Paul Matinsky cares for me in his strange way,
and he has a curiously exaggerated appreciation of my brain. There have
been times," she went on, after a moment's hesitation, "when I myself
have been disturbed by fancies concerning him, but those times have
passed."

"I am glad," he said quietly.

His fingers, straying across the tablecloth, met hers. She did not
withdraw them. He clasped her hand, and it remained for a moment passive
in his. Then she withdrew it and leaned back in her chair.

"Is that meant to introduce a more intimate note into our conversation?"
she asked, with a slight wrinkling of the forehead and the beginnings of
a smile upon her lips.

"If I dared, I would answer 'yes'," he assured her.

"They tell me," she continued pensively, "that Englishmen more than any
other men in the world have the flair for saying convincingly the things
which they do not mean."

"In my case, that would not be true," he answered. "My trouble is that I
dare not say one half of what I feel."

She looked across the table at him, and Nigel suddenly felt a great
weight of depression lifted from his heart. He forgot all about his
country's peril. Life and its possibilities seemed somehow all
different. He was carried away by a rare wave of emotion.

"Naida!" he whispered.

"Yes?"

Her eyes were soft and expectant. Something of the gravity had gone from
her face. She was like a girl, suddenly young with new thoughts.

"You know what I am going to say to you?"

"Do not say it yet, please," she begged. "Somehow it seems to me that
the time has not come, though the thought of what may be in your heart
is wonderful. I want to dream about it first," she went on. "I want to
think."

He laughed, a strange sound almost to his own ears, for Nigel, since his
uncle's death, had tasted the very depths of depression.

"I obey," he agreed. "It is well to dally with the great things.
Meanwhile, they grow."

She smiled across at him.

"I hope that they may," she answered. "And you will ask me to lunch
again?"

"Lunch or dine or walk or motor--whatever you will," he promised.

She reflected for a moment and then laughed. She was drawing on her
gloves now, and Nigel was paying the bill.

"There are some people who will not like this," she said.

"And one," he declared, "for whom it is going to make life a Paradise."

They passed out into the street and strolled leisurely westwards. As
they crossed Trafalgar Square, a stream of newsboys from the Strand were
spreading in all directions. Nigel and his companion seemed suddenly
surrounded by placards, all with the same headlines. They paused to
read:

              _TRIUMPH OF THE CHANCELLOR_
          _HUGE REDUCTION OF THE NATIONAL DEBT_
           _TOTAL ABOLITION OF THE INCOME TAX_

They walked on. Naida said nothing, although she shook her head a little
sorrowfully. Nigel glanced across the Square and down towards
Westminster.

"They will shout themselves hoarse there this afternoon," he groaned.

For the first time she betrayed her knowledge of coming events.

"It is amazing," she whispered, "for the writing on the wall is already
there."




CHAPTER XIX


Seated in one of the first tier boxes at the Albert Hall, in the
gorgeous but obsolete uniform of a staff officer in the Russian Imperial
Forces, Prince Karschoff, with Nigel on one side and Maggie on the
other, gazed with keen interest at the brilliant scene below and around.
The greatest city the world has ever known seemed in those days to have
entered upon an orgy of extravagance unprecedented in history. Every box
and every yard of dancing space on the floor beneath was crowded with
men and women in wonderful fancy costumes, the women bedecked with
jewels which eager merchants had brought together from every market of
the world; even the men, in their silks and velvets and ruffles,
carrying out the dominant note of wealth. It was a ball given for
charity and under royal patronage.

"All our friends seem to be here to-night," the Prince remarked,
glancing around. "I saw Naida with her father and the eternal Oscar
Immelan. Chalmers is here with an exceedingly gay party, and yonder sits
his Imperial Highness, looking very much the barbaric prince.--By the
by," he added, glancing towards Maggie, "I thought that he was not
coming?"

Maggie, who seemed a little tired, nodded quietly. It was a week or ten
days later, and an early season was now in full swing.

"He told me that he was not coming," she said. "I suppose the temptation
to wear that gorgeous raiment was too much for him."

"Apropos of that, there is one curious thing to be noted here with
regard to clothes," the Prince continued. "Amongst the men, you find
Venetian Doges, Chancellors, gallants of every age, but scarcely a
single uniform. In a way, this seems typical of the passing of the
militarism of your country. You are beginning to remind me of Venice in
the Middle Ages. There is a new type of brain dominant here, fat instead
of muscle, a citizen aristocracy instead of the lean, clear-eyed,
athletic type."

Maggie moved in her place a little irritably.

"I am tired of warnings," she declared. "I wish some one could do
something."

"It is impossible," the Prince pronounced solemnly. "Napoleon earned for
himself a greater claim to immortality when he christened the English a
nation of shopkeepers than when he won the Battle of Austerlitz. If the
Englishman of to-day saw his material prosperity slipping away from him,
then indeed he would be nervous and restless, ready to lean towards
every wind that blew, to listen to every disquieting rumour. To-day his
bank balance is prodigious, and all's well with the world.--How
wonderfully Prince Shan lives up to his part to-night!"

They looked across towards the opposite box, whose single occupant, in
the bright green robes of a mandarin, sat looking down upon the gay
throng with an absolutely immovable expression. There was something
almost regal about his air of detachment, his solitude amidst such a gay
scene.

"There is one of the strangest and most consistent figures in history,"
Karschoff, who was in a talkative frame of mind, went on reflectively.
"I honestly believe that Prince Shan considers himself to be of
celestial descent, to carry in his person the honour of countless
generations of Manchus. He has no intimates. Even Immelan usually has to
seek an audience. What his pleasures may be, who knows?--because
everything that happens with him happens behind closed walls. To-night,
the door of his box is guarded as though he were more than royalty. No
one is allowed to enter unless he has special permission."

"There is some one entering now," Maggie pointed out, "for the first
time. Watch!"

La Belle Nita stood for a moment in the front of the box. She was
dressed in the gala costume of a Chinese lady, in a cherry-coloured robe
with wide sleeves, her hair, with its many jewelled ornaments, like a
black pool of night, her face ghastly white with a superabundance of
powder. Prince Shan turned his head slightly towards her, and though no
muscle of his face moved, it was obvious that her coming was unwelcome.
She began to talk. He listened with the face of a sphinx. Presently she
drew back into the shadows of the box. She had thrown herself into a
chair, and her face was hidden.

"La Belle Nita has made a mistake," Maggie observed. "His Serene
Highness evidently had no wish to be disturbed."

Karschoff's eyes rested upon the figure in green silk, and they were
filled with an unwilling admiration.

"That man is magnificent," he declared. "Watch his face now that he is
speaking. Not a muscle moves, not a flash in his eyes, yet one has the
fancy that he is saying terrible things."

It was obvious, a moment later, that La Belle Nita had left the box.
Maggie sprang up. Her colour was a little heightened. There was a rare
nervousness in her tone.

"Let us walk around and find some of the others," she suggested, turning
to Nigel. "I want to dance."

They all three passed out and mingled with the dancers. Maggie put on
her mask and deliberately glided into the crowd as though with the
intention of losing herself. It was not until she was underneath Prince
Shan's box and out of sight of its occupant that she paused. Her
thoughts were in a turmoil. His presence there, after his deliberate
assurance to her that he had no intention of coming, his calm and
unnoticing regard of her and every one else, seemed to confirm in every
way the wave of pessimism which she as well as Nigel was experiencing.
She had passed Immelan in the entrance, and there was something
ominously disturbing in his cool, triumphant smile. She pictured to
herself the agreement signed, some nameless terror already launched. She
remembered that Nigel had complained of Naida's inaccessibility during
the last few days. She herself had been surprised at Prince Shan's
apparent withdrawal, temporary though it might be, from the peculiar but
impressive position which he had taken up with regard to her.

She stood back against the wall, in a dark corner, striving to collect
her thoughts, thankful for the brief respite from conversation. A man in
the costume of a monk, who had followed her across the room, touched her
on the shoulder. He spoke in a quiet, unfamiliar voice with a foreign
accent,

"You are Lady Maggie Trent?"

"Yes!"

"Will you please go to box number fourteen, on the second tier? There is
some one there who waits for you."

"Who is it?" she asked.

The monk had glided away. Maggie, after a few minutes' reflection,
slipped out into the corridor, mounted one flight of stairs, and passed
along the semicircular balcony. The door of box number fourteen was
ajar. She pushed it gently open and glanced in. Seated so as to be out
of sight of the whole house was La Belle Nita. For a moment the two
looked at each other. Then the Chinese girl sprang to her feet, made a
quaint little bow, and, gliding around, closed the door behind her
visitor.

"Sit down, please," she invited. "I will tell you things you may like to
hear."

A sudden thought flashed into Maggie's mind. She began to see light. She
obeyed at once. The two women sat well back and out of sight of the
house. La Belle Nita held the handle of the door in her hand while she
spoke, as though to prevent any one entering.

"I have an enemy who was once a friend," she said, "and I wish to do him
evil. He is not only my enemy, but he is yours. He is the enemy of all
you English people, because it is a great disaster which he plans to
bring upon you."

"You speak of Prince Shan?" Maggie exclaimed.

Even at the mention of his name, the girl shook. She looked around as
though fearing the shadows. She rattled the door to make sure that it
was closed.

"For him whom you call Prince Shan I have worked many years, first of
all in Paris, now here. I was content with small reward. That reward he
now takes from me. It is my wish to betray him."

"Why do you send for me?" Maggie asked.

"Because you have been an English spy," was the quiet reply. "It may
surprise you that I know that, but I do know. I have been a spy for
Prince Shan in Paris. You were a spy for England in Berlin. You were a
spy for your country's sake; I was a spy for love. Now I betray for
hate."

"Please go on."

"Prince Shan came this time to Europe with two schemes in his mind," the
girl continued. "One concerned France. That one he has discarded.
Through me he learned of the military strength of France, her secret
resources, of her tireless watch upon the Rhine. So he listens to
Immelan, and Immelan and he together, oh, English lady, they have made a
wonderful plan!"

"Are you going to tell me what it is?" Maggie asked, her eyes bright
with excitement.

"I cannot tell you because I do not know," was the unwilling admission,
"but I will make it so that you can discover for yourself. A few hours
ago, the plan was submitted to Prince Shan. It lies in the third drawer
of an ebony cabinet, in the room on the left-hand side of the hall after
you have entered his house in Curzon Street."

"But no one can enter it!" Maggie exclaimed. "The place is like a fort.
No stranger may pass the threshold even. The Prince has told me himself
that he receives no visitors."

La Belle Nita smiled. From a pocket somewhere within the folds of her
flowing gown, she produced two small keys.

"Listen," she said. "The house in Curzon Street has been called the
House of Silence. There are many servants there, but they come only from
beneath and when they are summoned. There is what no other person has
ever possessed--the key of the front door. There is also the key of the
cabinet. Prince Shan has ordered his automobile for two o'clock. It is
now barely midnight."

The keys lay in the palm of Maggie's hand. Her heart had begun to beat
quickly. Somehow or other, she was conscious of a thrill of excitement
which she had never before experienced, even when she had sat back in
her corner of the railway carriage, watching for the frontier, knowing
that the wires were busy with her name, and that men who knew no mercy
were on her track.

"If the servants should hear me?" she faltered.

"You say only 'I await the Prince'," La Belle Nita murmured. "That key
never leaves his own person save for one in great favour. They will
believe that he gave it to you. You will be unmolested."

A queer sensation suddenly assailed Maggie. She felt extraordinarily
primitive, ridiculously feminine. She looked at the girl opposite to
her, the girl whose body was draped in perfumed silks, whose face was
thick with rice powder, whose eyes were sad. She felt no pity. What
feeling she had, she did not care to analyse.

"Is this your key?" she asked.

"It was mine once, but its use has been forbidden to me," the girl
replied. "Prince Shan is a changed man. Something has come into his life
of which I know nothing, but as it has come, so must I go. I give you
your chance, lady, but already I weaken. Go quickly, if you go at all.
Please leave me, for I am very unhappy."

Maggie stole quietly out and made her way through the jostling throng
back to her own box, which for the moment was empty. She slipped on her
cloak, and from the hidden spaces where she stood she looked across the
auditorium. The silent figure in green silk robes was still seated in
his place, his eyes following the movements of the dancers, his head a
little thrown back, a slight weariness in his face. He was still alone.
He still had the air of being alone because it was his desire. Once he
looked up towards the box in which she was, and Maggie, although she
knew she was invisible, shrank back against the wall. She set her teeth
hard and looked back through the slightly misty space. An unfamiliar
feeling for a moment almost choked her. She waited until she had
vanquished it, then adjusted her mask and left the box.




CHAPTER XX


From the moment when the taxicab drove away and left her in the deserted
street, Maggie was conscious of a strange sense of suppressed
excitement, something more poignant and mysterious, even, than the
circumstances of her adventure might account for. It was exciting
enough, in its way, to play the part of a marauding thief, to find
herself unexpectedly face to face with a possible solution of the great
problem of Prince Shan's intentions. But beneath all this there was
another feeling, more entirely metaphysical, which in a sense steadied
her nerves because it filled her with a strange impression that she had
lost her own identity, that she was playing somebody else's part in a
novel and thrilling drama.

The street was empty when she inserted the little key in the front door.
There was not a soul there to see her step in as it swung open and then
softly, noiselessly, but without any conscious effort of hers, closed
again behind her. She held her breath and looked around.

The hall was round, painted white and dimly lit by an overhead electric
globe. In the centre was a huge green vase filled with great branches of
some sort of blossoms. Not a picture hung upon the walls, nor was there
any hall stand, chest, closet for coats or hats, or any of the usual
furbishings of such a place. There were three rugs upon the polished
floor and nothing else except a yawning stairway and closed doors.
Whatever servants might be in attendance were evidently in a distant
part of the building. Not a sound was to be heard. Still without any
lack of courage, but oppressed with that curious sense of unreality, she
turned almost automatically towards the door on the left and opened it.
Again it closed behind her noiselessly. She realised that she was in one
of the principal reception rooms of the house, dimly lit as the hall
from a dome-shaped globe set into the ceiling. She moved a yard or two
across the threshold and stood looking about her. Here again there was
an almost singular absence of furniture. The walls were hung with
apple-green silk, richly embroidered. There were some rugs upon the
polished floor, a few quaintly carved chairs set with their backs
against the wall, and opposite to her the ebony cabinet of which La
Belle Nita had spoken. She moved towards it. Somehow or other, she found
herself with the other key in her hand, stooping down. She counted the
drawers--one, two three--fitted in the key, turned it, and realised with
a little start the presence in the drawer of a roll of parchment, tied
around with tape and sealed with a black seal. She laid her hand upon
it, but even at that moment she felt a shiver pass through her body.
There had been no sound in the room, which she could have sworn had been
empty when she entered it, yet she had now a conviction that she was not
alone. She turned slowly around, her lips parted, breathing quickly.
Standing in the middle of the room, a grim, commanding figure in his
flowing green robes, the dim light flashing upon the great diamonds in
his belt, stood Prince Shan.

To Maggie at that moment came a great throbbing in her ears, a sense of
remoteness from this terrible happening, followed by an intense and
vital consciousness of danger. The man who had brought new things into
her life, the polished gentleman of the world, with his fascinating
brain and gentle courtesy, had gone. It was Prince Shan of China who
stood there. She felt the chill of his contempt and disapproval in her
heart. She had forfeited her high estate. She was a convicted thief,--an
adventuress!

She gripped at the side of the cabinet. Her poise had gone. She had the
air of a trapped animal.

"You!" she exclaimed. "How did you get here?"

He answered her without change of expression. A sense of crisis seemed
to have made his tone more level, his face stony.

"It is my house," he said. "I do not often leave it. I sat in my
sleeping chamber behind"--he pointed to the silken curtains through
which he had passed--"I heard your entrance and guessed with pain and
regret at your mission."

"But a quarter of an hour ago you were at the ball!"

"You are mistaken," he replied. "I do not attend such gatherings. I had
given you my word that I should not be there."

"But I saw you," she persisted, "in that same costume!"

"Surely not," he dissented. "The person whom you saw was a gentleman
from my suite, who wore the dress of an inferior mandarin. He is
sometimes supposed to resemble me. I should have believed that your
apprehension of such things would have informed you that no Prince of my
line would wear the garments of his order for a public show."

Her fingers had left the drawer now. She stood upright, pale and
desperate.

"That woman of your country, then--La Belle Nita--did she lie to me?"

"How can I tell?" he answered coldly, "because I do not know what she
said."

Maggie made an effort to test her position.

"I came here as a thief," she confessed. "I am detected. What are your
intentions?"

He moved very slowly a little closer to her. Maggie felt her sense of
excitement grow.

"You came here as a thief," he repeated, "as a spy. Why did you not ask
me for the information you desired?"

"Because you would not have told me," she replied, "at least you would
not have told me the truth."

"For a price," he said, "the truth would have been yours for the asking.
For a different price it is yours now."

Again without noticeable movement he seemed to have drawn nearer. The
edge of that cool ebony cabinet seemed to be burning her fingers. Try
however hard, she could not frame the question which had risen to her
lips.

"The price," he continued, "is you--yourself. A few hours ago it was
your love I craved for. Now it is yourself."

He was so near to her now that she faced the steady radiance of his
wonderful eyes, so near that she could trace the faint lines about his
mouth, the strong, stern immobility of his perfectly shaped,
olive-tinted features.

"You are too wonderful," he went on, "to remain a daughter of the crude
West. I want to take you back with me to the land where life still moves
to poetry, to the land where one can live in a world unknown by these
struggling hordes. You shall live in a palace where the perfume of
flowers lingers always, with the sound of running water in your ears, a
palace from which all sordid things and all manner of ugliness are
banished because we alone have found the key to the garden of
happiness."

He raised his hand, and it seemed as though unseen eyes watched them
from every quarter. The silken curtains through which he had issued were
drawn back by invisible hands, and the inner apartment was disclosed.
Its faint illumination was obscured with purple shades. There was a high
lacquer bedstead, with little ivory ladders on either side, a bedstead
hung with silks of black and purple and mauve. There was a huge couch, a
shrine opposite the bed, in which was a kneeling figure of black marble.
A faint odour, as though from thousand-year-old sachets, very faint
indeed and yet with its mead of intoxication, seemed to steal out from
the room, which had borrowed from its curious hangings, its marvellous
adornments, its strangely attuned atmosphere, all the mysticism of a
fabled world.

"You have come," he said. "Will you stay?" The inertia seemed suddenly
to leave her limbs. She threw up her head as though gasping for air,
escaped, somehow or other, from the thrall of his eyes, and passed
across the smooth floor with flying footsteps. Her fingers seized the
handle of the door and turned it, only to find it held by some invisible
fastening. She shook it passionately. There was not even sound. She
turned back once more. Prince Shan had only slightly changed his
position. He stood upon the threshold of the inner room, and his arms
were outstretched in invitation.

"Am I a prisoner?" she sobbed.

"You came of your own free will," he replied. "You will stay for my
pleasure and for the joy of my being. As for these things," he went on,
moving slowly to the cabinet, picking up the pile of papers and throwing
them on one side contemptuously, "these are only one's amusements. I
pass my lighter hours with them. They interest me in the same manner as
a chess problem. We do not care, we in the mighty East, which of you
holds your head highest this side of Suez. All you western nations are
to us a peck of dust outside our palace gates. Listen, dear one. We can
leave, if you will, to-night, and top the clouds before sunrise. And I
promise you this," he went on, "when you pass from the greyness of these
sordid lands into the everlasting sunshine of the East, you will not
care any longer about these people who go about the world on all fours.
Day by day you will know what life and love mean. You will find the
cloying weight of material things pass from your brain and body, and the
joy of holy and wonderful living take their place."

Her whole being was in a turmoil. She drew nearer to the papers upon the
table. She was now within a yard of Prince Shan himself. He made no
effort to intercept her, no movement of any sort to stop her. Only his
eyes never left her face, and she felt a madness which seemed to be
choking the life out of her, a pounding of her heart against her ribs, a
strange and wonderful joy, a joy in which there was no fear, a joy of
new things and new hopes. With the papers for which she had come only a
few yards away, she forgot them. She turned her head slowly. His arms
seemed to steal out from those long, silken sleeves. She suddenly felt
herself held in a wonderful embrace.

"Dear lady of all my desires," he whispered in her ear, "you shall make
me happy and find the secret of happiness yourself in giving, in
suffering, in love."

For a long and wonderful moment she lay in his arms. She felt the soft
burning of his kisses, the call of the room with its intoxicating, yet
strangely ascetic perfume, the room to which all the time he seemed to
be gently leading her. And then a flood of strange, alien recollections
and realisations seemed to bring her from a better place back to a
worse,--the sound of a passing taxicab, the distant booming of Big Ben,
sounds of the world outside, the actual day-by-day world, with its
day-by-day code of morals, the world in which she lived, and her
friends, and all that had made life for her. She drew away, and he
watched the change in her.

"I want to go!" she cried. "Let me go!"

"You are no prisoner," he assured her sadly.

He clapped his hands. She had reached the door by now and found the
handle yield to her fingers. Outside in the hall, the front door stood
open, and a heavy rain was beating in on the white flags. She looked
around. She was in her own atmosphere here. Their eyes met, and his were
very sorrowful.

"My servants are assembling," he said. "You will find a car at your
service."

Even then she hesitated. There was a strange return of the wonderful
emotion of a few minutes ago. She hoped almost painfully that he would
call. Instead, he lifted the silk hangings and passed out of sight.
Somehow or other, she made her way down the hall. A butler stood upon
the steps, another servant was holding open the door of a limousine just
drawn up. She had no distinct recollection of giving any address. She
simply threw herself back amongst the cushions. It was not until they
were in Piccadilly that she suddenly remembered that she had left upon
the table the papers he had scornfully offered her. Then she began to
laugh.




CHAPTER XXI


It chanced that the box was empty when Maggie, with flying footsteps,
hastened down the corridor and pushed open the door. She sank into a
chair, her knees trembling, her senses still dazed. Deliberately,
although with hot and trembling fingers, she folded over and tore into
small pieces a programme of the dances, which she had picked up from an
adjoining chair. The action, insignificant though it was, seemed to
bring her back into touch with the real and actual world, the world of
music and wild gayety, of swiftly moving feet, of laughter and
languorous voices. For a brief space of time she had escaped, she had
wandered a little way into an unknown country, a country from whose
thrilling dangers she had emerged with a curious feeling that life would
never be altogether the same again. She glanced at the clock at the back
of the box. She had been absent from the Hall altogether only about an
hour and twenty minutes. There was still at least an hour before it
would be possible for her to plead weariness and escape. And opposite,
in the shadows of the distant box, the mock Prince Shan seemed always to
be gazing at her with that cryptic smile upon his lips.

Presently the door was stealthily opened. A face as pale as death, with
black eyes like pieces of coal, was framed for a moment in the shadowed
slit. A little waft of familiar perfume stole in. La Belle Nita, her
flaming lips widely parted, as soon as she recognised the sole occupant
of the box, crept through the opening and closed the door again.

"You are here?" she exclaimed incredulously. "Your courage failed you?
You did not go?"

"I have been and returned," Maggie answered. "Now tell me what I have
done that you should have plotted this thing against me?"

The girl sat on the edge of a chair and for a moment hummed the refrain
of a sad chant, as she rocked slowly backwards and forwards.

"'What have you done?' the rose asked the butterfly. 'What have you
done?' the mimosa blossom asked the little blue bird, whose wings
fluttered amongst her leaves. 'You have taken love from me, love which
is the blossom of life.'"

"It sounds very picturesque," Maggie said coldly, "but I do not follow
your allegory. What I want to know is why you lied to me, why you sent
me to that house to meet Prince Shan?"

"How did I lie to you?" Nita demanded. "The papers you sought were
there. Were they not yours for the asking, or was the price too great?"

"The papers were there, certainly," Maggie acquiesced, "but you knew
very well--"

She stopped short. Slowly the Oriental idea of it all was beginning to
frame itself in her mind. She dimly understood the bewilderment in the
other's face.

"The papers were there, and he, the most wonderful of all men, was
there," Nita murmured, "yet you leave him while the night is yet young,
you return here without them!"

Maggie rose from her chair, moved to the side table and poured herself
out a glass of wine, which she drank hastily. Anything to escape from
the scornful wonder of those questioning eyes!

"I did not go there," she said, "to make bargains with Prince Shan. I
believed as you wished me to believe, that he was here in that box. I
believed that I should have found the house empty, should have found
what I wanted and have escaped with it. Why did you do this thing? Why
did you send me on that errand when you knew that Prince Shan was
there?"

"It was my desire that he should know that you are no different from
other women," was the calm reply. "I was a spy for him. You are a
spy--against him."

"It was a deliberate plot, then!" Maggie exclaimed, trying to feel the
anger which she imparted to her tone.

La Belle Nita suddenly laughed, softly and like a bird.

"You very, very foolish Englishwoman," she said. "A hand leaned down
from Heaven, and you liked better to stay where you were, but I am
glad."

"And why?"

"Because I have been his slave," the girl continued. "At odd, strange
moments he has shown me a little love, he has let me creep into a small
corner of his heart. Now I am cast out, and there is no more life for me
because there is no more love, and there is no more love because, having
felt his, no other can come after. Here have I sat with all the tortures
of Hell burning in my blood because I knew that you and he were there
alone, because I was never sure that, after all, I was not doing my
lord's will. And now I know that I suffered in vain. You did not
understand."

Maggie looked across at her visitor reflectively. She was beginning to
regain her poise.

"Listen," she said, "did you seriously expect me to accept Prince Shan
as a lover?"

The girl's eyes were round with wonder.

"It would be your great good fortune," she murmured, "if he should offer
you so wonderful a thing."

Maggie laughed,--persisted in her laugh, although it sounded a little
hard and the mirth a little forced.

"I cannot reason with you," she declared, "because you would not
understand. If you love him so much, why not go back to him? You will
find him quite alone. I dare say you know the secrets of his lockless
doors and hordes of unseen servants."

La Belle Nita rose to her feet. About her lips there flickered the
faintest smile.

"Young English lady," she said, "I shall not go, because I am shut for
ever out of his heart. But listen; would you have me go?"

For a moment Maggie's poise was gone again. A strange uncertainty was
once more upon her. She was terrified at her own feelings. The smile on
the other's lips deepened and then passed away.

"Ah," she murmured, as with a little bow she turned towards the door,
"you are not all snow and ice, then! There is something of the woman in
you. He must have known that. I am better content."

Alone in the box, Maggie was confronted once more with spectres. She
felt all the fear and the sweetness of this new awakening. The old
dangers and problems, the danger of life and death, the problem of her
well-ordered days, fell away from her as trifles. There was wilder music
in the world than any to which she had yet listened,--music which seemed
to be awakening vibrant melodies in her terrified heart. The curtain
which hung about the forbidden world had been suddenly lifted. Little
shivers of fear convulsed her. Her standards were confused, her whole
sense of values disturbed. Her primal virginity, left to itself because
it had never needed a guard, had suddenly become a questioning thing.
She sat there face to face with this new phase in her life. She was not
even conscious of the abrupt pause in the music, the agitated murmur of
voices, the sudden cessation of that rhythmical sweep of footsteps on
the floor below.

The door of the box was once more opened. Naida, attired as a lady of
the Russian Court, entered, followed by Nigel. Both were obviously
disturbed. Nigel, who was in ordinary evening dress, carrying his
discarded mask in his hand, was paler than usual and exceedingly grave.
Naida's dark eyes, too, seemed filled with a sense of awesome things.
Almost at the same moment, Maggie realised for the first time that the
music had ceased, that there was a hush outside, curiously perceptible,
almost audible.

"What has happened?" she asked breathlessly.

Nigel had poured out a glass of wine and was holding it to Naida's lips.

"Something very terrible," he said quietly. "Prince Shan was murdered in
his box there a few minutes ago."

Maggie half rose to her feet. The walls seemed spinning round. Then she
looked across the great empty space. The still figure in the apple-green
coat had disappeared.

"Prince Shan was murdered in that box," she repeated, "a few minutes
ago?"

"Yes!" Nigel assented gravely. "He seems to have feared something of the
sort, for he had two servants on guard outside and announced that he
was not receiving visitors to-night. No one knows any particulars, but a
number of people in the auditorium saw him fall sideways from his chair.
When he was picked up, there was a small dagger through his heart."

"Through Prince Shan's heart?" Maggie persisted wildly.

"Yes!"

Suddenly she began to laugh. It was a strange, hysterical ebullition of
feeling, frankly horrifying. Naida gazed at her with distended eyes.

"Prince Shan has never been here!" Maggie explained brokenly. "He has
never left his house in Curzon Street! He is there now!"

Nigel shook his head.

"What is the matter with you, Maggie?" he demanded. "Every one has seen
Prince Shan here. You spoke of him yourself. He was in the box exactly
opposite."

She shook her head.

"That was one of his suite," she cried. "I know! I tell you I know!" she
went on, her voice rising a little. "Prince Shan is safe in his house in
Curzon Street."

"How can you possibly know this, Maggie?" Naida intervened eagerly.

"Because I left him there half an hour ago," was the tremulous reply.




CHAPTER XXII


There is in the Anglo-Saxon temperament an almost feverish desire to
break away from any condition of strain, a sort of shamefaced impulse to
discard emotionalism. The strange hush which had lent a queer sensation
of unreality to all that was passing in the great building was without
any warning brought to an end. Whispers swelled into speech, and speech
into almost a roar of voices. Then the music struck up, although at
first there were few who cared to dance. There were many who, like
Maggie and her companions, silently left their places and hurried
homewards.

In the limousine scarcely a word was spoken. Maggie leaned back in her
seat, her face dazed and expressionless. Opposite to her, Nigel sat with
set, grim face, looking with fixed stare out of the window at the
deserted streets. Of the three, Naida seemed more on the point of giving
way to emotion. They had passed Hyde Park Corner, however, before a word
was spoken. Then it was she who broke the silence.

"Where do we go to first?" she demanded.

"To the Milan Court," Nigel replied.

"You are taking me home first, then?"

"Yes!"

She was silent for a moment. Then she leaned forward and touched the
window.

"Pull that down, please," she directed. "I am stifling."

He obeyed, and the rush of cold, wet air had a curiously quietening
effect upon the nerves of all of them. Raindrops hung from the leaves of
the lime trees and still glittered upon the windowpane. On the way
towards the river, the masses of cloud were tinged with purple, and
faintly burning stars shone out of unexpectedly clear patches of sky.
The night of storm was over, but the wind, dying away before the dawn,
seemed to bring with it all the sweetness of the cleansed places, to be
redolent even of the budding trees and shrubs,--the lilac bushes,
drooping with their weight of moisture, and the pink and white chestnut
blossoms, dashed to pieces by the rain but yielding up their lives with
sweetness. The streets, in that single hour between the hurrying
homewards of the belated reveller and the stolid tramp of the early
worker, were curiously empty and seemed to gain in their loneliness a
new dignity. Trafalgar Square, with the National Gallery in the
background, became almost classical; Whitehall the passageway for
heroes.

"What does it all mean?" Naida asked, almost pathetically.

It was Maggie who answered. Her tone was lifeless, but her manner
almost composed.

"It means that the attempt to assassinate Prince Shan has failed," she
said. "Prince Shan told me himself that he had no intention of going to
the ball. He kept his word. The man who was murdered was one of his
suite."

"But how do you know this?" Naida persisted.

"You heard what I told you in the box," was the quiet reply. "I shall
explain--as much as I can explain--to Nigel when we get home. He can
tell you everything later on to-day at lunch-time, if you like."

"It has been one of the strangest nights I ever remember," Naida
declared, after a brief pause. "Oscar Immelan, who was dining with us,
arrived half an hour late. I have never seen him in such a condition
before. He had the air of a broken man."

"Have you any idea of what had happened?" Nigel asked.

"Only this," Naida replied. "We saw Prince Shan last night. He spent
several hours with us. I may be wrong, but I came to the conclusion then
that he had at any rate modified his views about the whole situation
since his arrival in England."

Again there was a brief silence. The minds of all three of them were
busy with the same thought. Prince Shan's word had been spoken and
Immelan's hopes dashed to the ground,--and within a few hours, this
murder! They nursed the thought, but no one put it into words.

A sleepy-eyed porter opened the door of the car outside the Milan Court.
Naida gathered herself together with a little shiver.

"I think that after to-night," she said quietly, "there need be no
secrets between any of us."

Nigel held her hand in his. Their eyes met, and both of them were
conscious, in that moment, of closer personal relations, of the passing
of a certain sense of strain. She even smiled as she turned away.

"To-morrow," she concluded, "there must be a great exchange of
confidences. I am lunching at Belgrave Square, if Maggie has not
forgotten, and I shall tell you then what I have written to Paul
Matinsky. I showed it to Prince Shan yesterday. Good night!"

She patted Maggie's hand affectionately and flitted away. The revolving
doors closed behind her, and the car swung out once more into the
Strand, glided down the Mall, past Buckingham Palace, and stopped at
last before the great, lifeless house in Belgrave Square. Nigel opened
the front door with a latchkey and turned on the light.

"You won't mind sparing me a few minutes?" he begged.

"I suppose not," she answered, shivering.

He led the way to the study. She threw off her cloak and sank into the
depths of one of the big easy-chairs. She looked very frail and rather
pathetic as she leaned her head against the chair back. Now that the
excitement was over, the strain of the emotion she had experienced
showed in the violet shadows under her eyes and in the droop of her
shoulders.

"I am tired," she said plaintively.

Nigel came over and sat on the arm of her chair.

"Tell me what happened to-night, Maggie."

"The little Chinese girl sent for me to go to her box," she explained.
"She told me where in Prince Shan's house were hidden the papers which
revealed the understanding between Immelan and himself. She gave me a
key of the house and a key of the cabinet. We could both see the man
whom I believed to be Prince Shan seated in his box. She assured me that
he would be there for the next two hours. I went to the house in Curzon
Street."

"Well?"

His monosyllable was sharp and incisive. His face was grey and anxious.
She herself remained lifeless. All that there was of emotion between
them seemed to have become vested in his searching eyes.

"I found what I believe to have been the papers. They were in the
cabinet, just where she had told me. Then I turned around and found
Prince Shan watching me. He had been there all the time."

"Go on, please."

"At first he said little, but I knew that he was very angry. I have
never felt so ashamed in my life."

"You must tell me the rest, please."

She stirred uneasily in her chair.

"It is very difficult," she confessed frankly.

"Remember," he persisted, "that in a way, Maggie, I am your guardian. I
am responsible, too, for anything which may happen to you whilst you are
engaged in work for the good of our cause. You seem to have walked into
a trap. Did he threaten you, or what?"

"There was nothing definite," she answered, "and yet--he made me
understand."

"Made you understand what?"

"His wishes," she replied, looking up coolly. "He offered me the
papers."

"That damned Chinaman!"

There was a cold light in her eyes which Nigel had met with before and
dreaded.

"You forget yourself, Nigel," she said. "Prince Shan is a great
nobleman."

"The rest? Tell me the rest," he demanded.

"I am here," she reminded him.

"And the papers?"

"I came away without them."

He turned, and, walking to the window, threw it open. The dawn had
become almost silvery, and the leaves of the overhanging trees were
rustling in the faintest of breezes. Presently he came back.

"What exactly are your feelings for this man, Maggie?" he asked.

For the first time he was struck with a certain pathos in her immobile
face. She looked up at him, and there was a gleam almost of fear in her
eyes.

"I don't know, Nigel," she confessed.

He moved restlessly about the room, seemed to notice for the first time
the whisky and soda set out upon the sideboard and the open box of
cigarettes. He helped himself and came back.

"Did you read the papers?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"I had no chance."

"You don't know for certain what they were about?"

"I think I do," she replied. "I believe they contained the text of the
agreement between Immelan and Prince Shan. I believe they would have
shown us exactly what we have to fear."

He stood there for a moment thoughtfully.

"To-night," he said, "I find it difficult to concentrate upon these
things. Naida was extraordinarily hopeful. She has seen Prince Shan, and
between them I believe that they have decided to let Oscar Immelan's
scheme alone. Karschoff, too, has heard rumours. He is of the same
opinion. Somehow or other, though, I seem to have lost my sense of
perspective. A greater fear has come into my heart, Maggie."

She rose to her feet and laid her hands upon his shoulders.

"Nigel," she whispered, "I cannot answer you. I cannot say what you
would like me to say, although, on the other hand, there is no surety of
what you seem to fear. I am going to bed. I am very tired."

A feeble shaft of sunlight stole into the room, flickered and passed
away, then suddenly reappeared. Nigel turned and opened the door, and
she passed out, curiously silent and absorbed. He looked after her,
perplexed and worried. Suddenly a strangely commonplace, yet--in the
silence of the house and the great hall--an almost dramatic sound
startled him. The front doorbell rang sharply. After a moment's
hesitation, he hurried to it himself. Karschoff stood upon the steps,
still in his evening clothes, his face a little drawn and haggard in the
bright light.

"I could not resist coming in, Nigel," he said. "I saw the light in the
study from outside. Is there any definite news?"

Nigel drew him inside.

"There are indications," he replied cautiously, "that the present danger
is passing."

Karschoff nodded.

"I gathered so from Naida," he admitted. "Prince Shan, though, is the
pivot upon which the whole thing turns. You have heard nothing final
from him?"

"Nothing! Tell me, was any one arrested at the Albert Hall?"

"No one. The murdered man, as I suppose you have heard, was Sen Lu, one
of the Prince's secretaries."

"The whole thing seems strange," Nigel remarked. "Do you suppose Prince
Shan knew that an attempt upon his life was likely to-night?"

Karschoff shook his head doubtfully.

"It is difficult to say. These Orientals contrive to surround themselves
with such an atmosphere of mystery. But from what I know of Prince
Shan," he went on, "I do not think that he is one to shirk danger--even
from the assassin's dagger."

A milk cart drew up with a clatter outside. There was the sound of the
area gate being opened. Karschoff put on his hat. He looked Nigel in the
face.

"Maggie," he began--

Nigel nodded understandingly as he threw open the front door.

"I'll tell you about it to-morrow," he promised, "or rather later on
to-day. She's a little overwrought. Otherwise--there's nothing."

Karschoff turned away with a sigh of relief.

"I am glad," he said. "Prince Shan is the soul of honour according to
his own standard, but these Orientals--one never knows. I am glad,
Nigel."




CHAPTER XXIII


In his spacious reception room, with its blue walls, the high vases of
flowers, the faint odour of incense, its indefinable ascetic charm,
Prince Shan sat in his high-backed chair whilst Li Wen, his trusted
secretary talked. Li Wen was very eloquent. His tone was never raised,
he never forgot that he was speaking to a being of a superior world. He
had a great deal to say, however, and he was eager to say it. Prince
Shan, as he listened, smoked a long cigarette in a yellow tube. He wore
a ring in which was set an uncut green stone on the fourth finger of his
left hand. Although the hour was barely nine o'clock, he was shaved and
dressed as though for a visit of ceremony. He listened to Li Wen gravely
and critically.

"I am sorry about the little one," he said, looking through the cloud of
tobacco smoke up towards the ceiling. "Nita has been very useful. She
has been as faithful, too, as is possible for a woman."

Li Wen bowed and waited. He knew better than to interrupt.

"It was through the information which Nita brought me," his master went
on, "that I have been able to check the truth of Immelan's statement as
to the French dispositions and the _rapprochement_ with Italy. Nita has
served me very well indeed. What she has done in this matter, she has
done in a moment of caprice."

"My lord," Li Wen ventured, "a woman is of no account in the plans of
the greatest. She is like a leaf blown hither or thither on the winds of
love or jealousy. She may be used, but she must be discarded."

"It is a strange world, this western world," Prince Shan mused. "In our
own country, Li Wen, we plot or we fight, we build the great places,
climb to the lofty heights, and when we rest we pluck flowers, and women
are our flowers. But here, while one builds, the women are there; while
one climbs, the women are in the way. They jostle the thoughts, they
disturb the emotions, not only of the poet and the pleasure seeker, but
of the man who hews his way upwards to the goal he seeks. And it is very
deliberate, Li Wen. An Englishman eats and drinks in public and places
opposite him a flower he has plucked or hopes to pluck. He drugs himself
deliberately. Half the time when he should be soaring in his thoughts,
he descends of deliberate intent. Instead of his flower, he makes his
woman the partner of his grossness."

"The master speaks," Li Wen murmured. "But what of the woman? She awaits
your pleasure."

"I shall hear what she has to say," Prince Shan decided.

Walking backwards as nimbly as a cat, his head drooped, his hands in
front of him, Li Wen left his master's presence. A moment later he
reappeared, ushering in La Belle Nita. Prince Shan waved him away. The
girl came slowly forward, pale and trembling, smouldering fires in her
narrow eyes. Not a muscle of Prince Shan's face moved. He watched her
approach in silence. She sank on to the floor by the side of his chair.

"What is my master's will?" she asked.

Prince Shan looked downwards at her, and she began to tremble again.
There was nothing threatening in his eyes, nothing menacing in his
expression. Nevertheless, she felt the chill of death.

"You have done me many good and faithful services, Nita," he said. "What
evil spirit has put it into your brain that it would be a good thing to
deceive me?"

Her scarlet lips opened and closed again.

"How have I deceived?" she faltered. "I gave the keys to the woman with
the blue eyes, and I sent her to my lord. It was a hard thing to do
that, but I did it. Was there any risk of evil? My lord was here to deal
with her."

"Why did you do this thing, Nita?" he asked.

"My lord knows," she answered simply. "I did it to bring evil upon this
English woman whom he has preferred. I did it that he might understand.
It was my lord himself who told me that she was a spy. Now it is
proved."

Prince Shan's fingers stole into the pocket of his coat. He held out a
crumpled sheet of paper, on which was written a single sentence. The
girl began to shiver.

"You have been very anxious indeed, Nita," he said, "to bring evil upon
this woman. This is the message you sent to Immelan. Do you recognise
your words? Listen, these are your words:

"'The greatest of all will desert you, if the Englishwoman whom he loves
is not speedily removed. Even to-night he may give papers into her hand,
and your secret will be known.'"

The girl sat transfixed. She seemed to have lost all power of speech.

"That is a copy of the message which you sent to Immelan," he told her
sternly.

"It is the terrible Li Wen," she faltered. "He has the second sight. The
devil walks with him."

"The devil is sometimes a useful confederate," her companion continued
equably. "You warned Immelan that it was in my mind to refuse his terms
and to open my heart to the Englishwoman, and you seduced Sen Lu to
carry your message. Yet your judgment was at fault. The hand of Immelan
was stretched out against me, and me alone. But for my knowledge of
these things, I might have sat in the place of Sen Lu, who rightly died
in my stead. What have you to say?"

She rose to her feet. He made no movement, but his eyes watched her, and
the muscles of his body stiffened. He watched the white hand which stole
irresolutely towards the loose folds of her coat.

"You ask me why I have done this," she cried, "but you already know. It
is because you have taken this woman with the blue eyes into your
heart."

"If that were true," he answered, "of what concern is it to others? I am
Prince Shan."

"You sent me here to breathe this cursed western atmosphere," she
moaned, "to drink in their thoughts and see with their eyes. I see and
know the folly of it all, but who can escape? Jealousy with us is a
disease. Over there one creeps away like a hurt animal because there is
nothing else. Here it is different. The Frenchwoman, the Englishwoman,
who loses her lover--she does not fold her hands. She strikes, she is a
wronged creature. I too have felt that."

Her master sat for long in silence.

"You are right," he pronounced. "I shall try to be just. You are a
person of small understanding. You have never made any effort to live
with your head in the clouds. Let that be so. The fault was mine."

"I do not wish to live," she cried.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Live or die--what does it matter?" he answered indifferently. "With
life there is pain, and with death there is none, but if you choose
life, remember this. The woman with the blue eyes, as you call her, has
become the star of my life. If harm should come to her, not only you,
but every one of your family and race, in whatsoever part of the world
they may be, will leave this life in agony."

The girl stood and wondered.

"My lord thinks so much of a plaything?" she murmured.

Prince Shan frowned. His finely shaped, silky eyebrows almost met. She
covered her eyes and drooped her head.

"We of the East," he said, "although we are the mightier race, progress
slowly, because the love of new things is not with us. Something of
western ways I have learned, and the love of woman. It is not for a
plaything I desire her whom we will not name. She shall sit by my side
and rule. I shall wed her with my brain as with my body. Our minds will
move together. We shall feel the same shivering pleasure when we rule
the world with great thoughts as when our bodies touch. I shall teach
her to know her soul, even as my own has been revealed to me."

"No woman is worthy of this, my lord," the girl faltered.

He waved his hand and she stole away. At the door he stopped her.

"Do you go to life or death, Nita?" he asked.

She looked at him with a great sorrow.

"I am a worthless thing," she replied. "I go where my lord's words have
sent me."

Li Wen reappeared presently for an appointed audience. He brought
messages.

"Highness," he announced, "there is a code dispatch here from Ki-Chou.
An American gained entrance to the City last week. Yesterday he left by
æroplane for India. He was overtaken and captured. It is feared,
however, that he has agents over the frontier, for no papers were found
upon him."

"It was a great achievement," Prince Shan said thoughtfully. "No other
foreigner has ever passed into our secret city. Is there word as to how
he got there?"

"He came as a Russian artificer from that city in Russia of which we do
not speak," Li Wen replied. "He brought letters, and his knowledge was
great."

"His name?" the Prince asked.

"Gilbert Jesson, Highness. His passport and papers refer to Washington,
but his message, if he sent one, is believed to have come to London."

"The man must die," the Prince said calmly. "That, without doubt, he
expects. Yet the news is not serious. My heart has spoken for peace, Li
Wen."

Li Wen bowed low. His master watched him curiously.

"If I had asked it, Li Wen, where would your counsel have led?"

"Towards peace, Highness. I do not trust Immelan. It is not in such a
manner that China's Empire shall spread. There are ancestors of mine who
would turn in their graves to find China in league with a western
Power."

"You are a wise man, Li Wen," his master declared. "We hold the mastery
of the world. What shall we do with it?"

"The mightiest sword is that which enforces peace," was the calm reply.
"Highness, the lady whom you were expecting waits in the anteroom."

Prince Shan nodded. He welcomed Naida, who was ushered in a moment or
two later, with rather more than his usual grave and pleasant courtesy,
leading her himself to a chair.

"I wondered," she confessed, "if I were ever to be allowed to see inside
your wonderful house."

"It is my misfortune to be compelled to pay so brief a visit to this
country," he replied. "As a rule, it gives me great pleasure to open my
rooms three evenings and entertain those who care to come and see me."

"I have heard of your entertainments," she said, smiling. "Prima donnas
sing. You rob the capitals of Europe to find your music. Then the great
Monsieur Auguste is lured from Paris to prepare your supper, and not a
lady leaves without some priceless jewel."

"I entertain so seldom," he reminded her. "I fear that the fame of my
feasts has been exaggerated."

"When do you leave, Prince?" she asked him.

"Within a few days," he replied.

"I come for your last word," she announced. "All that I have written to
Paul Matinsky you know."

"The last word is not yet to be spoken," he said. "This, however, you
may tell Matinsky. The scheme of Oscar Immelan has been laid before me.
I have rejected it."

"In what other way, then, would you use your power?" she asked.

He made no answer. She watched him with a great and growing curiosity.

"Prince," she said, "they tell me that you are a great student of
history."

"I have read what is known of the history of most of the countries of
the world," he admitted.

"There have been men," she persisted, "who have dealt in empires for the
price of a woman's smile."

"Such men have loved," he said, "as I love."

"Yet for you life has always been a great and lofty thing," she reminded
him. "You could not stand where you do if you had not realised the
beauty and wonder of sacrifice. Fate has given the peace of the world
into your keeping. You will not juggle with the trust?"

He rose to his feet. A servant stood almost immediately at the open
door.

"Fate and an American engineer," he remarked with a smile. "I thank you,
dear lady, for your visit. You will hear my news before I leave."

She looked into his eyes for a moment.

"It is a great decision," she said, "which rests with you!"




CHAPTER XXIV


An hour or so later, Prince Shan left his house in Curzon Street and,
followed at a discreet distance by two members of his household,
strolled into the Park. It had pleased him that morning to conform
rigorously to the mode of dress adopted by the fashionable citizens of
the country which he was visiting. Few people, without the closest
observation, would have taken him for anything but a well-turned-out,
exceedingly handsome and distinguished-looking Englishman. He carried
himself with a faint air of aloofness, as though he moved amongst scenes
in which he had no actual concern, as though he were living, in thought
at any rate, in some other world. The morning was brilliantly sunny, and
both the promenade and the Row were crowded. Slightly hidden behind a
tree, he stood and watched. A gay crowd of promenaders passed along the
broad path, and the air was filled with the echo of laughter, the jargon
of the day, intimate references to a common world, invitations lightly
given and lightly accepted. It was Sunday morning, in a season when
colour was the craze of the moment, and the women who swept by seemed to
his rather mystical fancy like the flowers in some of the great open
spaces he knew so well, stirred into movement by a soft wind. They were
very beautiful, these western women; handsome, too, the men with whom
they talked and flirted. Always they had that air, however, of absolute
complacency, as though they felt nothing of the quest which lay like a
thread of torture amongst the nerves of Prince Shan's being. There was
no more distinguished figure among the men there than he himself, and
yet the sense of alienation grew in his heart as he watched. There were
many familiar faces, many to whom he could have spoken, no one who would
not have greeted him with interest, even with gratification. And yet he
had never been so deeply conscious of the gulf which lay between the
oriental fatalism of his life and ways and the placid self-assurance of
these westerners, so well-content with the earth upon which their feet
fell. He had judged with perfect accuracy the place which he held in
their thoughts and estimation. He was something of a curiosity, his
title half a joke, the splendour of his long race a thing unrealisable
by these scions of a more recent aristocracy. Yet supposing that this
new wonder had not come into his life, that Immelan had been a shade
more eloquent, had pleaded his cause upon a higher level, that Naida
Karetsky also had formed a different impression of the world which he
was studying so earnestly,--what a transformation he could have brought
upon this light-hearted and joyous scene! The scales had so nearly
balanced; at the bottom of his heart he was conscious of a certain faint
contempt for the almost bovine self-satisfaction of a nation without
eyes. Literature and painting, art in all its far-flung branches, even
science, were suffering in these days from a general and paralysing
inertia. Life which demanded no sacrifice of anybody was destructive of
everything in the nature of aspiration. Sport seemed to be the only
incentive to sobriety, the desire to live long in this fat land the only
brake upon an era of self-indulgence. He looked eastwards to where his
own millions were toiling, with his day-by-day maxims in their ears, and
it seemed to his elastic fancy that he was inhaling a long breath of
cooler and more vigorous life.

The current of his reflections was broken. He had moved a little towards
the rails, and he was instantly aware of the girl cantering towards
him,--a slight, frail figure, she seemed, upon a great bay horse. She
wore a simple brown habit and bowler hat, and she sat her horse with
that complete lack of self-consciousness which is the heritage of a born
horsewoman. She was looking up at the sky as she cantered towards him,
with no thought of the crowds passing along the promenade. Yet, as she
drew nearer, she suddenly glanced down, and their eyes met. As though
obeying his unspoken wish, she reined in her horse and came close to the
rails behind which he stood for a moment bareheaded. There was the
faintest smile upon her lips. She was amazingly composed. She had asked
herself repeatedly, almost in terror, how they should meet when the time
came. Now that it had happened, it seemed the most natural thing in the
world. She was scarcely conscious even of embarrassment.

"You are demonstrating to the world," she remarked, "that the reports of
your death this morning were exaggerated?"

"I had forgotten the incident," he assured her calmly.

His callousness was so unaffected that she shivered a little.

"Yet this Sen Lu, this man for whom you were mistaken, was an intimate
member of your household, was he not?"

"Sen Lu was a very good friend," Prince Shan answered. "He did his duty
for many years. If he knows now that his life was taken for mine, he is
happy to have made such atonement."

She manoeuvred her horse a little to be nearer to him.

"Why was Sen Lu murdered?" she asked.

"There are those," he replied, "of whom I myself shall ask that question
before the day is over."

"You have an idea, then?" she persisted.

"If," he said, "you desire my whole confidence, it is yours."

She sat looking between her horse's ears.

"To tell you the truth," she confessed, "I do not know what I desire.
Your philosophy, I suppose, does not tolerate moods. I shall escape from
them some time, I expect, but just now I seem to have found my way into
a maze. The faces of these people don't even seem real to me, and as for
you, I am perfectly certain that you have never been in China in your
life."

"Tell me the stimulant that is needed to raise you from your apathy," he
asked. "Will you find it in the rapid motion of your horse--a very noble
animal--in the joy of this morning's sunshine and breeze, or in the
toyland where these puppets move and walk?" he added, glancing down the
promenade. "Dear Lady Maggie, I beg permission to pay you a visit of
ceremony. Will you receive me this afternoon?"

She knew then what it was that she had been hoping for. She looked down
at him and smiled.

"At four o'clock," she invited.

She nodded, touched her horse lightly with the whip, and cantered off.
Prince Shan found himself suddenly accosted by a dozen acquaintances,
all plying him with questions. He listened to them with an amused smile.

"The whole affair is a very simple one," he said. "A member of my
household was assassinated last night. It was probably a plot against my
own life. Those things are more common with us, perhaps, than over
here."

"Jolly country, China, I should think," one of the younger members of
the group remarked. "You can buy a man's conscience there for
ninepence."

Prince Shan looked across at the speaker gravely.

"The market value here," he observed, "seems a little higher, but the
supply greater."

"_Touché_!" Karschoff laughed. "There is another point of view, too. The
further east you go, the less value life has. Westwards, it becomes an
absolute craze to preserve and coddle it, to drag it out to its
furthermost span. The American millionaire, for example, has a resident
physician attached to his household and is likely to spend the aftermath
of his life in a semi-drugged and comatose condition. And in the East,
who cares? If not to-day--to-morrow! Inevitability, which is the
nightmare of the West, is the philosophy of the East. By the by,
Prince," he added, "have you any theory as to last night's attempt?"

"That is just the question," Prince Shan replied, "which two very
intelligent gentlemen from Scotland Yard asked me this morning. Theory?
Why should I have a theory?"

"The attempt was without a doubt directed against you," Karschoff
observed. "Do you imagine that it was personal or political?"

"How can I tell?" the Prince rejoined carelessly. "Why should any one
desire my death? These things are riddles. Ah! Here comes my friend
Immelan!" he went on. "Immelan, help us in this discussion. You are not
one of those who place the gift of life above all other things in the
world!"

"My own or another's?" Immelan asked, with blunt cynicism.

"I trust," was the bland reply, "that you are, as I have always esteemed
you, an altruist."

"And why?"

Prince Shan shrugged his shoulders. He was a very agreeable figure in
the centre of the little group of men, the hands which held his malacca
cane behind his back, the smile which parted his lips benign yet
cryptic.

"Because," he explained, "it is a great thing to have more regard for
the lives of others than for one's own, and there are times," he added,
"when it is certainly one's own life which is in the more precarious
state."

There was a little dispersal of the crowd, a chorus of congratulations
and farewells. Immelan and Prince Shan were left alone. The former
seemed to have turned paler. The sun was warm, and yet he shivered.

"Just what do you mean by that, Prince?" he asked.

"You shall walk with me to my house, and I will tell you," was the quiet
reply.




CHAPTER XXV


"I suppose," Immelan suggested, as the two men reached the house in
Curzon Street, "it would be useless to ask you to break your custom and
lunch with me at the Ritz or at the club?"

His companion smiled deprecatingly.

"I have adopted so many of your western customs," he said
apologetically. "To this lunching or dining in public, however, I shall
never accustom myself."

Immelan laughed good-naturedly. The conversation of the two men on their
way from the Park had been without significance, and some part of his
earlier nervousness seemed to be leaving him.

"We all have our foibles," he admitted. "One of mine is to have a pretty
woman opposite me when I lunch or dine, music somewhere in the distance,
a little sentiment, a little promise, perhaps."

"It is not artistic," Prince Shan pronounced calmly. "It is not when the
wine mounts to the head, and the sense of feeding fills the body, that
men speak best of the things that lie near their hearts. Still, we will
let that pass. Each of us is made differently. There is another thing,
Immelan, which I have to say to you."

They passed into the reception room, with its shining floor, its
marvellous rugs, its silken hangings, and its great vases of flowers.
Prince Shan led his companion into a recess, where the light failed to
penetrate so completely as into the rest of the apartment. A wide
settee, piled with cushions, protruded from the wall in semicircular
shape. In front of it was a round ebony table, upon which stood a great
yellow bowl filled with lilies. Prince Shan gave an order to one of the
servants who had followed them into the room and threw himself at full
length among the cushions, his head resting upon his hand, his face
turned towards his guest.

"They will bring you the aperitif of which you are so fond," he said,
"also cigarettes. Mine, I know, are too strong for you."

"They taste too much of opium," Immelan remarked.

Prince Shan's eyes grew dreamy as he gazed through a little cloud of
odorous smoke.

"There is opium in them," he admitted. "Believe me, they are very
wonderful, but I agree with you that they are not for the ordinary
person."

The soft-footed butler presented a silver tray, upon which reposed a
glassful of amber liquid. Immelan took it, sipped it appreciatively, and
lit a cigarette.

"Your man, Prince," he acknowledged, "mixes his vermouths wonderfully."

"I am glad that what he does meets with your approval," was the
courteous reply. "He came to me from one of your royal palaces. I simply
told him that I wished my guests to have of the best."

"Yet you never touch this sort of drink yourself," Immelan observed
curiously.

The Prince shook his head.

"Sometimes I take wine," he said. "That is generally at night. A few
evenings ago, for instance," he went on, with a reminiscent smile, "I
drank Chateau Yquem, smoked Egyptian cigarettes, ate some muscatel
grapes, and read 'Pippa Passes.' That was one of my banquets."

"As a matter of fact," Immelan remarked thoughtfully, "you are far more
western in thought than in habit. The temperance of the East is in your
blood."

"I find that my manner of life keeps the brain clear," Prince Shan said
slowly. "I can see the truth sometimes when it is not very apparent. I
saw the truth last night, Immelan, when I sent Sen Lu to die."

Immelan's expression was indescribable. He sat with his mouth wide open.
The hand which held his glass shook. He stared across the bowl of lilies
to where his host was looking up through the smoke towards the ceiling.

"Sen Lu was a traitor," the latter went on, "a very foolish man who with
one act of treachery wiped out the memory of a lifetime of devotion. In
the end he told the truth, and now he has paid his debt."

"What do you mean?" Immelan demanded, in a voice which he attempted in
vain to control. "How was Sen Lu a traitor?"

"Sen Lu," the Prince explained, "was in the pay of those who sought to
know more of my business than I chose to tell--who sought, indeed, to
anticipate my own judgment. When they gathered from him, and, alas! from
my sweet but frail little friend Nita, that the chances were against my
signing a certain covenant, they came to what, even now, seems to me a
strange decision. They decided that I must die. There I fail wholly to
follow the workings of your mind, Immelan. How was my death likely to
serve your purpose?"

Immelan was absolutely speechless. Three times he opened his lips, only
to close them again. Some instinct seemed to tell him that his companion
had more to say. He sat there as though mesmerised. Meanwhile, the
Prince lit another cigarette.

"A blunder, believe me, Immelan," he continued thoughtfully. "Death will
not lower over my path till my task is accomplished. I am young--many
years younger than you, Immelan--and the greatest physicians marvel at
my strength. Against the assassin's knife or bullet I am secure. You
have been brought up and lived, my terrified friend, in a country where
religion remains a shell and a husk, without comfort to any man. It is
not so with me, I live in the spirit as in the body, and my days will
last until the sun leans down and lights me to the world where those
dwell who have fulfilled their destiny."

Immelan drained the contents of the glass which his unsteady hand was
holding. Then he rose to his feet. The veins on his forehead were
standing out, his blue eyes were filled with rage.

"Blast Sen Lu!" he muttered. "The man was a double traitor!"

"He has atoned," his companion said calmly. "He made his peace and he
went to his death. It seems very fitting that he should have received
the dagger which was meant for my heart. Now what about you, Oscar
Immelan?"

Immelan laughed harshly.

"If Sen Lu told you that I was in this plot against your life, he lied!"

The Prince inclined his head urbanely.

"Such a man as Sen Lu goes seldom to his death with a lie upon his
lips," he said. "Yet I confess that I am puzzled. Why should you plan
this thing, Immelan? You cannot know what is in my mind concerning your
covenant. I have not yet refused to sign it."

"You have not refused to sign it," Immelan replied, "but you will
refuse."

"Indeed?" the Prince murmured.

"You are even now trifling with the secrets confided to you," Immelan
went on. "You know very well that the woman who came to you last night
is a spy whose whole time is spent in seeking to worm our secret from
you."

"Your agents keep themselves well informed," was the calm comment.

"Yours still have the advantage of us," Immelan answered bitterly. "Now
listen to me. I have heard it said of you--I have heard that you claim
yourself--that you have never told a falsehood. We have been allies.
Answer me this question. Have you parted with any of our secrets?"

"Not one," the Prince assured him. "A certain lady visited this house
last night, not, as you seem to think, at my invitation, but on her own
initiative. She was not successful in her quest."

"She would not pay the price, eh?" Immelan sneered. "By the gods of your
ancestors, Prince Shan, are there not women enough in the world for you
without bartering your honour, and the great future of your country, for
a blue-eyed jade of an Englishwoman?"

The Prince sat slowly up. His appearance was ominous. His face had
become set as marble; there was a look in his eyes like the flashing of
a light upon black metal. He contemplated his visitor across the lilies.

"A man so near to death, Immelan," he enjoined, "might choose his words
more carefully."

Immelan laughed scornfully.

"I am not to be bullied," he declared. "Your doors with their patent
locks have no fears for me. When you walk abroad, you are followed by
members of your household. When you come to my rooms, they attend you. I
am not a prince, but I, too, have a care for my skin. Three of my secret
service men never let me out of their sight. They are within call at
this moment."

His host smiled.

"This is very interesting," he said, "but you should know me better,
Immelan, than to imagine that mine are the clumsy methods of the dagger
or the bullet. The man whom I will to die--drinks with me."

He pointed a long forefinger at the empty glass. Immelan gazed at it,
and the sweat stood out upon his forehead.

"My God!" he muttered. "There was a queer taste! I thought that it was
aniseed!"

"There was nothing in that glass," the Prince declared, "which the
greatest chemist who ever breathed could detect as poison, yet you will
die, my friend Immelan, without any doubt. Shall I tell you how? Would
you know in what manner the pains will come? No? But, my friend, you
disappoint me! You showed so much courage an hour ago. Listen. Feel for
a swelling just behind--Ah!"

Immelan was already across the room. The Prince touched a bell, the
doors were opened. Ghastly pale, his head swimming, the tortured man
dashed out into the street. The Prince leaned back amongst his cushions,
untied a straw-fastened packet of his long cigarettes, lit one, and
closed his eyes.




CHAPTER XXVI


Nigel was just arriving at Dorminster House when Maggie returned from
her ride. He assisted her to dismount and entered the house with her.

"There is something here I should like to show you, Maggie," he said, as
he drew a dispatch from his pocket. "It was sent round to me half an
hour ago by Chalmers, from the American Embassy."

"It's about Gilbert Jesson!" Maggie exclaimed, holding out her hand for
it.

Nigel nodded.

"There's a note inside, and an enclosure," he said. "You had better read
both."

Maggie opened out the former:

     MY DEAR DORMINSTER,

     I am afraid there is rather bad news about Jesson. One of our
     regular line of airships, running from San Francisco to
     Vladivostok, has picked up a wireless which must have come from
     somewhere in the South of China. They kept it for a few days, worse
     luck, thinking it was only nonsense, as it was in code. Washington
     got hold of it, however, and cabled it to us last night. I enclose
     a copy, decoded.

     Sincerely yours,

     JERE CHALMERS.

The copy was brief enough. Maggie felt her heart sink as she glanced
through the few lines:

     Report dispatched London. Fear escape impossible. Good-by.

     JESSON.

"Horrible!" Maggie exclaimed, with a shiver. "I thought he was in
Russia."

"So did we all," Nigel replied. "He must have come to the conclusion
that the key to the riddle he was trying to solve was in China, and gone
on there. Look here, Maggie," he continued, after a moment's hesitation,
"do you think anything could be done for Jesson with Prince Shan?"

Maggie was silent. They were standing in a shaded corner of the hall,
but a fleck of sunshine shone in her hair. She was still a little out of
breath with the exercise, her cheeks full of healthy colour, her eyes
bright. She tapped her skirt with her riding whip. Nigel watched her a
little uneasily.

"Prince Shan is calling here this afternoon," Maggie announced. "I hope
you don't mind."

"What are you going to say to him?" Nigel asked bluntly.

There was a short, tense silence. Even at the thought of the crisis
which she knew to be so close at hand, Maggie felt herself unnerved and
in dubious straits.

"I do not know," she said at last. "For one thing, I do not know what he
wants."

"What he wants seems perfectly plain to me," Nigel replied gravely. "He
wants you."

Maggie made a desperate effort to regain the lightheartedness of a few
weeks ago.

"If you believe that," she said, "your composure is most unflattering."

There was a ring at the front doorbell, and a familiar voice was heard
outside. Maggie turned away to the staircase with a little sigh of
relief.

"Naida!" she exclaimed. "I remember now I asked her for a quarter past
one instead of half-past. You must entertain her, Nigel. I'll change
into something quickly. And of course I'll speak to Prince Shan. We
mustn't lose a minute about that. I'll telephone from my room in a few
minutes, Naida. Nigel will look after you."

Naida came down the hall, cool and exquisitely gowned in a creation of
shimmering white. Nigel led her into the rarely used drawing-room and
found a chair for her between the open window and the conservatory. At
first they exchanged but few words. The sense of her near presence
affected Nigel as nothing of the sort had ever done before. She for her
part seemed quite content with a silence which had in it many of the
essentials of eloquence.

"If the history of these days is ever written by an irascible German
historian," Naida remarked at length, "he will probably declare that the
destinies of the world have been affected during this last month by an
outburst of primitivism. Do you know that I have written quite nice
things to Paul about you English people? Honest things, of course, but
still things which you helped me to discover. And Prince Shan, too. I
think that when he rode here through the clouds, he believed in his
heart that he was coming as a harbinger of woe."

"You really think, then, that the crisis is past?" Nigel asked.

She nodded.

"I am almost sure of it. Prince Shan returns to China within the course
of the next few days."

"We have lived so long," Nigel observed, "in dread of the unknown. I
wonder whether we shall ever understand the exact nature of the danger
with which we were faced."

"It depends upon Prince Shan," she replied. "The terms were Immelan's,
but the method was his."

"Do you believe," he asked a little abruptly, "that the attempt on
Prince Shan's life last night was made by Immelan?"

There was a touch, perhaps, of her Muscovite ancestry in the cool
indifference with which she considered the matter.

"I should think it most likely," she decided. "Prince Shan never changes
his mind, and I believe that he has decided against Immelan's scheme.
Immelan's only chance would be in Prince Shan's successor."

"Why is China so necessary?" Nigel asked.

She turned and smiled at her companion.

"Alas!" she sighed, "we have reached an _impasse_. The great English
diplomat asks too many questions of the simple Russian girl."

"It is unfortunate," he replied, in the same vein, "because I feel like
asking more."

"As, for example?"

"Whether you would be content to live for the rest of your life in any
other country except Russia."

"A woman is content to live anywhere, under certain circumstances," she
murmured.

Karschoff, discreetly announced, entered the room with flamboyant ease.

"It is well to be young!" he exclaimed, as he bent over Naida's fingers.
"You look, my far-away but much beloved cousin, as though you had slept
peacefully through the night and spent the morning in this soft, sunlit
air, with perhaps, if one might suggest such a thing, an hour at a Bond
Street beauty parlour. Here am I with crow's-feet under my eyes and
ghosts walking by my side. Yet none the less," he added, as the door
opened and Maggie appeared, "looking forward to my luncheon and to hear
all the news."

"There is no news," Naida declared, as the butler announced the service
of the meal. "We have reached the far end of the ways. The next
disclosures, if ever they are made, will come from others. At luncheon
we are going to talk of the English country, the seaside, the meadows,
and the quiet places. The time arrives when I weary, weary, of the
brazen ticking of the clock of fate."

"I shall tell you," Nigel declared, "of a small country house I have in
Devonshire. There are rough grounds stretching down to the sea and
crawling up to the moors behind. My grandfather built it when he was
Chancellor of England, or rather he added to an old farmhouse. He called
it the House of Peace."

"My father built a house very much in the same spirit," Naida told them.
"He called it after an old Turkish inscription, engraven on the front of
a villa in Stamboul--'The House of Thought and Flowers.'"

Maggie smiled across the table approvingly.

"I like the conversation," she said. "Naida and I are, after all, women
and sentimentalists. We claim a respite, an armistice--call it what you
will. Prince Karschoff, won't you tell me of the most beautiful house
you ever dwelt in?"

"Always the house I am hoping to end my days in," he answered. "But let
me tell you about a villa I had in Cannes, fifteen years ago. People
used to speak of it as one of the world's treasures."

When the two men were seated alone over their coffee, Nigel passed
Chalmers' note and the enclosure across to his companion.

"You remember I told you about Chalmers' friend, Jesson, the secret
service man who came over to us?" he said. "Chalmers has just sent me
round this."

Karschoff nodded and studied the message through his great horn-rimmed
eyeglass.

"I thought that he was going to Russia for you," he said.

"So he did. He must have gone on from there."

"And the message comes from Southern China," Prince Karschoff reflected.

Nigel was deep in thought. China, Russia, Germany! Prince Shan in
England, negotiating with Immelan! And behind, sinister, menacing,
mysterious--Japan!

"Supposing," he propounded at last, "there really does exist a secret
treaty between China and Japan?"

"If there is," Prince Karschoff observed, "one can easily understand
what Immelan has been at. Prince Shan can command the whole of Asia. I
know they are afraid of something of the sort in the States. An American
who was in the club yesterday told us they had spent over a hundred
millions on their west coast fortifications in the last two years."

"One can understand, too, in that case," Nigel continued, "why Japan
left the League of Nations. That stunt of hers about being outside the
sphere of possible misunderstandings never sounded honest."

"It was unfortunate," Prince Karschoff said, "that America was dominated
for those few months by an honest but impractical idealist. He had the
germ of an idea, but he thrust it on the world before even his own
country was ready for it. In time the nations would certainly have
elaborated something more workable."

"You cannot keep a full-blooded man from clenching his fist if he's
insulted," Nigel pointed out, "and nations march along the same lines as
individuals. Its existence has never for a single moment weakened
Germany's hatred of England, and the stronger she grows, the more she
flaunts its conditions. France guards her frontiers, night and day, with
an army ten times larger than she is allowed. Russia has become the
country of mysteries, with something up her sleeve, beyond a doubt, and
there are cities in modern China into which no European dare penetrate.
Japan quite frankly maintains an immense army, the United States is
silently following suit--and God help us all if a war does come!"

"You are right," Karschoff assented gloomily. "The last glamour of
romance has gone from fighting. There were remnants of it in the last
war, especially in Palestine and Egypt and when we first overran
Austria. To-day, science would settle the whole affair. The war would be
won in the laboratory, the engine room and the workshop. I doubt
whether any battleship could keep afloat for a week, and as to the
fighting in the air, if a hundred airships were in action, I do not
suppose that one of them would escape. Then they say that France has a
gun which could carry a shell from Amiens to London, and more mysterious
than all, China has something up her sleeve which no one has even a
glimmering of."

"Except Jesson," Nigel muttered.

"And Jesson's gleam of knowledge, or suspicion," Prince Karschoff
remarked, "seems to have brought him to the end of his days. Can
anything be done with Prince Shan about him, do you think?"

"Only indirectly, I am afraid," Nigel replied. "Maggie is seeing him
this afternoon. As a matter of fact, I believe she telephoned to him
before luncheon, but I haven't heard anything yet. When a man goes out
on that sort of a job, he burns his boats. And Jesson isn't the first
who has turned eastwards, during the last few months. I heard only
yesterday that France has lost three of her best men in China--one who
went as a missionary and two as merchants. They've just disappeared
without a word of explanation."

The telephone extension bell rang. Nigel walked over to the sideboard
and took down the receiver.

"Is that Lord Dorminster?" a man's voice asked.

"Speaking," Nigel replied.

"I am David Franklin, private secretary to Mr. Mervin Brown," the voice
continued. "Mr. Mervin Brown would be exceedingly obliged if you would
come round to Downing Street to see him at once."

"I will be there in ten minutes," Nigel promised.

He laid down the receiver and turned to Karschoff.

"The Prime Minister," he explained.

"What does he want you for?"

"I think," Nigel replied, "that the trouble cloud is about to burst."




CHAPTER XXVII


Mr. Mervin Brown on this occasion did not beat about the bush. His old
air of confident, almost smug self-satisfaction, had vanished. He
received Nigel with a new deference in his manner, without any further
sign of that good-natured tolerance accorded by a busy man to a kindly
crank.

"Lord Dorminster," he began, "I have sent for you to renew a
conversation we had some little time since. I will be quite frank with
you. Certain circumstances have come to my notice which lead me to
believe that there may be more truth in some of the arguments you
brought forward than I was willing at the time to believe."

"I must confess that I am relieved to hear you say so," Nigel replied.
"All the information which I have points to a crisis very near at hand."

The Prime Minister leaned a little across the table.

"The immediate reason for my sending for you," he explained, "is this.
My friend the American Ambassador has just sent me a copy of a wireless
dispatch which he has received from China from one of their former
agents. The report seems to have been sent to him for safety, but the
sender of it, of whose probity, by the by, the American Ambassador
pledges himself, appears to have been sent to China by you."

"Jesson!" Nigel exclaimed. "I have heard of this already, sir, from a
friend in the American Embassy."

"The dispatch," Mr. Mervin Brown went on, "is in some respects a little
vague, but it is, on the other hand, I frankly admit, disturbing. It
gives specific details as to definite military preparations on the part
of China and Russia, associated, presumably, with a third Power whose
name you will forgive my not mentioning. These preparations appear to
have been brought almost to completion in the strictest secrecy, but the
headquarters of the whole thing, very much to my surprise, I must
confess, seems to be in southern China."

"In that case," Nigel pointed out, "if you will permit me to make a
suggestion, sir, you have a very simple course open to you."

"Well?"

"Send for Prince Shan."

"Prince Shan," the Prime Minister replied, with knitted brows, "is not
over in this country officially. He has begged to be excused from
accepting or returning any diplomatic courtesies."

"Nevertheless," Nigel persisted, "I should send for Prince Shan. If it
had not been," he went on slowly, "for the complete abolition of our
secret service system, you would probably have been informed before now
that Prince Shan has been having continual conferences in this country
with one of the most dangerous men who ever set foot on these
shores--Oscar Immelan."

"Immelan has no official position in this country," the Prime Minister
objected.

"A fact which makes him none the less dangerous," Nigel insisted. "He is
one of those free lances of diplomacy who have sprung up during the last
ten or fifteen years, the product of that spurious wave of altruism
which is responsible for the League of Nations. Immelan was one of the
first to see how his country might benefit by the new régime. It is he
who has been pulling the strings in Russia and China, and, I fear,
another country."

"What I want to arrive at," Mr. Mervin Brown said, a little impatiently,
"is something definite."

"Let me put it my own way," Nigel begged. "A very large section of our
present-day politicians--you, if I may say so, amongst them, Mr. Mervin
Brown--have believed this country safe against any military dangers,
because of the connections existing between your unions of working men
and similar bodies in Germany. This is a great fallacy for two reasons:
first because Germany has always intended to have some one else pull the
chestnuts out of the fire for her, and second because we cannot
internationalise labour. English and German workmen may come together
on matters affecting their craft and the conditions of their labour, but
at heart one remains a German and one an Englishman, with separate
interests and a separate outlook."

"Well, at the end of it all," Mr. Mervin Brown said, "the bogey is war.
What sort of a war? An invasion of England is just as impossible to-day
as it was twenty years ago."

Nigel nodded.

"I cannot answer your question," he admitted. "I was looking to Jesson's
report to give us an idea as to that."

"You shall see it to-morrow," Mr. Mervin Brown promised. "It is round at
the War Office at the present moment."

"Without seeing it," Nigel went on, "I expect I can tell you one
startling feature of its contents. It suggested, did it not, that the
principal movers against us would be Russian and China and--a country
which you prefer just now not to mention?"

"But that country is our ally!" Mr. Mervin Brown exclaimed.

Nigel smiled a little sadly.

"She has been," he admitted. "Still, if you had been _au fait_ with
diplomatic history thirty years ago, Mr. Mervin Brown, you would know
that she was on the point of ending her alliance with us and
establishing one with Germany. It was only owing to the genius of one
English statesman that at the last moment she almost reluctantly
renewed her alliance with us. She is in the same state of doubt
concerning our destiny to-day. She has seen our last two Governments
forget that we are an Imperial Power and endeavour to apply the
principles of sheer commercialism to the conduct of a great nation. She
may have opened her eyes a thousand years later than we did, but she is
awake enough now to know that this will not do. There is little enough
of generosity amongst the nations; none amongst the Orientals. I have a
conviction myself that there is a secret alliance between China and this
other Power, a secret and quite possibly an aggressive alliance."

Mr. Mervin Brown sat for a few moments deep in thought. Somehow or other
his face had gained in dignity since the beginning of the conversation.
The nervous fear in his eyes had been replaced by a look of deep and
solemn anxiety.

"If you are right, Lord Dorminster," he pronounced presently, "the world
has rolled backwards these last ten years, and we who have failed to
mark its retrogression may have a terrible responsibility thrust upon
us."

"Politically, I am afraid I agree with you," Nigel replied. "Only the
idealist, and the prejudiced idealist, can ignore the primal elements in
human nature and believe that a few lofty sentiments can keep the
nations behind their frontiers. War is a terrible thing, but human life
itself is a terrible thing. Its principles are the same, and force will
never be restrained except by force. If the League of Nations had been
established upon a firmer and less selfish basis, it certainly might
have kept the peace for another thirty or forty years. As it is, I
believe that we are on the verge of a serious crisis."

"War for us is an impossibility," Mr. Mervin Brown declared frankly,
"simply because we cannot fight. Our army consists of policemen; science
has defeated the battleship; and practically the same conditions exist
in the air."

"You sent for me, I presume, to ask for my advice," Nigel said. "At any
rate, let me offer it. I have reason to believe that the negotiations
between Prince Shan and Oscar Immelan have not been entirely successful.
Send for Prince Shan and question him in a friendly fashion."

"Will you be my ambassador?" the Prime Minister asked.

Nigel hesitated for a moment.

"If you wish it," he promised. "Prince Shan is in some respects a
strangely inaccessible person, but just at present he seems well
disposed towards my household."

"Arrange, if you can," Mr. Mervin Brown begged, "to bring him here
to-morrow morning. I will try to have available a copy of the dispatch
from Jesson. It refers to matters which I trust Prince Shan will be able
to explain."

Nigel lingered for a moment over his farewell.

"If I might venture upon a suggestion, sir," he said, "do not forget
that Prince Shan is to all intents and purposes the autocrat of Asia. He
has taught the people of the world to remodel their ideas of China and
all that China stands for. And further than this, he is, according to
his principles, a man of the strictest honour. I would treat him, sir,
as a valued _confrère_ and equal."

The Prime Minister smiled.

"Don't look upon me as being too intensely parochial, Dorminster," he
said. "I know quite well that Prince Shan is a man of genius, and that
he is a representative of one of the world's greatest families. I am
only the servant of a great Power. He is a great Power in himself."

"And believe me," Nigel concluded fervently, as he made his adieux, "the
greatest autocrat that ever breathed. If, when you exchange farewells
with him, he says--'There will be no war'--we are saved, at any rate for
the moment."




CHAPTER XXVIII


Maggie, very cool and neat, a vision of soft blue, a wealth of colouring
in the deep brown of her closely braided hair, her lips slightly parted
in a smile of welcome, felt, notwithstanding her apparent composure, a
strange disturbance of outlook and senses as Prince Shan was ushered
into her flower-bedecked little sitting room that afternoon. The unusual
formality of his entrance seemed somehow to suit the man and his manner.
He bowed low as soon as he had crossed the threshold and bowed again
over her fingers as she rose from her easy-chair.

"It makes me very happy that you receive me like this," he told her
simply. "It makes it so much easier for me to say the things that are in
my heart."

"Won't you sit down, please?" Maggie invited. "You are so tall, and I
hate to be completely dominated."

He obeyed at once, but he continued to talk with grave and purposeful
seriousness.

"I wish," he said, "to bring myself entirely into accord, for these few
minutes, with your western methods and customs. I address you,
therefore, Lady Maggie, with formal words, while I keep back in my
heart much that is struggling to express itself. I have come to ask you
to do me the great honour of becoming my wife."

Maggie sat for a few moments speechless. The thing which she had half
dreaded and half longed for--the low timbre of his caressing voice--was
entirely absent. Yet, somehow or other, his simple, formal words were at
least as disturbing. He leaned towards her, a quiet, dignified figure,
anxious yet in a sense confident. He had the air of a man who has
offered to share a kingdom.

"Your wife," Maggie repeated tremulously.

"The thought is new to you, perhaps," he went on, with gentle tolerance.
"You have believed the stories people tell that in my youth I was vowed
to celibacy and the priesthood. That is not true. I have always been
free to marry, but although to-day we figure as a great progressive
nation, many of the thousand-year-old ideas of ancient China have dwelt
in my brain and still sit enshrined in my heart. The aristocracy of
China has passed through evil times. There is no princess of my own
country whom I could meet on equal terms. So, you see, although it
develops differently, there is something of the snobbishness of your
western countries reflected in our own ideas."

"But I am not a princess," Maggie murmured.

"You are the princess of my soul," he answered, lowering his eyes for a
moment almost reverently. "I cannot quite hope to make you understand,
but if I took for my wife a Chinese lady of unequal mundane rank, I
should commit a serious offence against those who watch me from the
other side of the grave, and to whom I am accountable for every action
of my life. A lady of another country is a different matter."

"But I am an Englishwoman," Maggie said, "and I love my country. You
know what that means."

"I know very well," he admitted. "I had not meant to speak of those
things until later, but, for your country's sake, what greater alliance
could you seek to-day than to become the wife of him who is destined to
be the Ruler of Asia?"

Maggie caught hold of her courage. She looked into his eyes
unflinchingly, though she felt the hot colour rise into her cheeks.

"You did not speak to me of these things, Prince Shan, when I came to
your house last night," she reminded him.

His smile was full of composure. It was as though the truth which sat
enshrined in the man's soul lifted him above all the ordinary emotions
of fear of misunderstandings.

"For those few minutes," he confessed, "I was very angry. It brings
great pain to a man to see the thing he loves droop her wings, flutter
down to earth, and walk the common highway. It is not for you, dear one,
to mingle with that crowd who scheme and cheat, hide and deceive, for
any reward in the world, whether it be money, fame, or the love of
country. You were not made for those things, and when I saw you there,
so utterly in my power, having deliberately taken your risk, I was
angry. For a single moment I meant that you should realise the danger of
the path you were treading. I think that I did make you realise it."

Her eyes fell. He seemed to have established some compelling power over
her. He had met her thoughts before they were uttered, and answered even
her unspoken question.

"I wish you didn't make life so much like a kindergarten," she
complained, with an almost pathetic smile at the corners of her lips.

"It is a very different place," he rejoined fervently, "that I desire to
make of life for you. Listen, please. I have spoken to you first the
formal words which make all things possible between us, and now, if I
may, I let my heart speak. Somewhere not far from Pekin I have a palace,
where my lands slope to the river. For five months in the year my
gardens are starred with blue and yellow flowers, sweet-smelling as the
almond blossom, and there are little pagodas which look down on the blue
water, pagodas hung with creepers, not like your English evergreens, but
with blossoms, pink and waxen, which open as one looks at them and send
out sweet perfumes. When you are there with me, dear one, then I shall
speak to you in the language of my ancestors, which some day you will
understand, and you shall know that love has its cradle in the East, you
shall feel the flame of its birth, the furnace of its accomplishment.
Here my tongue moves slowly, yet I stoop my knee to you, I show you my
heart, and my lips tell you that I love. What that love is you shall
learn some day, if you have the will and the confidence and the soul.
Will you come back to China with me, Maggie?"

She rested her fingers on his hand.

"You are a magician," she confessed. "I am very English, and yet I want
to go."

He stood for a moment looking into her eyes. Then he stooped down and
raised her hesitating fingers to his lips.

"I believe that you will come," he said simply. "I believe that you will
ride over the clouds with me, back to the country of beautiful places.
So now I speak to you of serious things. Of money there shall be what
you wish, more than any woman even of your rank possesses in this
country. I shall give you, too, the sister of my great _Black Dragon_ so
that in five days, if you wish, you can pass from any of my palaces to
London. And further than that, behold!"

He drew from his pocket a roll of papers. Maggie recognised it, and her
heart beat faster. Curiously enough, just then she scarcely thought of
its world importance. She remembered only those few moments of strange
thrills, the wonder at finding him in that room, as he stood watching
her, the horror and yet the thrill of his measured words. He laid the
papers upon the table.

"Read them," he invited. "You will understand then the net that has been
closing around your country. You will understand the better if I tell
you this. China and Japan are one. It was my first triumph when
patriotism urged me into the field of politics. We have a single motto,
and upon that is based all that you may read there,--'_Europe for the
Europeans, Asia for us_.'"

Maggie was conscious of a sudden sense of escape from her almost
mesmeric state. The change in his tone, his calm references to things
belonging to another and altogether different world, had dissolved a
situation against the charm of which she had found herself powerless,
even unwilling to struggle. Once more she was back in the world where
for the last two years had lain her chief interests. She took the papers
in her hand and began reading them quickly through. Every now and then a
little exclamation broke from her lips.

"You will observe," her companion pointed out, looking over her
shoulder, "that on paper, at any rate, Japan is the great gainer. She
takes Australia, New Zealand and India. China absorbs Thibet and
reëstablishes her empire of forty years ago. The arrangement is based
very largely on racial conditions. China is a self-centered country. We
have not the power of fusion of the Japanese. You will observe further,
as an interesting circumstance, that the American foothold in Asia
disappears as completely as the British."

"But tell me," she demanded, "how are these things to be brought about,
and where does Immelan come in?"

Prince Shan smiled.

"Immelan's position," he explained, "is largely a sentimental one, yet
on the other hand he saves his country from what might be a grave
calamity. The commercial advantages he gains under this treaty might
seem to be inadequate, although in effect they are very considerable.
The point is this. He soothes his country of the pain which groans day
by day in her limbs. He gratifies her lust for vengeance against Great
Britain without plunging her into any desperate enterprise."

"And France escapes," she murmured.

"France escapes," he assented. "Rightly or wrongly, the whole of
Germany's post-war animosity was directed against England. She
considered herself deceived by certain British statesmen. She may have
been right or wrong. I myself find the evidence conflicting. At this
moment the matter does not concern us."

"And is Great Britain, then," Maggie asked, "believed to be so helpless
that she can be stripped of the greater part of her possessions at the
will of China and Japan?"

Prince Shan smiled.

"Great Britain," he reminded her, "has taken the League of Nations to
her heart. It was a very dangerous thing to do."

"Still," Maggie persisted, "there remains the great thing which you have
not told me. These proposals, I admit, would strike a blow at the heart
of the British Empire, but how are they to be carried into effect?"

"If I had signed the agreement," he replied, "they could very easily
have been carried into effect. You have heard already, have you not,
through some of your agents, of the three secret cities? In the
eastern-most of them is the answer to your question."

She smiled.

"Is that a challenge to me to come out and discover for myself all that
I want to know?"

"If you come," he answered, "you shall certainly know everything. There
is another little matter, too, which waits for your decision."

"Tell me of it at once, please," she begged, with a sudden conviction of
his meaning.

He obeyed without hesitation.

"I spoke just now," he reminded her, "of the three secret cities. They
are secret because we have taken pains to keep them so. One is in
Germany, one in Russia, and one in China. A casual traveller could
discover little in the German one, and little more, perhaps, in the
Russian one. Enough to whet his curiosity, and no more. But in China
there is the whole secret at the mercy of a successful spy. A man named
Jesson, Lady Maggie--"

"I telephoned you about him before luncheon to-day," she interrupted.

"I had your message," he replied, "and the man is safe for the moment.
At the same time, Lady Maggie, let me remind you that this is a game the
rules of which are known the world over. Jesson has now in his
possession the secret on which I might build, if I chose, plans to
conquer the world. He knew the penalty if he was discovered, and he was
discovered. To spare his life is sentimentalism pure and simple, yet if
it is your will, so be it."

"You are very good to me," she declared gratefully, "all the more good
because half the time I can see that you scarcely understand."

"That I do not admit," he protested. "I understand even where I do not
sympathise. You make of life the greatest boon on earth. We of my race
and way of thinking are taught to take it up or lay it down, if not with
indifference, at any rate with a very large share of resignation.
However, Jesson's life is spared. From what I have heard of the man, I
imagine he will be very much surprised."

She gave a little sigh of relief.

"You have given me a great deal of your confidence," she said
thoughtfully.

"Is it not clear," he answered, "why I have done so? I ask of you the
greatest boon a woman has to give. I do not seek to bribe, but if you
can give me the love that will make my life a dream of happiness, then
will it not be my duty to see that no shadow of misfortune shall come to
you or yours? China stands between Japan and Russia, and I am China."

She gave him her hands.

"You are very wonderful," she declared. "Remember that at a time like
this, it is not a woman's will alone that speaks. It is her soul which
lights the way. Prince Shan, I do not know."

He smiled gravely.

"I leave," he told her, "on Friday, soon after dawn."

She found herself trembling.

"It is a very short time," she faltered.

They had both risen to their feet. He was close to her now, and she felt
herself caught up in a passionate wave of inertia, an absolute inability
to protest or resist. His arms were clasped around her lightly and with
exceeding gentleness. He leaned down. She found herself wondering, even
in that tumultuous moment, at the strange clearness of his complexion,
the whiteness of his firm, strong teeth, the soft brilliance of his
eyes, which caressed her even before his lips rested upon hers.

"I think that you will come," he whispered. "I think that you will be
very happy."




CHAPTER XXIX


The great house in Curzon Street awoke, the following morning, to a
state of intense activity. Taxi-cabs and motor-cars were lined along the
street; a stream of callers came and went. That part of the
establishment of which little was seen by the casual caller, the rooms
where half a dozen secretaries conducted an immense correspondence,
presided over by Li Wen, was working overtime at full pressure. In his
reception room, Prince Shan saw a selected few of the callers, mostly
journalists and politicians, to whom Li Wen gave the entrée. One visitor
even this most astute of secretaries found it hard to place. He took the
card in to his master, who glanced at it thoughtfully.

"The Earl of Dorminster," he repeated. "I will see him."

Nigel found himself received with courtesy, yet with a certain
aloofness. Prince Shan rose from his favourite chair of plain black oak
heaped with green silk cushions and held out his hand a little
tentatively.

"You are very kind to visit me, Lord Dorminster," he said. "I trust that
you come to wish me fortune."

"That," Nigel replied, "depends upon how you choose to seek it."

"I am answered," was the prompt acknowledgment. "One thing in your
country I have at least learnt to appreciate, and that is your love of
candour. What is your errand with me to-day? Have you come to speak to
me as an ambassador from your cousin, or in any way on her behalf?"

"My business has nothing to do with Lady Maggie," Nigel assured him
gravely.

Prince Shan held out his hand.

"Stop," he begged. "Do not explain your business. If it is a personal
request, it is granted. If, on the other hand, you seek my advice on
matters of grave importance, it is yours. Before other words are spoken,
however, I myself desire to address you on the subject of Lady Maggie
Trent."

"As you please," Nigel answered.

"It is not the custom of my country, or of my life," Prince Shan
continued, "to covet or steal the things which belong to another. If
fate has made me a thief, I am very sorry. I have proposed to Lady
Maggie that she accompany me back to China. It is my great desire that
she should become my wife."

Nigel felt himself curiously tongue-tied. There was something in the
other's measured speech, so fateful, so assured, that it seemed almost
as though he were speaking of pre-ordained things. Much that had seemed
to him impossible and unnatural in such an idea disappeared from that
moment.

"You tell me this," Nigel began--

"I announce it to you as the head of the family," Prince Shan
interrupted.

"You tell it to me also," Nigel persisted, "because you have heard the
rumours which were at one time very prevalent--that Lady Maggie and I
were or were about to become engaged to be married."

"I have heard such a rumour only very indirectly," Prince Shan
confessed, "and I cannot admit that it has made any difference in my
attitude. I think, in my land and yours, we have at least one common
convention. The woman who touches our heart is ours if we may win her.
Love is unalterably selfish. One must fight for one's own hand. And for
those who may suffer by our victory, we may have pity but no
consideration."

"Am I to understand," Nigel asked bluntly, "that Lady Maggie has
consented to be your wife?"

"Lady Maggie has given me no reply. I left her alone with her thoughts.
Every hour it is my hope to hear from her. She knows that I leave for
China early to-morrow."

"So at the present moment you are in suspense."

"I am in suspense," Prince Shan admitted, "and perhaps," he went on,
with one of his rare smiles, "it occurred to me that it would be in one
sense a relief to speak to a fellow man of the hopes and fears that are
in my heart. You are the one person to whom I could speak, Lord
Dorminster. You have not wished my suit well, but at least you have been
clear-sighted. I think it has never occurred to you that a prince of
China might venture to compete with a peer of England."

"On the contrary," Nigel assented, "I have the greatest admiration for
the few living descendants of the world's oldest aristocracy. You have a
right to enter the lists, a right to win if you can."

"And what do you think of my prospects, if I may ask such a delicate
question?" Prince Shan enquired.

"I cannot estimate them," Nigel replied. "I only know that Maggie is
deeply interested."

"I think," his companion continued softly, "that she will become my
Princess. You have never visited China, Lord Dorminster," he went on,
"so you have little idea, perhaps, as to the manner of our lives. Some
day I will hope to be your host, so until then, as I may not speak of my
own possessions, may I go just so far as this? Your cousin will be very
happy in China. This is a great country, but the very air you breathe is
cloyed with your national utilitarianism. Mine is a country of beautiful
thoughts, of beautiful places, of quiet-living and sedate people. I can
give your cousin every luxury of which the world has ever dreamed,
wrapped and enshrined in beauty. No person with a soul could be unhappy
in the places where she will dwell."

"You are at least confident," Nigel remarked.

"It is because I am convinced," was the calm rejoinder. "I shall take
your cousin's happiness into my keeping without one shadow of misgiving.
The last word, however, is with her. It remains to be seen whether her
courage is great enough to induce her to face such a complete change in
the manner of her life."

"It will not be her lack of courage which will keep her in England,"
Nigel declared.

Prince Shan bowed, with a graceful little gesture of the hands. The
subject was finished.

"I shall now, Lord Dorminster," he said, "take advantage of your kindly
presence here to speak to you on a very personal matter, only this time
it is you who are the central figure, and I who am the dummy."

"I do not follow you," Nigel confessed, with a slight frown.

"I speak in tones of apology," Prince Shan went on, "but you must
remember that I am one of reflective disposition; Nature has endowed me
with some of the gifts of my great ancestors, philosophers famed the
world over. It seems very clear to me that, if I had not come, from
sheer force of affectionate propinquity you would have married Lady
Maggie."

Nigel's frown deepened.

"Prince Shan!" he began.

Again the outstretched hand seemed as though the fingers were pressed
against his mouth. He broke off abruptly in his protest.

"You would have lived a contented life, because that is your province,"
his companion continued. "You would have felt yourself happy because you
would have been a faithful husband. But the time would have come when
you would both have realised that you had missed the great things."

"This is idle prophecy," Nigel observed, a little impatiently. "I came
to see you upon another matter."

"Humour me," the Prince begged. "I am going to speak to you even more
intimately. I shall venture to do so because, after all, she is better
known to me than to you. I am going to tell you that of all the women in
the world, Naida Karetsky is the most likely to make you happy."

Nigel drew himself up a little stiffly.

"One does not discuss these things," he muttered.

"May I call that a touch of insularity?" Prince Shan pleaded, "because
there is nothing else in the world so wonderful to discuss, in all
respect and reverence, as the women who have made us feel. One last
word, Lord Dorminster. The days of matrimonial alliances between the
reigning families of Europe have come to an end under the influence of a
different form of government, but there is a certain type of alliance,
the utility of which remains unimpaired. I venture to say that you could
not do your country a greater service, apart from any personal feelings
you might have, than by marrying Mademoiselle Karetsky. There, you see,
now I have finished. This is for your reflection, Lord Dorminster--just
the measured statement of one who wears at least the cloak of philosophy
by inheritance. Time passes. Your own reason for coming to see me has
not yet been expounded."

"I have come to ask you to visit the Prime Minister before you leave
England," Nigel announced.

Prince Shan changed his position slightly. His forehead was a little
wrinkled. He was silent for a moment.

"If I pay more than a farewell visit of ceremony," he said, "that is to
say, if I speak with Mr. Mervin Brown on things that count, I must
anticipate a certain decision at which I have not yet wholly arrived."

Nigel had a sudden inspiration.

"You are seeking to bribe Maggie!" he exclaimed.

"That is not true," was the dignified reply.

"Then please explain," Nigel persisted.

Prince Shan rose to his feet. He walked to the heavy silk curtains which
led into his own bedchamber, pushed them apart, and looked for a moment
at the familiar objects in the room. Then he came back, glancing on his
way at the ebony cabinet.

"One does not repeat one's mistakes," he said slowly, "and although you
and I, Lord Dorminster, breathe the common air of the greater world, my
instinct tells me that of certain things which have passed between your
cousin and myself it is better that no mention ever be made. I wish to
tell you this, however. There is in existence a document, my signature
to which would, without a doubt, have a serious influence upon the
destinies of this country. That document, unsigned, would be one of my
marriage gifts to Lady Maggie--and as you know I have not yet had her
answer. However, if you wish it, I will go to the Prime Minister."

Li Wen came silently in. He spoke to his master for a few minutes in
Chinese. A faint smile parted the latter's lips.

"You can tell the person at the telephone that I will call within the
next few minutes," he directed. "You will not object," he added, turning
courteously to Nigel, "if I stop for a moment, on the way to Downing
Street, at a small private hospital? An acquaintance of mine lies sick
there and desires urgently to see me."

"I am entirely at your service," Nigel assured him.

Prince Shan, with many apologies, left Nigel alone in the car outside a
tall, grey house in John Street, and, preceded by the white-capped nurse
who had opened the door, climbed the stairs to the first floor of the
celebrated nursing home, where, after a moment's delay, he was shown
into a large and airy apartment. Immelan was in bed, looking very ill
indeed. He was pale, and his china-blue eyes, curiously protruding, were
filled with an expression of haunting fear. A puzzled doctor was
standing by the bedside. A nurse, who was smoothing the bedclothes,
glanced around at Prince Shan's entrance. The invalid started
convulsively, and, clutching the pillows with his right hand, turned
towards his visitor.

"So you've come!" he exclaimed. "Stay where yon are! Don't go!
Doctor--nurse--leave us alone for a moment."

The nurse went at once. The doctor hesitated.

"My patient is a good deal exhausted," he said. "There are no dangerous
symptoms at present, but--"

"I will promise not to distress him," Prince Shan interrupted. "I am
myself somewhat pressed for time, and it is probable that your patient
will insist upon speaking to me in private."

The doctor followed the nurse from the room. Prince Shan stood looking
down upon the figure of quondam associate. There was a leaven of mild
wonder in his clear eyes, a faintly contemptuous smile about the corners
of his lips.

"So you are afraid of death, my friend," he observed, "afraid of the
death you planned so skilfully for me."

"It is a lie!" Immelan declared excitedly. "Sen Lu was never killed by
my orders. Listen! You have nothing against me. My death can do you no
good. It is you who have been at fault. You--Prince Shan--the great
diplomatist of the world--are gambling away your future and the future
of a mighty empire for a woman's sake. You have treated me badly enough.
Spare my life. Call in the doctor here and tell him what to do. He can
find nothing in my system. He is helpless."

The smile upon the Prince's lips became vaguer, his expression more
bland and indeterminate.

"My dear Immelan," he murmured, "you are without doubt delirious.
Compose yourself, I beg."

A light that was almost tragic shone in the man's face. He sat up with a
sudden access of strength.

"For the love of God, don't torture me!" he groaned. "The pains grow
worse, hour by hour. If I die, the whole world shall know by whose
hand."

The expression on Prince Shan's face remained unchanged. In his eyes,
however, there was a little glint of something which seemed almost like
foreknowledge,

"When you die," he pronounced calmly, "it will be by your own hand--not
mine."

For some reason or other, Immelan accepted these measured words of
prophecy as a total reprieve. The relief in his face was almost piteous.
He seized his visitor's hand and would have fawned upon it. Prince Shan
withdrew himself a little farther from the bed.

"Immelan," he said, "during my stay in England I have studied you and
your methods, I have listened to all you have had to say and to propose,
I have weighed the advantages and the disadvantages of the scheme you
have outlined to me, and I only arrived at my decision after the most
serious and unbiassed reflection. Your scheme itself was bold and almost
splendid, but, as you yourself well know at the back of your mind, it
would lay the seeds of a world tumult. I have studied history, Immelan,
perhaps a little more deeply than you, and I do not believe in
conquests. For the restoration to China of such lands as belong
geographically and rightly to the Chinese Empire, I have my own plans.
You, it seems to me, would make a cat's-paw of all Asia to gratify your
hatred of England."

"A cat's-paw!" Immelan gasped. "Australia, New Zealand and India for
Japan, new lands for her teeming population; Thibet for you, all
Manchuria, and the control of the Siberian Railway!"

"These are dazzling propositions," Prince Shan admitted, "and yet--what
about the other side of the Pacific?"

"America would be powerless," Immelan insisted.

"So you said before, in 1917," was the dry reminder. "I did not come
here, however, to talk world politics with you. Those things for the
moment are finished. I came in answer to your summons."

Immelan raised himself a little in the bed.

"You meant what you said?" he demanded, with hoarse anxiety. "There was
no poison? Swear that?"

Prince Shan moved towards the door. His backward glance was coldly
contemptuous.

"What I said, I meant," he replied. "Extract such comfort from it as you
may."

He left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Immelan stared
after him, hollow-eyed and anxious. Already the cold fears were seizing
upon him once more.

Prince Shan rejoined Nigel, and the two men drove off to Downing Street.
The former was silent for the first few minutes. Then he turned slightly
towards his companion.

"The man Immelan is a coward," he declared. "It is he whom I have just
visited."

Nigel shrugged his shoulders.

"So many men are brave enough in a fight," he remarked, "who lose their
nerve on a sick bed."

"Bravery in battle," Prince Shan pronounced, "is the lowest form of
courage. The blood is stirred by the excitement of slaughter as by
alcohol. With Immelan I shall have no more dealings."

"Speaking politically as well as personally?" Nigel enquired.

The other smiled.

"I think I might go so far as to agree," he acquiesced, "but in a sense,
there are conditions. You shall hear what they are. I will speak before
you to the Prime Minister. See, up above is the sign of my departure."

Out of a little bank of white, fleecy clouds which hung down, here and
there, from the blue sky, came the _Black Dragon_, her engines purring
softly, her movements slow and graceful. Both men watched her for a
moment in silence.

"At six o'clock to-morrow morning I start," Prince Shan announced. "My
pilot tells me that the weather conditions are wonderful, all the way
from here to Pekin. We shall be there on Wednesday."

"You travel alone?" Nigel enquired.

"I have passengers," was the quiet reply. "I am taking the English
chaplain to your Church in Pekin."

The eyes of the two men met.

"It is an ingenious idea," Nigel admitted dryly.

"I wish to be prepared," his companion answered. "It may be that he is
my only companion. In that case, I go back to a life lonelier than I
have ever dreamed of. It is on the knees of the gods. So far there has
come no word, but although I am not by nature an optimist, my
superstitions are on my side. All the way over on my last voyage, when I
lay in my berth, awake and we sailed over and through the clouds, my
star, my own particular star, seemed leaning always down towards me, and
for that reason I have faith."

Nigel glanced at his companion curiously but without speech. The car
pulled up in Downing Street. The two men descended and found everything
made easy for them. In two minutes they were in the presence of the
Prime Minister.




CHAPTER XXX


Mr. Mervin Brown was at his best in the interview to which he had, as a
matter of fact, been looking forward with much trepidation. He received
Prince Shan courteously and reproached him for not having paid him an
earlier visit. To the latter's request that Nigel might be permitted to
be present at the discussion, he promptly acquiesced.

"Lord Dorminster and I have already had some conversation," he said,
"bearing upon the matter about which I desire to talk to you."

"I have found his lordship," Prince Shan declared, "one of the few
Englishmen who has any real apprehension of the trend of events outside
his own country."

The Prime Minister plunged at once into the middle of things.

"Our national faults are without doubt known to you, Prince Shan," he
said. "They include, amongst other things, an over-confidence in the
promises of others; too great belief, I fear, in the probity of our
friends. We paid a staggering price in 1914 for those qualities. Lord
Dorminster would have me believe that there is a still more terrible
price for us to pay in the future, unless we change our whole outlook,
abandon our belief in the League of Nations, and once more acknowledge
the supremacy of force."

"Lord Dorminster is right," Prince Shan pronounced. "I have come here to
tell you so, Mr. Mervin Brown."

"You come here as a friend of England?" the latter asked.

"I come here as one who hesitates to become her enemy," was the measured
reply. "I will be perfectly frank with you, sir. I came to this country
to discuss a project which, with the acquiescence of China and Japan,
would have resulted in the humiliation of your country and the
gratification of Germany's eagerly desired revenge."

"You believe in the existence of that sentiment, then?" the Prime
Minister enquired.

"Any one short of a very insular Englishman," the Prince replied, "would
have realised it long ago. There is a great society in Germany, scarcely
even a secret society, pledged to wipe out the humiliations of the last
great war. Lord Dorminster tells me that you are to-day without a secret
service. For that reason you have remained in ignorance of the mines
beneath your feet. Germany has laid her plans well and carefully. Her
first and greatest weapon has been your sense of security. She has seen
you contemplate with an ill-advised smile of spurious satisfaction,
invincible France, regaining her wealth more slowly than you for the
simple reason that half the man power of the country is absorbed by her
military preparations. France is impregnable. A direct invasion of your
country is in all probability impossible. Those two facts have seemed to
you all-sufficient. That is where you have been, if I may say so, sir,
very short-sighted."

"Germany has no power to transport troops in other directions," Mr.
Mervin Brown observed.

Prince Shan smiled.

"You have another enemy besides Germany," he pointed out, "a great
democracy who has never forgiven your lack of sympathy at her birth,
your attempts to repress by force a great upheaval, borne in agony and
shame, yet containing the germs of worthy things which your statesmen in
those days failed to discern. Russia has never forgiven. Russia stands
hand in hand with Germany."

"But surely," the Prime Minister protested, "you speak in the language
of the past? The League of Nations still exists. Any directly predatory
expedition would bring the rest of the world to arms."

Prince Shan shook his head.

"One of the first necessities of a tribunal," he expounded, "is that
that tribunal should have the power to punish. You yourself are one of
the judges. You might find your culprit guilty. With what weapon will
you chastise him? The culprit has grown mightier than the judge."

"America--"

"America," Prince Shan interrupted, "can, when she chooses, strike a
weightier blow than any other nation on earth, but she will never again
proceed outside her own sphere of influence."

"But she must protect her trade," the Prime Minister insisted.

"She has no need to do so by force of arms. Take my own country, for
instance. We need American machinery, American goods, locomotives and
mining plants. America has no need to force these things upon us. We are
as anxious to buy as she is to sell."

"I am to figure to myself, then," Mr. Mervin Brown reflected, "a
combination of Germany and Russia engaged in some scheme inimical to
Great Britain?"

"There was such a scheme definitely arranged and planned," Prince Shan
assured him gravely. "If I had seen well to sign a certain paper, you
would have lost, before the end of this month, India, your great
treasure house, Australia and New Zealand, and eventually Egypt. You
would have been as powerless to prevent it as either of us three would
be if called upon unarmed to face the champion heavyweight boxer."

"It is hard for me to credit the fact that officially Germany has any
knowledge of this scheme," the Prime Minister confessed.

"Official Germany would probably deny it," Prince Shan answered dryly.
"Official Russia might do the same. Official China would follow suit,
but the real China, in my person, assures you of the truth of what I
have told you. You have never heard, I suppose, of the three secret
cities?"

"I have heard stories about them which sounded like fairy tales," Mr.
Mervin Brown admitted grudgingly.

"Nevertheless, they exist," Prince Shan continued, "and they exist for
the purpose of supplying means of offence for the expedition of which I
have spoken. There is one in Germany, one in Russia, and one in China.
The three between them have produced enough armoured airships of a new
design to conquer any country in the world."

"Armoured airships?" Mr. Mervin Brown repeated.

"Airships from which one fights on land as well as in the air," Prince
Shan explained. "On land they become moving fortresses. No shell has
ever been made which can destroy them. I should be revealing no secret
to you, because I believe I am right in saying, sir, that a model of
these amazing engines of destruction was first submitted to your
Government."

"I remember something of the sort," the Prime Minister assented. "The
inventor himself was an American, I believe."

"Precisely! I believe he told you in plain words that whoever possessed
his model might, if they chose, dominate the world."

"But who wants to dominate the world by force?" Mr. Mervin Brown
demanded passionately. "We have passed into a new era, an era of peace
and the higher fellowship. It is waste of time, labour and money to
create these horrible instruments of destruction. The League of Nations
has decreed that they shall not be built."

"Nevertheless," Prince Shan declared, with portentous gravity, "a
thousand of these engines of destruction are now ready in a certain city
of China. Each one of the three secret cities has done its quota of work
in the shape of providing parts. China alone has put them together. I
bought the secret, and I alone possess it. It rests with me whether the
world remains at peace or moves on to war."

"You cannot hesitate, then?" Mr. Mervin Brown exclaimed anxiously. "You
yourself are an apostle of civilisation."

Prince Shan smiled.

"It is because we are strong," he said, "that we love peace. It is
because you are weak that you fear war. I am not here to teach you
statesmanship. It is not for me to point out to you the means by which
you can make your country safe and keep her people free. Call a meeting
of what remains of the League of Nations and compare your strength with
that of the nations who have crept outside and lie waiting. Then take
the advice of experts and set your house in order. You sacrifice
everything to-day to the god of commerce. Take a few men like Dorminster
here into your councils. You are not a nation of fools. Speak the truth
at the next meeting of the League of Nations and see that it is properly
reported. Help yourselves, and I will help you."

"Will you come into my Cabinet, Lord Dorminster?" the Prime Minister
invited, turning to Nigel.

"If you will recreate the post of Minister for War, I will do so with
pleasure," was the prompt reply.

Prince Shan held out his hand.

"There is great responsibility upon your shoulders, Mr. Mervin Brown,"
he said. "You will never know how near you have been to disaster. Try
and wake up your nation gradually, if you can. Call together your
writers, your thinking men, your historians. Encourage the flagging
spirit of patriotism in your public schools and universities. Is this
presumption on my part that I give so much advice? If so, forgive me.
Truth that sits in the heart will sometimes demand to be heard."

At the Prime Minister's request, Nigel remained behind. They both looked
at the door through which Prince Shan had passed. Mr. Mervin Brown
metaphorically pinched himself. He was still feeling a little dazed.

"Is that man real flesh and blood?" he demanded.

"He is as real and as near the truth," Nigel replied solemnly, "as the
things of which he has told us."




CHAPTER XXXI


That night, Nigel gave a dinner party on Maggie's account at the
fashionable London hotel of the moment. Invitations had been sent out by
telephone, by hurried notes, in one or two cases were delivered by word
of mouth. On the whole, the acceptances, considering the season was in
full swing, were a little remarkable. Every one was anxious to come,
because, as one of her girl friends put it, no one ever knew what Maggie
was going to be up to next. One of the few refusals came from Prince
Shan, and even he made use of compromise:

     _My dear Lord Dorminster, will you forgive me if in this instance I
     do not break a custom to which I have perhaps a little too rigidly
     adhered. The Prime Minister telephoned, a few minutes after we left
     him, asking me to meet two of his colleagues from the Foreign
     Office to-night, and I doubt whether our conference will have
     concluded at the hour you name._

     _However, if you will permit me, I will give myself the pleasure of
     joining you later in the evening, to make my adieux to those of my
     friends whom I am quite sure I shall find amongst your company._

     _Sincerely yours_,

     SHAN.

Maggie passed the note back with a little smile. She made no comment
whatever. Nigel watched her thoughtfully.

"I have carried out your orders," he observed. "Everything has been
attended to, even to the colour of your table decorations. Now tell me
what it all means?"

She looked him in the face quite frankly.

"How can I?" she answered. "I do not know myself."

"Is this by way of being a farewell party?" he persisted.

"I do not know that," she assured him. "The only thing is that if I do
decide--to go--well, I shall have had a last glimpse of most of my
friends."

"As your nearest male relative, in fact your guardian," Nigel went on,
with a touch of his old manner, "I feel myself deeply interested in your
present situation. If a little advice from one who is considerably your
senior would be acceptable--"

"It wouldn't," Maggie interrupted quietly. "There are just two things in
life no girl accepts advice upon--the way she does her hair and the man
she means to marry. You see, both are decided by instinct. I shall know
before dawn to-morrow what I mean to do, but until then nothing that
anybody could say would make any difference. Besides, your mind ought to
be full of your own matrimonial affairs. I hear that Naida is talking
of going back to Russia next week."

"My own affairs are less complex," Nigel replied. "I am going to ask
Naida to marry me--to-night if I have the opportunity."

Maggie made a little grimace.

"There goes my second string!" she exclaimed. "Nigel, you are horribly
callous. I have never been in the least sure that I haven't wanted to
marry you myself."

Nigel lit a cigarette and pushed the box across to his companion.

"I've frequently felt the same way," he confessed. "The trouble of it is
that when the really right person comes along, one hasn't any doubt
about it whatever. I should have made you a stodgy husband, Maggie."

She sniffed.

"I think that considering the way you've flirted with me," she declared,
"you ought at least to have given me the opportunity of refusing you."

"If Naida refuses me," he began--

"And I decide that Asia is too far away," she interrupted--

"We may come together, after all," he said, with a resigned little sigh.

"Glib tongue and empty heart," she quoted. "Nigel, I would never trust
you. I believe you're in love with Naida."

"And I'm not quite so sure about you," he observed, watching the colour
rise quickly in her cheeks. "Off with you to dress, young woman. It's
past seven, and we must be there early. I still have the wine to order."

The dinner party was in its way a complete success. Prince Karschoff was
there, benign and distinguished; Chalmers and one or two other young men
from the American Embassy. There was a sprinkling of Maggie's girl
friends, a leaven of the older world in Nigel's few intimates,--and
Naida, very pale but more beautiful than ever in a white velvet gown,
her hair brushed straight back, and with no jewellery save one long rope
of pearls. Nigel who in his capacity as host had found little time for
personal conversation during the service of dinner, deliberately led her
a little apart when they passed out into the lounge for coffee and to
watch the dancing.

"My duties are over for a time," he said. "Do you realise that I have
not had a word with you alone since our luncheon at Ciro's?"

"We have all been a little engrossed, have we not?" she murmured. "I
hope that you are satisfied with the way things have turned out."

"Nothing shall induce me to talk politics or empire-saving to-night," he
declared, with a smile. "I have other things to say."

"Tell me why you asked us all to dine so suddenly," she enquired. "I do
not know whether it is my fancy, but there seems to be an air of
celebration about. Is there any announcement to be made?"

He shook his head.

"None. The party was just a whim of Maggie's."

They both looked across towards the ballroom, where she was dancing with
Chalmers.

"Maggie is very beautiful to-night," Naida said. "I could scarcely
listen to my neighbour's conversation at dinner time for looking at her.
Yet she has the air all the time of living in a dream, as though
something had happened which had lifted her right away from us all. I
began to wonder," she added, "whether, after all, Oscar Immelan had not
told me the truth, and whether we should not be drinking her health and
yours before the evening was over."

"You could scarcely believe that," he whispered, "if you have any memory
at all."

There was a faint touch of pink in her cheeks, a tinge of colour as
delicate as the passing of a gleam of sunshine over a sea-glistening
shell.

"But Englishmen are so unfaithful," she sighed.

"Then I at least am an exception," Nigel answered swiftly. "The words
which you checked upon my lips the last time we were alone together
still live in my heart. I think, Naida, the time has come to say them."

Their immediate neighbours had deserted them. He leaned a little
towards her.

"You know so well that I love you, Naida," he said. "Will you be my
wife?"

She looked up at him, half laughing, yet with tears in her eyes. With an
impulsive little gesture, she caught his hand in hers for a moment.

"How horribly sure you must have felt of me," she complained, "to have
spoken here, with all these people around! Supposing I had told you that
my life's work lay amongst my own people, or that I had made up my mind
to marry Oscar Immelan, to console him for his great disappointment."

"I shouldn't have believed you," he answered, smiling.

"Conceit!" she exclaimed.

He shook his head.

"In a sense, of course, I am conceited," he replied. "I am the happiest
and proudest man here. I really think that after all we ought to turn it
into a celebration."

The band was playing a waltz. Naida's head moved to the music, and
presently Nigel rose to his feet with a smile, and they passed into the
ballroom. Karschoff and Mrs. Bollington Smith watched them with
interest.

"Naida is looking very wonderful to-night," the latter remarked. "And
Nigel, too; I wonder if there is anything between them."

"The days of foreign alliances are past," Karschoff replied, "but a few
intermarriages might be very good for this country."

"Are you serious?" she asked.

"Absolutely! I would not suggest anything of the sort with Germany, but
with this new Russia, the Russia of which Naida Karetsky is a daughter,
why not? Although they will not have me back there, Russia is some day
going to lay down the law to Europe."

"I wonder whether Maggie has any ideas of the sort in her mind," Mrs.
Bollington Smith observed. "She seems curiously abstracted to-night."

Chalmers came grumblingly up to Mrs. Bollington Smith, with whom he was
an established favourite.

"Lady Maggie is treating me disgracefully," he complained. "She will
scarcely dance at all. She goes around talking to every one as though it
were a sort of farewell party."

"Perhaps it may be," Karschoff remarked quietly.

"She isn't going away, is she?" Chalmers demanded.

"Who knows?" the Prince replied. "Lady Maggie is one of those strange
people to whom one may look with every confidence for the unexpected."

She herself came across to them, a few moments later.

"Something tells me," she declared, "that you are talking about me."

"You are always a very much discussed young lady," Karschoff rejoined,
with a little bow.

She made a grimace and sank into a chair by her aunt. She talked on
lightly enough, but all the time with that slight suggestion of
superficiality which is a sign of strain. She glanced often towards the
entrance of the lounge, yet no one seemed less disturbed when at a few
minutes before eleven Prince Shan came quietly in. He made his way at
once to Mrs. Bollington Smith and bent over her fingers.

"It is so kind of you and Lord Dorminster," he said, "to give me this
opportunity of saying good-by to a few friends."

"You are leaving us so soon, Prince?"

"To-morrow, soon after dawn," he replied, his eyes wandering around the
little circle. "I wish to be in Pekin, if possible, by Wednesday, so my
_Dragon_ must spread his wings indeed."

He said a few words to almost everybody. Last of all he came to Maggie,
and no one heard what he said to her. There was no change in his face as
he bent low over her fingers, no sign of anything which might have
passed between them, as a few minutes later he turned to one side with
Nigel. Maggie held out her hand to Chalmers. The strain seemed to have
passed. Her lips were parted in a wonderful smile, her feet moved to the
music.

"Come and dance," she invited.

They moved a few steps away together, when Maggie came to an abrupt
standstill. The two stood for a moment as though transfixed, their eyes
upon the arched entrance which led from the restaurant into the lounge.
A man was standing there, looking around, a strange, menacing figure, a
man dressed in the garb of fashion but with the face of a savage, with
eyes which burned in his head like twin dots of fire, with drawn, hollow
cheeks and mouth a little open like a mad dog's. As his eyes fell upon
the group and he recognised them, a look of horrible satisfaction came
into his face. He began to approach quite deliberately. He seemed to
take in by slow degrees every one who stood there,--Maggie herself and
Chalmers, Naida, Nigel and Prince Shan. He moved forward. All the time
his right hand was behind him, concealed underneath the tails of his
dress coat.

"Be careful!" Maggie cried out. "It is Oscar Immelan! He is mad!"

Some of the party and many of the bystanders had shrunk away from the
menacing figure. Naida stepped out from among the little group of those
who were left.

"Oscar," she said firmly, "what is the matter with you? You are not well
enough to be here."

He came to a standstill. At close quarters his appearance was even more
terrible. Although by some means he had gotten into his evening clothes,
he was only partly shaven, and there were gashes in his face where the
hand which had held his razor had slipped. The pupils of his eyes were
distended, and the eyes themselves seemed to have shrunk back into their
sockets. His whole frame seemed to have suddenly lost vigour, even
substance. He had the air of a man in clothes too large for him. Even
his voice was shriller,--shriller and horrible with the slow and bestial
satisfaction of his words.

"So here you are, the whole nest of you together, eh?" he exclaimed.
"Good! Very good indeed! Prince Shan, the poisoner! Dorminster, enjoying
your brief triumph, eh? And you, Naida Karetsky, traitress to your
country--deceiver--"

"That will do, Immelan," Nigel interrupted sharply. "We are all here.
What do you want with us?"

"That comes," Immelan replied. "Soon you shall all know why I have come!
Let me speak to my friend Shan for a moment. I carry your poison in my
veins, but there is a chance--just a chance," he added slowly, with a
horrible smile upon his lips, "that you may go first, after all."

Nigel made a stealthy but rapid movement forward, drawing Naida gently
out of the way. Immelan was too quick, however. He swung around, showing
the revolver which he had been concealing behind him, and moved to one
side until his back was against one of the pillars. By this time, most
of the other occupants of the ballroom had either rushed screaming away
altogether, or were hiding, peering out in fascinated horror from the
different recesses. The chief maître d'hôtel bravely held his ground and
came to within a few paces of Immelan.

"We can't have any brawling here," he said. "Put that revolver away."

Immelan took no notice of the intervener, except that for a single
moment the muzzle yawned in the latter's face. The maître d'hôtel was a
brave man, but he had a wife and family, and after all, it was not his
affair. There were other men there to look after the ladies. He hurried
off to call for the police. Almost as he went, Prince Shan stepped into
the foreground. His voice was calm and expressionless. His eyes, in
which there shone no shadow of fear, were steadily fixed upon Immelan.
He spoke without flurry.

"So you carry your own weapons to-night, Immelan," he said. "That at
least is more like a man. You seem to have a grievance against every
one. Start with me. What is it?"

There were some of them who wondered why, at this juncture when he so
clearly dominated his assailant, Prince Shan, whose courage was superb
and whose _sang froid_ absolutely unshaken did not throw himself upon
this intruder and take his chance of bringing the matter to an end at
the moment when the man's nerve was undoubtedly shaken. Then they looked
towards the entrance, and they understood. Creeping towards the little
gathering came Li Wen and another of the Prince's suite, a younger and
even more active man. The two came on tiptoe, crouching and moving
warily, with the gleam of the tiger in their anxious eyes. Maggie caught
a warning glance from Nigel and looked away.

"You are my murderer!" Immelan cried hoarsely. "It is through you I
suffer these pains! I am dying of your accursed poison!"

"If that were true," Prince Shan replied, with the air of one willing to
discuss the subject impartially, "might I remind you of Sen Lu, who died
in my box at the Albert Hall? For whom was that dagger thrust meant,
Immelan? Not for the man whom you had bought to betray me, the only one
of my suite who has ever been tempted with gold. That dagger thrust was
meant for me, and the assassin was one of your creatures. So even if
your words were true, Immelan, and the poison which you imagine to be in
your body were planted there by me, are we less than quits?"

Immelan's lie was unconvincing.

"I know nothing of Sen Lu's death," he declared. "I employ no assassins.
When there is killing to be done, I can do it myself. I am here to-night
for that purpose. You have deserted me at the last moment, Prince
Shan--played me and my country false for the sake of the English woman
whom you think to carry back with you to China. And you," he added,
turning with a sudden furious glance at Naida, "you have deceived the
man who trusted you, the man who sent you here for one purpose, and one
purpose only. You have done your best to ruin my scheme. Not only that,
but you have given the love which was mine--mine, I say--to another--an
Englishman! I hate you all! That is why I, a dying man, have crawled
here to reap my little harvest of vengeance.--You, Naida--you shall be
first--"

Naida was suddenly swung on one side, and the shot which rang out passed
through Nigel's coat sleeve, grazing his wrist,--the only shot that was
fired. Prince Shan, watching for his moment, as his two attendants threw
themselves upon the madman from behind, himself sprang forward, knocked
Immelan's right hand up with a terrible blow, and sent the revolver
crashing to the ground. It was a matter of a few seconds. Immelan, when
he felt himself seized, scarcely struggled. The courage of his madness
seemed to pass, the venom died out of his face, he shook like a man in
an ague. Prince Shan kicked the revolver on one side and looked
scornfully down upon him, now a nerveless wreck.

"Immelan," he said, "it is a pity that you did not wait until to-morrow
morning. You would then have known the truth. You are no more poisoned
than I am. If you had been in China--well, who knows? In England there
is so much prejudice against the taking of a worthless life that as a
guest I subscribed to it and mixed a little orris-root tooth powder
with your vermouth."

The man's eyes suddenly opened. He was feverishly, frantically anxious.

"Tell me that again," he shrieked. "You mean it? Swear that you mean
it."

Prince Shan's gesture as he turned away was one of supreme contempt.

"A Shan," he said, "never needs to repeat."

There was the bustle of arriving police, the story of a revolver which
had gone off by accident, a very puzzling contretemps expounded for
their benefit. The situation, and the participants in it, seemed to
dissolve with such facility that it was hard for any one to understand
what had actually happened. Prince Shan, with Maggie on his arm, was
talking to the leader of the orchestra, who had suddenly reappeared. The
former turned to his companion.

"It is not my custom to dance," he said, "but the waltz that they were
beginning to play seemed to me to have a little of the lure of our own
music. Will you do me the honour?"

They moved away to the music. Chalmers stood and watched them, with one
hand in his pocket and the other on Nigel's shoulder. He turned to
Naida, who was on the other side.

"Nothing like a touch of melodrama for the emotions," he grumbled. "Look
at Lady Maggie! Her head might be touching the clouds, and I never saw
her eyes shine like that when she danced with me."

"You don't dance as well as Prince Shan, old fellow," Nigel told him.

"And the Prince sails for China at dawn," Naida murmured.




CHAPTER XXXII


Prince Shan stood in the tiny sitting room of his suite upon the _Black
Dragon_ and looked around him critically. The walls were of black oak,
with white inlaid plaques on which a great artist had traced little
fanciful figures,--a quaint Chinese landscape, a temple, a flower-hung
pagoda. There were hangings of soft, blue silk tapestry, brought from
one of his northern palaces. The cloth which covered the table was of
the finest silk. There were several bowls of flowers, a couch, and two
comfortable chairs. Through the open doors of the two bedchambers came a
faint glimpse of snow-white linen, a perfume reminiscent at once of
almond blossom, green tea, and crushed lavender, and in the little room
beyond glistened a silver bath. Already attired for the voyage, his
pilot stood on the threshold.

"Is all well, your Highness?" he asked.

"Everything is in order," Prince Shan replied. "Ching Su is a perfect
steward."

"The reverend gentleman is in his room, your Highness," the pilot went
on. "All the supplies have arrived, and the crew are at their stations.
At what hour will it please your Highness to start?"

Prince Shan looked through the open window, along the wooden platform,
out to the broad stretch of road which led to London.

"I announced the hour of my departure as six o'clock," he replied. "I
cannot leave before in case of any farewell message. Is the woman of
whom I spoke to you here?"

"She is in attendance, your Highness."

"She understands that she will not be required unless my other passenger
should desire to accompany us?"

"She understands perfectly, your Highness."

Prince Shan stepped through his private exit on to the narrow wooden
platform. Already the mighty engines had started, purring softly but
deeply, like the deep-throated murmurings of a giant soon to break into
a roar. It was a light, silvery morning, with hidden sunshine
everywhere. On the other side of the vast amphitheatre of flat,
cinder-covered ground, the Downs crept upwards, rolling away to the
blue-capped summit of a distant range of hills. Northwards, the pall of
London darkened the horizon. An untidy medley of houses and factories
stretched almost to the gates of the vast air terminus. Listening
intently, one could catch the faint roar of the city's awakening
traffic, punctuated here and there by the shrill whistling of tugs in
the river, hidden from sight by a shroud of ghostly mist. The dock on
which Prince Shan stood was one apportioned to foreign royalty and
visitors of note. A hundred yards away, the Madrid boat was on the point
of starting, her whistles already blowing, and her engines commencing to
beat. Presently the great machinery which assisted her flight from the
ground commenced its sullen roar. There was a chorus of farewell shouts
and she glided up into the air, a long row of people waving farewells
from the windows. Prince Shan glanced at his watch,--twenty minutes to
six. He paced the wooden boards and looked again,--ten minutes to six.
Then he stopped suddenly. Along that gleaming stretch of private road
came a car, driven at a rapid pace. Prince Shan stood and watched it,
and as he watched, it seemed almost as though the hidden sun had caught
his face and transfigured it. He stood as might stand a man who feels
his feet upon the clouds. His lips trembled. There was no one there to
see--his attendants stood respectfully in the background--but in his
eyes was a rare moisture, and for a single moment a little choking at
his throat. The car turned in under the arched roof. Prince Shan's
servants, obeying his gesture, hurried forward and threw open the gates.
The heavily laden limousine came to a standstill. Three people
descended. Nigel and Naida lingered, watching the luggage being
unloaded. Maggie came forward alone.

They met a few yards from the entrance to the platform. Prince Shan was
bare-headed, and Maggie, at least, saw those wonderful things in his
face. He bent down and took her hands in his.

"Dear and sweet soul," he whispered, as his lips touched her fingers,
"may my God and yours grant that you shall find happiness!"

Her own eyes were wet as she smiled up at him.

"I have been so long making up my mind," she said, "and yet I knew all
the time. I am so glad--so happy that I have come. Think, too, how
wonderful a start! We leave the earth for the clouds."

"It is a wonderful allegory," he answered, smiling. "We will take it
into our hearts, dear one. It rests within the power of every human
being to search for happiness and, in searching, to find it. I am
fortunate because I can take you to beautiful places. I can spell out
for you the secrets of a new art and a new beauty. We can walk in fairy
gardens. I can give you jewels such as Europe has never seen, but I can
give you, Maggie, nothing so strange and wonderful, even to me who know
myself, as the love which fills my heart."

Her laugh was like music.

"I am going to be so happy," she murmured.

The other two approached and they all shook hands. They looked over the
amazing little rooms, watched the luggage stowed away in some marvellous
manner, saw the crew, every one at his station like a motionless figure.
Then a whistle was blown, and once more they all clasped hands.

"Very soon," Prince Shan promised, as he and Maggie leaned from the
window of the car, "I shall send the _Black Dragon_ for you, Lord
Dorminster, and for the one other whom I think you may wish to bring.
Asia is not so far off, these days, and Maggie will love to see her
friends."

Almost imperceptibly the giant airship floated away.

"Watch, both of you," Maggie cried. "I am sending you down a farewell
present." She whispered to Prince Shan, who handed her something from
his pocket, smiled, and gave an order. The great ship passed in a
semicircle and hovered almost exactly above their heads. A little shower
of small scraps of paper came floating down. Nigel picked one up,
examined it, and understood. He waved his hat.

"It is Maggie's farewell gift to England," he said, "the treaty which
Prince Shan never signed."

They stood side by side, watching. With incredible speed, the _Black
Dragon_ passed into the clouds and out again. Then, as it roared away
eastwards, the sun suddenly disclosed itself. The airship mounted
towards it, shimmering and gleaming in every part. Naida passed her hand
a little shyly through her companion's arm.

"Isn't that rather a wonderful way to depart in search of happiness?"
she murmured.

He smiled down at her.

"I do not think that we shall find the search very difficult, dear," he
said, "though our feet may remain upon the earth."

Naida's lip quivered for a moment. Then she caught a glimpse of his face
and gave a little sigh of content.

"There is heaven everywhere," she whispered.





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