Whoso Findeth a Wife

Chapter Seventeen

A Spy’s Story

“I know nothing of diamond eyes,” I replied, surprised at Paul’s excited inquiry. Instead of showing a good-natured friendliness towards me as usual, he had suddenly become agitated and suspicious. He glanced at me in doubt, saying, —

“Sonia has been revealing something. It is useless now to try and disguise the fact.”

“No,” I replied quickly. “She has not explained anything. What do you expect her to reveal?”

“Oh, nothing, my dear fellow, nothing,” he answered, smiling, with that indifference cultivated by the diplomat. “The expression you used was as original as it was unusual, that’s all.”

“I don’t claim originality for it,” I laughed. “To Sonia is the credit due.”

“To Sonia?” he exclaimed uneasily, glancing sharply at me. “Then it is true, as I suspected, that she has been telling you some of her ingenious falsehoods.”

“Scarcely that,” I replied, thrusting my hands deeply into my pockets. “She has merely urged me to go to Ella and ask her whether she is acquainted with anyone with diamond eyes.”

“As I thought,” he cried, rising and pacing the room furiously. “It is exactly as I expected. She is trying to entrap you as she has the others, and has embarked upon the first step by speaking thus of Ella, and sowing seeds of suspicion in your mind. This is the character of the woman you seek to help, and you invoke my assistance in your efforts! No, Geoffrey,” he said, halting suddenly, and looking me straight in the face, “I shall not stir on her behalf.”

“But remember, that in return for the passport, she has promised to tell me all regarding Ella,” I cried anxiously.

“All?” he echoed, in surprise. “Is she such a mysterious person, then? Surely you have confidence in her, or you would not have asked her to be your wife?”

“There is a mystery connected with her,” I said quietly. “A mystery, deep and inscrutable, that perplexes me to the point of distraction.”

“Tell me about it,” Verblioudovitch said, interested.

It was upon my tongue to relate to him the whole of the facts sub silentio, but a thought at that instant occurred to me that such a course would be unjust to Ella, therefore I evaded his invitation to make him my confidant. Returning quickly to the object for which I had sought him, I persuaded him to assist me by giving me a passport for Sonia.

“What will she do in return?” he again inquired, raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders in a manner habitual to him when unduly excited. “She will concoct some idiotic, romantic story, in order that the woman you love shall suffer. I really cannot see, Geoffrey, what end can be attained in assisting a criminal to re-enter the country from which she is a fugitive. You don’t know the real character of this apparently ingenuous girl, or I feel certain you would never ask me to imperil my reputation by rendering her assistance. If I had done my duty long ago, I should have allowed the extradition proceedings to go on. I’m sorry now I didn’t, for if I had you would have been saved a world of worry, and we should have been rid of the pair for ever.”

“You seem actuated by some spirit of animosity against her,” I blurted forth.

“Not at all. I’ve never seen her in my life,” he protested. “You apparently want confirmation of my words. Well, you shall have it at once,” and he touched an electric button.

The summons was instantly obeyed by a messenger in uniform, and to this man Paul spoke some words. A few minutes later a short, middle-aged Russian entered.

His hair was grey, his clean-shaven face was rather red and slightly pimply, his small, jet black eyes were set too closely together, and his low brows met above his nose. Fashionably attired in frock coat of light grey, with a pink carnation in the lapel, he looked so spick and span that I regarded him with genuine surprise, when my friend, introducing us, said, —

“This, Geoffrey, is Ivan Renouf; I daresay you have heard of him. He is now chief of the section of Secret Police attached to our Embassies of London and Paris.”

I nodded in acknowledgment of the bow of this expert detective who, at the time I had lived in St Petersburg, had been the terror of all criminals. The stories told of his amazing ingenuity in detecting crime were legion, though many of them were perhaps fabulous; yet there was no doubt that he was one of the most experienced police officers in Europe.

“Renouf,” my friend exclaimed, “I want to ask you a question. What character does Sonia Korolénko bear?”

“Sonia?” answered the great detective, reflectively, in fairly good English. “Ah! you mean the daughter of Anton Korolénko who escaped from St Petersburg? – eh?”

“Yes. Tell my friend, Deedes,” Paul said, with a slow gesture indicating me.

“Well,” he answered, glancing quickly at me with his searching eyes, “for the past nine months we have kept her under strict surveillance, expecting that she intended to re-commence operations in London. Indeed, I have here in my pocket the report for the last forty-eight hours,” and he took from his breast-pocket a long folded paper. “It shows among other things that she has had several visitors at her house in Kensington, one of whom was a gentleman who, according to the description, must have borne a strong resemblance to m’sieur. Two hours before this man had called a lady visited her, and remained with her about an hour.” Then, reading from the report, he continued, “the description says, tall, good-looking, blue eyes, reddish-brown hair, straw hat trimmed with pale-blue, brown shoes, light blouse, black cycling skirt.”

“By Heaven!” I cried excitedly, “that’s Ella! Every word of that description tallies, even to the dress, boots and hat!”

“She is a frequent visitor,” the detective observed. “She calls on her bicycle every day.”

“Every day!” I echoed in astonishment. “I did not know they were friends.”

“Did I not tell you that she was concealing the truth?” Paul observed, smiling at my dismay. “Tell m’sieur of the past, Ivan.”

“Ah! her record is a very black one – very black,” the officer of police answered gravely, again fixing his small dark eyes upon me. “Her swindling transactions extend over several years, and she has no doubt acquired quite a fortune, while at least one of her victims has lost his life. By one coup she accomplished in Moscow, with the aid of that soft-spoken old scoundrel, her father, they pocketed nearly one hundred thousand roubles between them.”

“I really can’t believe it,” I exclaimed, dumbfounded.

“There is no doubt whatever about it,” Renouf answered. “It was all in the papers at the time and made quite a stir throughout Europe. The story is a rather tragic one; sufficient to show what kind of woman she is. About three years ago she went with her father from St Petersburg to Moscow, where they took a handsome house, furnished it luxuriously, and gave a number of brilliant entertainments. At one of these the pretty Sonia, whose jewels were the admiration of half the city, met the young Prince Alexis Gazarin, a mere youth of twenty-two, who had only a few months before inherited a huge fortune from his father, the well-known promoter of the oil industry at Baku. Alexis fell violently in love with her, made her many costly presents, proposed marriage and was accepted, the parental consent being extracted only when he had deposited in the bank in Sonia’s name one hundred thousand roubles as settlement upon her. A week before the marriage, the body of Alexis was discovered floating in the yellow Volga near Kostroma, but whether his death was due to accident, suicide or foul play has never been ascertained. The fact, however, remains that Anton Korolénko and his pretty daughter left Moscow a week later, carrying with them one hundred thousand roubles of the dead man’s money.”

“Do you allege that the pair actually murdered him?” I inquired, astounded at this story.

The detective smiled mysteriously, gave his shoulders a significant shrug, but did not reply.

“This,” exclaimed Paul, “is the sort of woman you are trying to befriend! No doubt she has told you a most touching story of persecution, and all that; but can anyone be surprised if our police endeavour to arrest her? I tell you plainly she’s a mere adventuress, with a plausible story ever upon her tongue.”

“Do you refuse to do what I ask?” I inquired at last, when Renouf, pleading an appointment, had bowed and departed.

“I can really see no satisfactory reason why I should,” he answered, standing in the centre of the Persian rug spread before the fireplace.

“You are my friend, Paul,” I urged. “At all times I am, as you are aware, ready to perform you any personal service.”

“It is not rendering you a personal service if, by giving the passport, I induce her to tell you a tissue of untruths.”

“But it is evident, even from Renouf’s report, that Ella visits her. It is to obtain an elucidation of a secret that I am striving, for I am convinced Sonia knows the truth.”

“If she does, then you may rely upon it she will not tell it to you, but substitute some romantic fiction or other,” he laughed. “It is really astounding to find you so confident in her honesty.”

Paul Verblioudovitch’s attack of ill-temper vanished as he threw himself back in his chair and showed all his white teeth in a hearty guffaw.

“I am not confident,” I declared. “I have assisted the girl to obtain her freedom, therefore I cannot see that she can have any object in wilfully deceiving me. Her promise to reveal the truth regarding Ella in exchange for the passport is but a mere business arrangement.”

“You apparently suspect the woman you love of some terrible crime or other,” Paul said, after a pause. “I can’t understand you, Geoffrey, I must confess.”

“If you were in my place, fondly loving a woman who was enveloped in bewildering mystery, you would, I have no doubt, act quite as strangely as myself,” I exclaimed, smiling grimly. “I only want to discover light in this chaos of perplexity; then only shall I be content.”

“But if circumstances have so conspired to produce a problem, why not remain patient until its natural elucidation is effected? The police, when baffled, frequently adopt that course, and often very effectually, too.”

“Truth to tell, old fellow,” I said confidentially, “I am anxious to marry Ella, but cannot until I have ascertained some substantial truth.”

“Of what do you suspect her – of a crime?” he inquired, smiling.

I paused.

“Yes,” I answered gravely, “of a crime.”

I fancied he started as I spoke, almost imperceptibly, perhaps, yet I could have sworn that my words produced within him some nervous apprehension.

“A crime!” he echoed. “Surely she cannot be guilty of anything more serious than some little indiscretion.”

“It is more than mere indiscretion that I suspect,” I said, in a low tone.

“Well,” he observed mechanically, as, after a pause, he stood at the window, gazing fixedly into the street, “I certainly would never accept as truth anything whatever told me by Sonia Korolénko.”

I was, however, inexorable in my demand, more than ever determined to hear Sonia’s story. The strange, hesitating manner in which my friend had endeavoured to avoid complying with my request had aroused suspicion within me; of what, I could not tell. It struck me as curious that he should thus defend Ella so strenuously, although he knew her but slightly. He was, perhaps, acting in my interests as his friend, but if so, his intense hatred of Sonia was more than the mere official denunciation of an evil-doer. I did not believe his declaration that he had never met Sonia, but it seemed rather as if he had cause to well remember his meeting with her, and that its recollection still rankled bitterly within him.

The admission by Renouf was a little disconcerting. Sonia certainly did not dream that the Tzar’s spies were even now watching her every action and carefully scrutinising each person who called at Pembroke Road. I saw that this knowledge I had acquired might prove extremely useful to her, for it was plain that even if she obtained the passport she would have to leave England secretly to avoid the vigilance of the secret agents of the Embassy. Again, why did Ella visit her? Instead of cycling in the Park she went to Pembroke Road, according to the report furnished to Renouf, nearly every day. For what purpose, I wondered. The more I reflected, the more deeply it became rooted within me that through Sonia I might ascertain the truth I sought.

Therefore I abandoned none of my efforts to persuade my friend to issue the document that would pass the sad-eyed girl across the frontier into the land she loved. For fully half-an-hour we discussed the situation, but he would not consent. She was an adventuress and a criminal, he said, and he was not prepared to risk the consequences if she were arrested in Russia with a false special permit issued by him.

“Besides,” he added, “you have heard from Renouf how she is constantly kept under observation.”

“But you could arrange that with him if you liked. A word from you and the vigilance of the police would be relaxed for an hour or two while she escaped,” I observed.

“Ah, no,” Verblioudovitch answered, “we have nothing whatever to do with Renouf and his subordinates, who are under the direct control of Sekerzhinski, the chief of the department in St Petersburg. They take no instructions from us.”

“Renouf would, however, do you a personal favour,” I hazarded.

“I fear not,” was the reply. “We are not the best of friends. That is the reason I hesitate to issue a document that might implicate me. If he discovered the truth, my prospects in the diplomatic service might be ruined.”

With all Paul’s gay spirits and careless manner he possessed an eager enthusiasm, and an insatiable curiosity concerning humanity at large.

“But there is yet another way,” I said.

“How?”

“Obtain the signature of His Excellency, the Ambassador. You can make an excuse that the permit is for a friend.”

Paul remained silent, pacing the room with stolid face and automatic movement. At last he turned to me, saying, —

“I see, Deedes, it’s quite useless to argue longer. I admit that I am exceedingly anxious to render you this service, but knowing as I do that the consequences must be disastrous either to you, or to the woman Korolénko, I have hesitated. Yet if you are determined to assist her I suppose I must obtain for you the necessary paper.”

“Thanks, old fellow, thanks! I knew you would help me,” I exclaimed enthusiastically.

“I cannot let you have it before this evening. If you will send Juckes round at seven you shall have it with the visé and everything complete.”

“What a good fellow you are!” I cried joyfully, rising and shaking his hand. “Some day I hope to be able to perform a service for you.”

“Let’s hope so, old chap,” he answered cheerily, but next second his face assumed a grave expression, as he added, “Take my advice now, and do not let any of Sonia’s wild allegations disturb you. She certainly is too expert an adventuress to tell you anything to your own advantage, although whatever she does reveal will be to the detriment of the woman you love.”

“Why are you so certain of this?” I inquired quickly, in genuine surprise.

“I have strong reasons for anticipating the course she will adopt,” he answered ambiguously. “I therefore give you warning.”

“It seems that she is acquainted with Ella,” I observed.

“Yes, from Renouf’s report. But remember my words, and don’t be led away by any of her false statements. Do not forget that there is a very strong motive why she should denounce Miss Laing – a motive you will perhaps discover ere long,” and he smiled mysteriously.

“Very well,” I exclaimed, after a brief pause. Then again shaking his hand, I left, after expressing thanks and promising to send Juckes to the Embassy that evening.

Chapter Eighteen

Some Surprises

Several weeks passed uneventfully. In fulfilment of my promise to Sonia I had obtained the required permit and taken it personally to Pembroke Road on the same evening, but on arrival there discovered that the pretty Russian had been unexpectedly summoned to the bedside of a sick friend. She had, however, left a note with the English maid asking me to enclose the document in an envelope and leave it.

“I regret it is impossible for me to be at home to receive you,” she wrote in French, “but I have every confidence that you will secure me what I require. If you leave it for me I will, in return, write down and send you the facts I promised to reveal. Time presses, therefore kindly excuse my haste. I shall always remember your kindness and be ready to render you any service in return.”

This was disappointing. I had hoped to hear from her own lips her promised revelations, but this being impossible, I enclosed the special permit in an envelope, sealed it and left it, together with a brief note warning her that she was being carefully watched by police agents, and promising to call next day and bid her farewell.

When on the following morning I presented myself at her house, I was informed by the maid that mademoiselle had left early to visit her sick friend, and that she would not return till evening. Inquiry showed that she had received my letter, and when at eight o’clock that night I again called in the expectation of obtaining the fulfilment of her promise to tell me of Ella, I found her still absent, and gathered from the servant that she had taken a travelling-trunk with her. I concluded that she had left secretly for Russia.

From day to day I waited in the expectation of a letter from her, but although I remained in anxiety and doubt for more than a month, none came, and I was at last compelled to admit that I had actually been tricked, as Paul had predicted. He was right after all. Sonia, the innocent-looking girl with the sad, dark eyes and dimpled chin, was a woman internationally notorious, who, soft-voiced, had posed as my friend in order to attain her own ends, and had then departed without carrying out her part of the compact. As the weeks passed I gradually began to realise the force of Paul Verblioudovitch’s words when he had tried to impress upon me the necessity of accepting her statements with caution. Without doubt she was a heartless adventuress, therefore I bitterly reproached myself for having allowed her libellous allegations against Ella to arouse suspicion within me, and at length determined upon regarding all her words as false, uttered merely for the purpose of enlisting my assistance to procure here re-entry into her own country. My anger that I should have allowed myself to fall into such a trap, and make such a demand upon a friend’s goodwill, knew no bounds. I went to the Embassy, and to Paul admitted that my hopes had not been realised. In reply, he laughed heartily, saying, —

“I warned you, my dear fellow, of the kind of woman with whom you were dealing. Thank your stars that she has discarded you so easily, and be careful of pretty refugees in future. No harm has apparently been done, for inquiries I’ve made showed that she crossed the frontier at Verjbolovo without detection.”

“I must confess I doubted the truth of your words before you issued the permit, but of course it is all plain now,” I said.

“You don’t believe her lies about Miss Laing, eh?” he inquired bluntly, but a trifle earnestly, I thought.

“No, I don’t,” I smiled; and then our conversation had drifted into a different channel. It was clear enough now, patent to everybody, that the girl I had fancied so pure, so unworldly – the goddess that sat in the clouds regarding all earth with clear, immaculate eyes – was simply an adventuress, a wretched creature, on the lookout for victims.

The popular excitement consequent from the belief that war was to be declared had died down, although in the Foreign Office the reason of the sudden abandonment of Russia’s intentions remained an inscrutable mystery, while the panic on the Stock Exchange had enriched a few and ruined many. Parliament had risen for the recess, and Beck had taken a party in his yacht to the Norwegian fiords, Ella and Mrs Laing declining his invitation to join them. This course had been adopted at my suggestion. When Ella had spoken to me of their proposed cruise, I at once demurred, for although I had also been asked, I found absence from the Foreign Office impossible, owing to several delicate negotiations at that moment proceeding, and therefore urged her to remain in London. This she did at once, declining the invitation on behalf of both herself and her mother. The latter, who was not a good sailor, secretly thanked me for rescuing her from what she termed “three weeks of misery,” and, truth to tell, although no longer jealous of Beck’s attention to Ella, I was glad to have her remain in town.

Through the hot, stifling August days, when London was what is termed “empty,” Mrs Laing and her daughter still lived in Pont Street. During the first three weeks following my visit to Sonia I called only twice, but meantime Ella was, I know, suffering tortures of doubt and anxiety. She had been trained in a school of self-repression, and it now stood her in good stead. She could not, however, prevent her cheeks being pale, neither could she help her eyes looking dilated and odd. Speech was difficult and smiles impossible; otherwise she held her own, and only I felt the difference, and knew that there lay a deep gulf of suspicion between us.

On the two occasions on which I had called we had no confidential chat, and the formal hours went by almost in silence. I had received positive proof from Renouf that she had been a constant visitor to Sonia, and it was impossible to talk with frivolity in that oppressive atmosphere of doubt. Mrs Laing, I noticed, hung her gold pince-nez high upon her nose in wonder. Ella was thus consuming herself with anxiety, while I, struggling along from day to day, saw my last hope growing thinner and yet more shadowy, and looming through it – despair.

Then at last, five weeks after Sonia’s flight, I called at Pont Street and demanded of Ella the reason she had visited the house in Pembroke Road. Her reply was quite unexpected. She told me quite calmly that they had been schoolfellows at Neuilly, and that, finding Sonia had lost both her parents, she went to Pembroke Road each day to bear the bereaved girl company. She was in ignorance regarding Sonia’s life since she had left the French school, and expressed surprise that she should have departed suddenly without telling her of her destination. Her replies to my inquiries set my mind at rest upon several points. It appeared quite plain that Ella herself had told Sonia of her engagement to me and had described the tragic incident at Staines, therefore the pretty refugee had been enabled to drop those ingenious hints at mystery that had so sorely puzzled me, and had cleverly secured my interests on her behalf.

When I realised how artfully I had been tricked, I ground my teeth, and Ella, standing statuesque on the opposite side of the drawing-room in strong relief against a background of dark, glossy palms and broad-leaved tropical plants, noticed my anger. The light fell upon her red-brown hair and upon her slightly upturned face, showing its delicate modelling in its almost childish roundness. Her profile was quite as charming as her full face, perhaps more so, as it had the advantage of the curl and sweep of the eyelashes and of the fine line of the upper lip.

She eyed me gravely, but spoke no word.

Yet in that instant I knew I had misjudged her, that through those long, anxious weeks while I had entertained dark suspicions she had nevertheless still loved me honestly and truly. I know not what words I uttered, but a few moments later I found her sobbing in my fond embrace. Her tears were tears of joy.

The silence was long. We had so much to think about that we forgot to speak, but presently, when she dried her blue eyes with her flimsy lace handkerchief and seated herself, I took the tiny hand lying idly in her lap and laid my cheek down on the tender, rosy palm.

“How I wish that this night could last for ever,” I said, with a sigh of supreme contentment. “In my memory it will live always.”

“Always?” she echoed, looking tenderly into my face; then for the first time she put her arms around me and held me tightly pressed against her heart.