Mysterious Mr. Sabin Part 26

"Well, I do not see that I should be betraying any confidence now," he said. "The promise I gave was only binding for a short time, and now that she is to be seen openly with the d.u.c.h.ess de Montegarde, I suppose the embargo is removed. The young lady is the Princess Helene Frances de Bourbon, and the young man is her betrothed husband, the Prince of Ortrens!"

Piccadilly became suddenly a vague and shadowy thoroughfare to Wolfenden. He was not quite sure whether his footsteps even reached the pavement. Densham hastened him into the club and, installing him into an easy chair, called for brandies and soda.

"Poor old Wolf!" he said softly. "I'm afraid you're like I was--very hard hit. Here, drink this! I'm beastly sorry I told you, but I certainly thought that you would have had some idea."

"I have been a thick-headed idiot!" Wolfenden exclaimed. "There have been heaps of things from which I might have guessed something near the truth, at any rate. What a fool she must have thought me!"

The two men were silent. Outside in the street there was a rush for a special edition, and a half cheer rang in the room. A waiter entered with a handful of copies which were instantly seized upon. Wolfenden secured one and read the headings.

"MOBILIZATION DECLARED. ALL LEAVE CANCELLED. CABINET COUNCIL STILL SITTING."

"Densham, do you realise that we are really in for war?"

Densham nodded.

"I don't think there can be any doubt about it myself. What a thunderbolt! By the bye, where is your friend, Mr. Sabin?"

Wolfenden shook his head.

"I do not know; I came to London partially to see him. I have an account to settle when we do meet; at present he has disappeared. Densham!"

"Well!"

"If Miss Sabin has become the Princess Helene of Bourbon, who is Mr. Sabin?"

"I am not sure," Densham answered, "I have been looking into the genealogy of the family, and if he is really her uncle, there is only one man whom he can be--the Duke de Souspennier!"

"Souspennier! Wasn't he banished from France for something or other--intriguing for the restoration of the Monarchy, I think it was?"

Densham nodded.

"Yes, he disappeared at the time of the Commune, and since then he is supposed to have been in Asia somewhere. He has quite a history, I believe, and at different times has been involved in several European complications. I shouldn't be at all surprised if he isn't our man. Mr. Sabin has rather the look of a man who has travelled in the East, and he is certainly an aristocrat."

Wolfenden was suddenly thoughtful.

"Harcutt would be very much interested in this," he declared. "What's up outside?"

There had been a crash in the street, and the sound of a horse plunging; the two men walked to the windows. The debris of a hansom was lying in the road, with one wheel hopelessly smashed, a few yards off. A man, covered with mud, rose slowly up from the wreck. Densham and Wolfenden simultaneously recognised him.

"It is Felix," Wolfenden exclaimed. "Come on!"

They both hurried out into the street. The driver of the hansom, who also was covered with mud, stood talking to Felix while staunching the blood from a wound in his forehead.

"I'm very sorry, sir," he was saying, "I hope you'll remember as it was your orders to risk an accident, sooner than lose sight of t'other gent. Mine's a good 'oss, but what is he against a pair and a light brougham? and Piccadilly ain't the place for a chase of this sort! It'll cost me three pun ten, sir, to say nothing of the wheel----"

Felix motioned him impatiently to be silent, and thrust a note into his hand.

"If the damage comes to more than that," he said, "ask for me at the Russian Emba.s.sy, and I will pay it. Here is my card."

Felix was preparing to enter another cab, but Wolfenden laid his hand upon his shoulder.

"Won't you come into my club here, and have a wash?" he suggested. "I am afraid that you have cut your cheek."

Felix raised his handkerchief to his face, and found it covered with blood.

"Thank you, Lord Wolfenden," he said, "I should be glad to; you seem destined always to play the part of the Good Samaritan to me!"

They both went with him into the lavatory.

"Do you know," he asked Wolfenden, when he had sponged his face, "whom I was following?"

Wolfenden shook his head.

"Mr. Sabin?" he suggested.

"Not Mr. Sabin himself," Felix answered, "but almost the same thing. It was Foo Cha, his Chinese servant who has just arrived in England. Have you any idea where Mr. Sabin is?"

They both shook their heads.

"I do not know," Wolfenden said, "but I am very anxious to find out. I have an account to settle with him!"

"And I," Felix murmured in a low tone, "have a very much longer one against him. To-night, if I am not too late, there will be a balance struck between us! I have lost Foo Cha, but others, better skilled than I am, are in search of his master. They will succeed, too! They always succeed. What have you against him, Lord Wolfenden?"

Wolfenden hesitated; yet why not tell the man the truth? He had nothing to gain by concealment.

"He forced himself into my father's house in Norfolk and obtained, either by force or craft, some valuable papers. My father was in delicate health, and we fear that the shock will cost him his reason."

"Do you want to know what they were?" Felix said. "I can tell you! Do you want to know what he required them for? I can tell you that too! He has concocted a marvellous scheme, and if he is left to himself for another hour or two, he will succeed. But I have no fear; I have set working a mightier machinery than even he can grapple with!"

They had walked together into the smoke-room; Felix seemed somewhat shaken and was glad to rest for a few minutes.

"Has he outstepped the law, been guilty of any crime?" Wolfenden asked; "he is daring enough!"

Felix laughed shortly. He was lighting a cigarette, but his hand trembled so that he could scarcely hold the match.

"A further reaching arm than the law," he said, dropping his voice, "more powerful than governments. Even by this time his whereabouts is known. If we are only in time; that is the only fear."

"Cannot you tell us," Wolfenden asked, "something of this wonderful scheme of his--why was he so anxious to get those papers and drawings from my father--to what purpose can he possibly put them?"

Felix hesitated.

"Well," he said, "why not? You have a right to know. Understand that I myself have only the barest outline of it; I will tell you this, however. Mr. Sabin is the Duc de Souspennier, a Frenchman of fabulous wealth, who has played many strange parts in European history. Amongst other of his accomplishments, he is a mechanical and strategical genius. He has studied under Addison in America, one subject only, for three years--the destruction of wars.h.i.+ps and fortifications by electrical contrivances unknown to the general world. Then he came to England, and collected a vast amount of information concerning your navy and coast defences in many different ways--finally he sent a girl to play the part of typist to your father, whom he knew to be the greatest living authority upon all naval matters connected with your country. Every line he wrote was copied and sent to Mr. Sabin, until by some means your father's suspicions were aroused, and the girl was dismissed. The last portion of your father's work consisted of a set of drawings, of no fewer than twenty-seven of England's finest vessels, every one of which has a large proportion of defective armour plating, which would render the vessels utterly useless in case of war. These drawings show the exact position of the defective plates, and it was to secure these ill.u.s.trations that Mr. Sabin paid that daring visit to your father on Tuesday morning. Now, what he professes broadly is that he has elaborated a scheme, by means of which, combined with the aid of his inventions, a few torpedo boats can silence every fort in the Thames, and leave London at the mercy of any invaders. At the same time his plans include the absolutely safe landing of troops on the east and south coast, at certain selected spots. This scheme, together with some very alarming secret information affecting the great majority of your battles.h.i.+ps, will, he a.s.serts with absolute confidence, place your country at the mercy of any Power to whom he chooses to sell it. He offered it to Russia first, and then to Germany. Germany has accepted his terms and will declare war upon England the moment she has his whole scheme and inventions in her possession."

Wolfenden and Densham looked at one another, partly incredulous, partly aghast. It was like a page from the Arabian Nights. Surely such a thing as this was not possible. Yet even that short silence was broken by the cry of the newsboys out in the street-- "GERMANY ARMING! REPORTED DECLARATION OF WAR!"

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.

THE MEN WHO SAVED ENGLAND.

Mr. Sabin leaned back in his chair with a long, deep sigh of content. The labour of years was concluded at last. With that final little sketch his work was done. A pile of ma.n.u.scripts and charts lay before him; everything was in order. He took a bill of lading from his letter-case, and pinned it carefully to the rest. Then he glanced at his watch, and, taking a cigarette-case from his pocket, began to smoke.

There was a knock at the door, and Mr. Sabin, who had recognised the approaching footsteps, glanced up carelessly.

"What is it, Foo Cha? I told you that I would ring when I wanted you."

The Chinaman glided to his side.

"Master," he said softly, "I have fears. There is something not good in the air."

Mr. Sabin turned sharply around.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Foo Cha was apologetic but serious.

"Master, I was followed from the house of the German by a man, who drove fast after me in a two-wheeled cab. He lost me on the way, but there are others. I have been into the street, and I am sure of it. The house is being watched on all sides."

Mr. Sabin drew a quiet, little breath. For a moment his haggard face seemed almost ghastly. He recovered himself, however, with an effort.

"We are not in China, Foo Cha," he said. "I have done nothing against the law of this country; no man can enter here if we resist. If we are really being watched, it must be by persons in the pay of the Russian. But they can do nothing; it is too late; Knigenstein will be here in half an hour. The thing will be settled then, once and for ever."

Foo Cha was troubled still.

"Me afraid," he admitted frankly. "Strange men this end and that end of street. Me no like it. Ah!"

The front door bell rang softly; it was a timid, hesitating ring, as though some one had but feebly touched the k.n.o.b. Foo Cha and his master looked at one another in silence. There was something almost ominous in that gentle peal.

"You must see who it is, Foo Cha," Mr. Sabin said. "It may be Knigenstein come early; if so, show him in at once. To everybody else the house is empty."

Foo Cha bowed silently and withdrew. He struck a match in the dark pa.s.sage, and lit the hanging gas-lamp. Then he opened the door cautiously.

One man alone was standing there. Foo Cha looked at him in despair; it was certainly not Knigenstein, nor was there any sign of his carriage in the street. The stranger was a man of middle height, squarely built and stout. He wore a long black overcoat, and he stood with his hands in his pockets.

"What you want?" Foo Cha asked. "What you want with me?"

The man did not answer at once, but he stepped inside into the pa.s.sage. Foo Cha tried to shut the door in his face, but it was like pus.h.i.+ng against a mountain.

"Where is your master?" he asked.

"Master? He not here," Foo Cha answered, with glib and untruthful earnestness. "Indeed he is not here--quite true. He come to-morrow; I preparing house for him. What do you want? Go away, or me call policeman."

The intruder smiled indulgently into the Chinaman's earnest, upturned face.

"Foo Cha," he said, "that is enough. Take this card to your master, Mr. Sabin."

Foo Cha was ready to begin another torrent of expostulations, but in the gas-light he met the new-comer's steadfast gaze, and he was silent. The stranger was dressed in the garb of a superior working man, but his speech and manner indicated a very different station. Foo Cha took the card and left him in the pa.s.sage. He made his way softly into the sitting-room, and as he entered he turned the key in the lock behind him; there, at any rate, was a moment or two of respite.

"Master," he said, "there is a man there whom we cannot stop. When me tell him you no here, he laugh at me. He will see you; he no go way. He laugh again when I try shut the door. He give me card; I no understand what on it."

Mr. Sabin stretched out his hand and took the card from the Chinaman's fingers. There seemed to be one or two words upon it, traced in a delicate, sloping handwriting. Mr. Sabin had s.n.a.t.c.hed at the little piece of pasteboard with some impatience, but the moment he had read those few words a remarkable change came over him. He started as though he had received an electric shock; the pupils of his eyes seemed hideously dilated; the usual pallor of his face was merged in a ghastly whiteness. And then, after the first shock, came a look of deep and utter despair; his hand fell to his side, a half-muttered imprecation escaped from his trembling lips, yet he laid the card gently, even with reverence, upon the desk before him.

"You can show him in, Foo Cha," he directed, in a low tone; "show him in at once."

Foo Cha glided out disappointed. Something had gone terribly wrong, he was sure of that. He went slowly downstairs, his eyes fixed upon the dark figure standing motionless in the dimly-lit hall. He drew a sharp breath, which sounded through his yellow, protuberant teeth like a hiss. A single stroke of that long knife--it would be so easy. Then he remembered the respect with which Mr. Sabin had treated that card, and he sighed. Perhaps it would be a mistake; it might make evil worse. He beckoned to the stranger, and conducted him upstairs.

Mr. Sabin received his visitor standing. He was still very pale, but his face had resumed its wonted impa.s.siveness. In the dim lamp-lit room he could see very little of his visitor, only a thick-set man with dark eyes and a closely-cropped black beard. He was roughly dressed, yet held himself well. The two men eyed one another steadily for several moments, before any speech pa.s.sed between them.

"You are surprised," the stranger said; "I do not wonder at it. Perhaps--you have been much engrossed, it is said--you had even forgotten."

Mr. Sabin's lips curled in a bitter smile.

"One does not forget those things," he said. "To business. Let me know what is required of me."

"It has been reported," the stranger said, "that you have conceived and brought to great perfection a comprehensive and infallible scheme for the conquest of this country. Further, that you are on the point of handing it over to the Emperor of Germany, for the use of that country. I think I may conclude that the report is correct?" he added, with a glance at the table. "We are not often misinformed."

"The report," Mr. Sabin a.s.sented, "is perfectly correct."

"We have taken counsel upon the matter," the stranger continued, "and I am here to acquaint you with our decision. The papers are to be burnt, and the appliances to be destroyed forthwith. No portion of them is to be shown to the German Government or any person representing that country, nor to any other Power. Further, you are to leave England within two months."

Mr. Sabin stood quite still, his hands resting lightly upon the desk in front of him. His eyes, fixed on vacancy, were looking far out of that shabby little room, back along the avenues of time, thronged with the fragments of his broken dreams. He realised once more the full glory of his daring and ambitious scheme. He saw his country revelling again in her old splendour, stretching out her limbs and taking once more the foremost place among her sister nations. He saw the pageantry and rich colouring of Imperialism, firing the imagination of her children, drawing all hearts back to their allegiance, breaking through the hard crust of materialism which had spread like an evil dream through the land. He saw himself great and revered, the patriot, the Richelieu of his days, the adored of the people, the friend and restorer of his king. Once more he was a figure in European history, the consort of Emperors, the man whose slightest word could shake the money markets of the world. He saw all these things, as though for the last time, with strange, unreal vividness; once more their full glory warmed his blood and dazzled his eyes. Then a flash of memory, an effort of realisation chilled him; his feet were upon the earth again, his head was heavy. That thick-set, motionless figure before him seemed like the incarnation of his despair.

"I shall appeal," he said hoa.r.s.ely; "England is no friend of ours."

The man shrugged his shoulders.

"England is tolerant at least," he said; "and she has sheltered us."

"I shall appeal," Mr. Sabin repeated.

The man shook his head.

"It is the order of the High Council," he said; "there is no appeal."

"It is my life's work," Mr. Sabin faltered.

"Your life's work," the man said slowly, "should be with us."

"G.o.d knows why I ever----"

The man stretched out a white hand, which gleamed through the semi-darkness. Mr. Sabin stopped short.