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

which needs some explanation. If your interest is really, as you suggest, at an end, what are you doing down here? I presume that your appearance is not altogether a coincidence.”

“Certainly not,” Felix answered. “Let me correct you, however, on one trifling point. I said, you must remember—my personal interest.”

“I do not,” Mr. Sabin remarked, “exactly see the distinction; in fact, I do not follow you at all!”

“I am so stupid,” Felix declared apologetically. “I ought to have explained myself more clearly. It is even possible that you, who know everything, may yet be ignorant of my present position.”

“I certainly have no knowledge of it,” Mr. Sabin admitted.

Felix was gently astonished.

“Really! I took it for granted, of course, that you knew. Well, I am employed—not in any important post, of course—at the Russian Embassy. His Excellency has been very kind to me.”

Mr. Sabin for once felt his nerve grow weak; those evil forebodings of his had very swiftly become verified. This man was his enemy. Yet he recovered himself almost as quickly. What had he to fear? His was still the winning hand.

“I am pleased to hear,” he said, “that you have found such creditable employment. I hope you will make every effort to retain it; you have thrown away many chances.”

Felix at first smiled; then he leaned back amongst the cushions and laughed outright. When he had ceased, he wiped the tears from his eyes. He sat up again and looked with admiration at the still, pale figure opposite to him.

“You are inimitable,” he said—“wonderful! If you live long enough, you will certainly become very famous. What will it be, I wonder—Emperor, Dictator, President of a Republic, the Minister of an Emperor? The latter I should imagine; you were always such an aristocrat. I would not have missed this journey for the world. I am longing to know what you will say to Prince Lobenski at King’s Cross.”

Mr. Sabin looked at him keenly.

“So you are only a lacquey after all, then?” he remarked—“a common spy!”

“Very much at your service,” Felix answered, with a low bow. “A spy, if you like, engaged for the last two weeks in very closely watching your movements, and solving the mystery of your sudden devotion to a heathenish game!”

“There, at any rate,” Mr. Sabin said calmly, “you are quite wrong. If you had watched my play I flatter myself that you would have realised that my golf at any rate was no pretence.”

“I never imagined,” Felix rejoined, “that you would be anything but proficient at any game in which you cared to interest yourself; but I never imagined either that you came to Cromer to play golf—especially just now.”

“Modern diplomacy,” Mr. Sabin said, after a brief pause, “has undergone, as you may be aware, a remarkable transformation. Secrecy is now quite out of date; it is the custom amongst the masters to play with the cards upon the table.”

“There is a good deal in what you say,” Felix answered thoughtfully. “Come, we will play the game, then! It is my lead. Very well! I have been down here watching you continually, with the object of discovering the source of this wonderful power by means of which you are prepared to offer up this country, bound hand and foot, to whichever Power you decide to make terms with. Sounds like a fairy tale, doesn’t it? But you obviously believe in it yourself, and Lobenski believes in you.”

“Good!” Mr. Sabin declared. “That power of which I have spoken I now possess! It was nearly complete a month ago; an hour’s work now will make it a living and invulnerable fact.”

“You obtained,” Felix said, “your final success this afternoon, when you robbed the mad Admiral.”

Mr. Sabin shook his head gently.

“I have not robbed any one,” he said; “I never use force.”

Felix looked at him reproachfully.

“I have heard much that is evil about you,” he said, “but I have never heard before that you were known to—to—dear me, it is a very unpleasant thing to say!”

“Well, sir?”

“To cheat at cards!”

Mr. Sabin drew a short, little breath.

“What I have said is true to the letter,” he repeated “The Admiral gave me the trifling information I asked for, with his own hands.”

Felix remained incredulous.

“Then you must add the power of hypnotism,” he declared, “to your other accomplishments.”

Mr. Sabin laughed scornfully, nevertheless he did not seem to be altogether at his ease. The little scene in the library at Deringham Hall was not a pleasant recollection for him.

“The matter after all,” he said coldly, “is unimportant; it is merely a detail. I will admit that you have done your spy’s work well. Now, what will buy your memory, and your departure from this train, at the next station?”

Felix smiled.

“You are becoming more sensible,” he said; “very fair question to ask. My price is the faithful fulfilment of your contract with my chief.”

“I have made no contract with him.”

“You have opened negotiations; he is ready to come to terms with you. You have only to name your price.”

“I have no price,” Mr. Sabin said quietly, “that he could pay.”

“What Knigenstein can give,” Felix said, “he can give double. The Secret Service funds of Russia are the largest in the world; you can have practically a blank cheque upon them.”

“I repeat,” Mr. Sabin said, “I have no price that Prince Lobenski could pay. You talk as though I were a blackmailer, or a common thief. You have always misunderstood me. Come! I will remember that the cards are upon the table; I will be wholly frank with you. It is Knigenstein with whom I mean to treat, and not your chief. He has agreed to my terms—Russia never could.”

Felix was silent for a moment.

“You are holding,” he said, “your trump card in your hand. Whatever in this world Germany could give you, Russia could improve upon.”

“She could do so,” Mr. Sabin said, “only at the expense of her honour. Come! here is that trump card. I will throw it upon the table; now you see that my hands are empty. My price is the invasion of France, and the restoration of the Monarchy.”

Felix looked at him as a man looks upon a lunatic.

“You are playing with me,” he cried.

“I was never more in earnest in my life,” Mr. Sabin said.

“Do you mean to tell me that you—in cold blood—are working for so visionary, so impossible an end?”

“It is neither visionary,” Mr. Sabin said, “nor impossible. I do not believe that any man, save myself, properly appreciates the strength of the Royalist party in France. Every day, every minute brings it fresh adherents. It is as certain that some day a king will reign once more at Versailles, as that the sun will set before many hours are past. The French people are too bourgeois at heart to love a republic. The desire for its abolition is growing up in their hearts day by day. You understand me now when I say that I cannot treat with your country? The honour of Russia is bound up with her friendship to France. Germany, on the other hand, has ready her battle cry. She and France have been quivering on the verge of war for many a year. My whole hand is upon the table now, Felix. Look at the cards, and tell me whether we can treat!”

Felix was silent. He looked at his opponent with unwilling admiration; the man after all, then, was great. For the moment he could think of nothing whatever to say.

“Now, listen to me,” Mr. Sabin continued earnestly. “I made a great mistake when I ever mentioned the matter to Prince Lobenski. I cannot treat with him, but on the other hand, I do not want to be hampered by his importunities for the next few days. You have done your duty, and you have done it well. It is not your fault that you cannot succeed. Leave the train at the next station—disappear for a week, and I will give you a fortune. You are young—the world is before you. You can seek distinction in whatever way you will. I have a cheque-book in my pocket, and a fountain pen. I will give you an order on the Crédit Lyonnaise for £20,000.”

Felix laughed softly; his face was full of admiration. He looked at his watch, and began to gather together his belongings.

“Write out the cheque,” he said; “I agree. We shall be at the junction in about ten minutes.”

CHAPTER XXXVI THE MODERN RICHELIEU

“So I have found you at last!”

Mr. Sabin looked up with a distinct start from the table where he sat writing. When he saw who his visitor was, he set down his pen and rose to receive her at once. He permitted himself to indulge in a little gesture of relief; her noiseless entrance had filled him with a sudden fear.

“My dear Helène,” he said, placing a chair for her, “if I had had the least idea that you wished to see me, I would have let you know my whereabouts. I am sorry that you should have had any difficulty; you should have written.”

She shrugged her shoulders slightly.

“What does it all mean?” she asked. “Why are you masquerading in cheap lodgings, and why do they say at Kensington that you have gone abroad? Have things gone wrong?”

He turned and faced her directly. She saw then that pale and haggard though he was, his was not the countenance of a man tasting the bitterness of failure.

“Very much the contrary,” he said; “we are on the brink of success. All that remains to be done is the fitting together of my American work with the last of these papers. It will take me about another twenty-four hours.”

She handed across to him a morning newspaper, which she had been carrying in her muff. A certain paragraph was marked.

“We regret to state that Admiral, the Earl of Deringham, was seized yesterday morning with a fit, whilst alone in his study. Dr. Bond, of Harley Street, was summoned at once to a consultation, but we understand that the case is a critical one, and the gravest fears are entertained. Lord Deringham was the greatest living authority upon the subject of our fleet and coast defences, and we are informed that at the time of his seizure he was completing a very important work in connection with this subject.”

Mr. Sabin read the paragraph slowly, and then handed the paper back to Helène.

“Deringham was a very distinguished man,” he remarked, “but he was stark mad, and has been for years. They have been able to keep it quiet, only because he was harmless.”

“You remember what I told you about these people,” Helène said sternly; “I told you distinctly that I would not have them harmed in any way. You were at Deringham Hall on the morning of his seizure. You went straight there from the Lodge.”

“That is quite true,” he admitted; “but I had nothing to do with his illness.”

“I wish I could feel quite certain of that,” Helène answered. “You are a very determined man, and you went there to get papers from him by any means. You proved that you were altogether reckless as to how you got them, by your treatment of Lord Wolfenden. You succeeded! No one living knows by what means!”

He interrupted her with an impatient gesture.

“There is nothing in this worth discussion,” he declared. “Lord Deringham is nothing to you—you never even saw him in your life, and if you really have any misgivings about it, I can assure you that I got what I wanted from him without violence. It is not a matter for you to concern yourself in, nor is it a matter worth considering at all, especially at such a time as the present.”

She sat quite still, her head resting upon her gloved