Mysterious Mr. Sabin by E. Phillips Oppenheim (read books for money TXT) 📕

“Just returned. When can you call and conclude arrangements? Am anxious to see you. Read to-night’s paper.—K.”

The telegram slipped from Mr. Sabin’s fingers. He tore open the St. James’s Gazette, and a little exclamation escaped from his lips as he saw the thick black type which headed the principal columns:—

Mr. Sabin’s breakfast remained untasted. He read every word in the four columns, and then turned to the other newspapers. They were all ablaze with the news. England’s most renowned ally had turned suddenly against her. Without the slightest warning the fire-brand of war had been kindled, and waved threateningly in our very faces. The occasion was hopelessly insignificant. A handful of English adventurers, engaged in a somewhat rash but plucky expedition in a distant part of the world, had met with a sharp reverse. In itself the affair was nothing; yet it bade fair to become a matter of international history. Ill-advised though they may have been, the Englishmen carried with them a charter granted by the British Government. There was no secret about it—the fact was perfectly understood in every Cabinet of Europe. Yet the German Emperor had himself written a telegram congratulating the State which had repelled the threatened attack. It was scarcely an invasion—it was little more than a demonstration on the part of an ill-treated section of the population! The fact that German interests were in no way concerned—that any outside interference was simply a piece of gratuitous impertinence—only intensified the significance of the incident. A deliberate insult had been offered to England; and the man who sat there with the paper clenched in his hand, whilst his keen eyes devoured the long columns of wonder and indignation, knew that his had been the hand which had hastened the long-pent-up storm. He drew a little breath when he had finished, and turned to his breakfast.

“Is Miss Sabin up yet?” he asked the servant, who waited upon him.

The man was not certain, but withdrew to inquire. He reappeared almost directly. Miss Sabin had been up for more than an hour. She had just returned from a walk, and had ordered breakfast to be served in her room.

“Tell her,” Mr. Sabin directed, “that I should be exceedingly obliged if she would take her coffee with me. I have some interesting news.”

The man was absent for several minutes. Before he returned Helène came in. Mr. Sabin greeted her with his usual courtesy and even more than his usual cordiality.

“You are missing the best part of the morning with your Continental habits,” she exclaimed brightly. “I have been out on the cliffs since half-past eight. The air is delightful.”

She threw off her hat, and going to the sideboard, helped herself to a cup of coffee. There was a becoming flush upon her cheeks—her hair was a little tossed by the wind. Mr. Sabin watched her curiously.

“You have not, I suppose, seen a morning paper—or rather last night’s paper?” he remarked.

She shook her head.

“A newspaper! You know that I never look at an English one,” she answered. “You wanted to see me, Reynolds said. Is there any news?”

“There is great news,” he answered. “There is such news that by sunset to-day war will probably be declared between England and Germany!”

The flush died out of her cheeks. She faced him pallid to the lips.

“It is not possible!” she exclaimed.

“So the whole world would have declared a week ago! As a matter of fact it is not so sudden as we imagine! The storm has been long brewing! It is we who have been blind. A little black spot of irritation has spread and deepened into a war-cloud.”

“This will affect us?” she asked.

“For us,” he answered, “it is a triumph. It is the end of our schemes, the climax of our desires. When Knigenstein came to me I knew that he was in earnest, but I never dreamed that the torch was so nearly kindled. I see now why he was so eager to make terms with me.”

“And you,” she said, “you have their bond?”

For a moment he looked thoughtful.

“Not yet. I have their promise—the promise of the Emperor himself. But as yet my share of the bargain is incomplete. There must be no more delay. It must be finished now—at once. That telegram would never have been sent from Berlin but for their covenant with me. It would have been better, perhaps, had they waited a little time. But one cannot tell! The opportunity was too good to let slip.”

“How long will it be,” she asked, “before your work is complete?”

His face clouded over. In the greater triumph he had almost forgotten the minor difficulties of the present. He was a diplomatist and a schemer of European fame. He had planned great things, and had accomplished them. Success had been on his side so long that he might almost have been excused for declining to reckon failure amongst the possibilities. The difficulty which was before him now was as trifling as the uprooting of a hazel switch after the conquest of a forest of oaks. But none the less for the moment he was perplexed. It was hard, in the face of this need for urgent haste, to decide upon the next step.

“My work,” he said slowly, “must be accomplished at once. There is very little wanted. Yet that little, I must confess, troubles me.”

“You have not succeeded, then, in obtaining what you want from Lord Deringham?”

“No.”

“Will he not help you at all?”

“Never.”

“How, then, do you mean to get at these papers of his?”

“At present,” he replied, “I scarcely know. In an hour or two I may be able to tell you. It is possible that it might take me twenty-four hours; certainly no longer than that.”

She walked to the window, and stood there with her hands clasped behind her back. Mr. Sabin had lit a cigarette and was smoking it thoughtfully.

Presently she spoke to him.

“You will get them,” she said; “yes, I believe that. In the end you will succeed, as you have succeeded in everything.”

There was a lack of enthusiasm in her tone. He looked up quietly, and flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette.

“You are right,” he said. “I shall succeed. My only regret is that I have made a slight miscalculation. It will take longer than I imagined. Knigenstein will be in a fever, and I am afraid that he will worry me. At the same time he is himself to blame. He has been needlessly precipitate.”

She turned away from the window and stood before him. She had a look in her face which he had seen there but once before, and the memory of which had ever since troubled him.

“I want you,” she said, “to understand this. I will not have any direct harm worked upon the Deringhams. If you can get what they have and what is necessary to us by craft—well, very good. If not, it must go! I will not have force used. You should remember that Lord Wolfenden saved your life! I will have nothing to do with any scheme which brings harm upon them!”

He looked at her steadily. A small spot of colour was burning high up on his pallid cheeks. The white, slender fingers, toying carelessly with one of the breakfast appointments, were shaking. He was very near being passionately angry.

“Do you mean,” he said, speaking slowly and enunciating every word with careful distinctness, “do you mean that you would sacrifice or even endanger the greatest cause which has ever been conceived in the heart of the patriot, to the whole skin of a household of English people? I wonder whether you realise the position as it stands at this moment. I am bound in justice to you to believe that you do not. Do you realise that Germany has closed with our offer, and will act at our behest; that only a few trifling sheets of paper stand between us and the fullest, the most glorious success? Is it a time, do you think, for scruples or for maudlin sentiment? If I were to fail in my obligations towards Knigenstein I should not only be dishonoured and disgraced, but our cause would be lost for ever. The work of many years would crumble into ashes. My own life would not be worth an hour’s purchase. Helène, you are mad! You are either mad, or worse!”

She faced him quite unmoved.