The Lost Ambassador by E. Phillips Oppenheim (rainbow fish read aloud TXT) 📕

that if only you will be as amiable as you are here I shall not find any fault."

"You will like to have me there?" she asked.

Her question came with the simplicity of a child. She laughed softly with pleasure when I leaned over the table and whispered to her,—

"Better than anything else in the world!"

"I am not sure, Capitaine Rotherby," she said, looking at me out of her great eyes, "whether you are behaving nicely."

"If I am not," I declared, "it is your fault! You should not look so charming."

She laughed softly.

"And you should not make such speeches to a poor little foreign girl," she said, "who knows so little of your London ways."

Louis stood suddenly before us. We felt his presence like a cold shadow. The laughter died away from her eyes, and I found it difficult enough to address him civilly.

"Monsieur is well served?" he asked. "Everything all right, eh?"

"Everything is very good, as usual, Louis," I answered. "The only thing that is amiss you cannot alter."

"For example?" he asked.

"The atmosphere," I answered. "It is no weather for London."

"Monsieur is right," he admitted. "He is thinking of departing for the country soon?"

"It depends a little upon mademoiselle," I answered.

Louis shook his head very slowly. He had the air of a man who discusses something with infinite regret.

"It would be very delightful indeed," he said, "if it were possible for mademoiselle to go into Norfolk to your brother's house. It would be very good for mademoiselle, but I am not sure—I fear that her uncle—"

"How the mischief did you know anything about it?" I asked in amazement.

Louis smiled—that subtle, half-concealed smile which seemed scarcely to part his lips.

"Why should not mademoiselle have told me?" he asked.

"But I have not!" she declared suddenly. "I have not seen Louis since you were here this afternoon, Capitaine Rotherby."

Louis extended his hands.

"It is true," he admitted. "It is not from mademoiselle that I had the news. But there, one cannot tell. Things may alter at any moment. It may be very pleasant for Monsieur Delora that his niece is able to accept this charming invitation."

"So you have been in communication with Mr. Delora, Louis?" I asked.

"Naturally," Louis answered. "He told me of mademoiselle's request. He told me that he had promised to reply at ten o'clock this evening."

"Perhaps you can tell us," I remarked, "what that reply will be?"

Louis' face remained absolutely expressionless. He only shook his head.

"Mr. Delora is his own master," he said. "It may suit him to be without mademoiselle, or it may not. Pardon, monsieur!"

Louis was gone, but he had left his shadow behind.

"He does not think," she murmured, "that I may come!"

"Felicia,—" I said.

"But I did not say that you might call me Felicia!" she interrupted.

"Then do say so," I begged.

"For this evening, then," she assented.

"For this evening, then, Felicia," I continued. "I do not wish to worry you by talking about certain things, but do you not think yourself that your uncle is very inconsiderate to leave you here alone on your first visit to London,—not to come near the place, or provide you with any means of amusement? Why should he hesitate to let you come to us?"

"We will not talk of it," she begged, a little nervously. "I must do as he wishes. We will hope that he says yes, will we not?"

"He must say yes!" I declared. "If he doesn't I'll find out where he is, somehow, and go and talk to him!"

She shook her head.

"He is very much engaged," she said. "He would not like you to find him out, nor would he have any time to talk to you."

"Selling his coffee?" I could not help saying.

"To-night, Capitaine Rotherby," she answered softly, "we do not talk of those things. Tell me what else we shall do down at your brother's house?"

"We shall go for long walks," I told her. "There are beautiful gardens there—a rose garden more than a hundred years old, and at the end of it a footpath which leads through a pine plantation and then down to the sea marshes. We can sit and watch the sea and talk, and when you find it dull we will fill the house with young people, and play games and dance—dance by moonlight, if you like. Or we can go fishing," I continued. "There is a small yacht there and a couple of sailing-boats."

She listened as though afraid of losing a single word.

"Tell me," I asked, "have you been lonely all your life, child?"

"All my life," she answered, and somehow or other her voice seemed to me full of tears, so that I was almost surprised to find her eyes dry. "Yes, I have always been lonely!" she murmured. "My uncle has been kind to me, but he has always some great scheme on hand, and Madame Müller—she would be kind if she knew how, I think, but she is as though she were made of wood. She has no sympathy, she does not understand."

"I wonder," I said reflectively, "what made your uncle bring you here."

"It was a promise," she said hurriedly,—"a promise of long ago. You yourself must know that. Your letter from your brother in South America said, 'Mr. Delora and his niece.'"

"It is true," I admitted. "But why he should want to bring you and then neglect you like this—But I forgot," I interrupted. "We must not talk so. Tell me, you have been often to the theatre in Paris?"

"Very seldom," she answered, "and I love it so much. Madame Müller and I go sometimes, but where we live is some distance from Paris, and it is difficult to get home afterwards, especially for us two alone. My uncle takes us sometimes, but he is generally so occupied."

"He is often in Paris, then?" I asked.

She started a little.

"Yes!" she said hurriedly. "He is often there, of course. But please do not forget,—to-night we do not talk about my uncle. We talk about ourselves. May I ask you something?"

"Certainly!" I answered.

"If my uncle says 'No!'—that I may not come—do you go away altogether, then, to-morrow?"

"No," I answered, "I do not! I shall not leave you alone here. So long as you stay, I shall remain in London."

She drew a little breath, and with a quick, impetuous movement her hand stole across the table and pressed mine.

"It is so good of you!" she murmured.

"I am afraid that it is selfishness, Felicia," I answered. "I should not care to go away and leave you here. I am beginning to find," I added, "that the pleasures in life which do not include you count for very little."

"You will turn my head," she declared, with a delightful little laugh.

"It is the truth," I assured her.

"I am quite sure now," she murmured, "that my great holiday has commenced!"

CHAPTER XXIV A TANTALIZING GLIMPSE

Felicia laid down the receiver and looked at me. There was scarcely any need for words. Her disappointment was written into her white face.

"You are not to come!" I said.

"I am not—to come," she repeated. "After all, my holiday is not yet."

"Will you tell me," I asked, "where I can find your uncle?"

She shook her head.

"You must not ask me such a thing," she declared.

"Remember," I said, "that I have really called to make his acquaintance as a matter of courtesy on behalf of my brother. What excuse do you give me for his absence? Tell me what it is that you are supposed to say in such a case?"

"Simply that he is away for a few days, engaged in the most important business," she answered. "He will rejoin me here directly it is settled."

"And in the meantime," I said thoughtfully, "you are left in a strange hotel without friends, without a chaperon, absolutely unprotected, and with only a head-waiter in your confidence. Felicia, there is something very wrong here. I am not sure," I continued, "that it is not my duty to run away with you."

She clasped her hands.

"Delightful!" she murmured. "But I mustn't think of it," she added, with a sudden gravity, "nor must you talk to me like that. What my uncle says is best to be done. He knows and understands. If he has had to leave me here alone, it is because it is necessary."

"You have a great deal of faith in him," I remarked.

"He has always been kind to me," she answered, "and I know that the business upon which he is engaged just now is hazardous and difficult. There are men who do not wish it to go through, and they watch for him. If they knew his whereabouts they would try to stop him."

"Felicia, do you know what that business is?" I asked.

"I have some idea of it," she answered.

Her answer puzzled me. If Felicia really had any idea as to the nature of it, and was content to play the part she was playing, it certainly could not be anything of an illicit nature. Yet everything else which had come under my notice pointed to Delora's being associated with a criminal undertaking. I paced the room, deep in thought. Felicia all the time was watching me anxiously.

"You are not going to leave me?" she asked very softly.

I came to a standstill before her.

"No, Felicia," I said, "I am not going to leave you! But I want to tell you this. I am going to try and find out for myself the things which you will not tell me. No, you must not try to stop me!" I said, anticipating the words which indeed had trembled upon her lips. "It must be either that or farewell, Felicia. I cannot remain here and do absolutely nothing. I want to find your uncle, and to have some sort of an explanation from him, and I mean to do it."

She shook her head.

"There are others who are trying to find him," she said, "but I do not think that they will succeed. The young man who was here the other night, for instance."

"If I fail, I fail," I answered. "At any rate, I shall be doing something. I must go back to my brother's to-night, Felicia, because I have promised to stay with him. In a day or two I shall return to my rooms here, and I shall do my best to find out the meaning of your uncle's mysterious movements. It may seem impertinent to you to interfere in anybody else's concerns. I cannot help it. It is for your sake. The present position is impossible!"

"You are not staying here to-night?" she asked.

"To-night, no!" I answered. "I will let you know directly I return."

"There is one thing else, Capitaine Rotherby. Could you promise it to me, I wonder?"

"I will try," I answered.

"Do not quarrel any more, if you can help it," she begged, "with Louis!"

Her question forced a laugh from my lips. Quarrel with Louis, indeed! What more could I do in that direction? Then I frowned, in temporary annoyance. I hated to hear her speak of him as a person to be considered.

"Louis is a venomous little person," I said, "but I certainly should not quarrel with him more than I can help. I am, unfortunately, in his debt, or I should have dealt with him before now."

I glanced at the clock and jumped up. It was very much later than I had thought. She gave me her hands a little wistfully.

"I do not like to think of you here alone," I said. "I wish that I could persuade you to engage a maid."

She shook her head.

"My uncle would not allow it," she said simply. "He says that servants are always prying into one's concerns. Good night, Capitaine Rotherby! Thank you so much for taking me out this evening. After all, I cannot help feeling that it has been rather like the beginning of this holiday."

I held her hands tightly in mine.

"When it really begins," I answered, "I shall try and make it a little more interesting!"

I declined a taxicab and turned to walk