Whoso Findeth a Wife

“She knows but little more than what I already know. He lived with me at Shepperton, and had few secrets from me.”

“Did you ever suspect him to be a spy?”

“Not for one moment. He had plenty of money of his own, and was in no sense an adventurer.”

“Well,” exclaimed the Premier, turning to his colleague at last. “It is extraordinary – most extraordinary.”

Lord Warnham nodded acquiescence, and said, “Yes, there is a deep and extraordinary mystery somewhere: a mystery we must, for the sake of our own honour, penetrate and elucidate.”

“I entirely agree,” answered the other. “We have been victimised by clever spies.”

“And all owing to Deedes’s culpable negligence,” added Lord Warnham, testily, glancing at me.

“No, I am inclined to differ,” exclaimed the Premier. He had never acted very generously towards me, and I was surprised that he should at this moment take up the cudgels on my behalf. “To me it appears, as far as the facts go, that Deedes has been victimised in the same manner as ourselves.”

“But if he had exercised due caution this terrible catastrophe could never have occurred,” the Foreign Minister cried impatiently, tapping the table with his pen in emphasis of his words.

“A little more than mere caution, or even shrewdness, is required to defeat the efforts of the Tzar’s spies,” the Premier said quietly. “In my opinion, Deedes, although in a measure under suspicion, cannot be actually condemned. Remember, among Ogle’s correspondence he discovered evidence of an undoubted attempt to forge his handwriting.”

“We have no corroboration that he really did find that actually among the dead man’s possessions,” exclaimed Lord Warnham quickly. “I have myself seen the detective who accompanied him to Shepperton, and he tells me that no sheets of paper of that character were discovered. He – ”

“I found them while he was engaged in an adjoining room,” I interrupted. “I did not mention it to him, preferring to bring the evidence straight to you.”

“It is just possible that Deedes’s version is correct,” observed the Premier. “Personally, I must say, Warnham, that I cannot see any ground for the dismissal of a hitherto trustworthy servant of Her Majesty upon this extraordinary evidence. I have always found Deedes upright, loyal and patriotic, and coming as he does of a well-known family of diplomats, I really do not suspect him of having played his country false.”

“I am obliged for your Lordship’s words,” I exclaimed fervently. “I assure you that your merciful view is entirely correct. I am innocent, and at this moment am utterly at a loss to account for any of the amazing events of the past few days.”

Lord Warnham was silent in thought for a few moments, then, turning his sphinx-like face to me, he said, in a tone rather more conciliatory than before, “Very well. As it is Lord Maybury’s wish, I will reinstate you in the Service; but remember, I have no confidence in you.”

“Then you still suspect me of being a spy?” I cried reproachfully. “I am to remain under suspicion!”

“Exactly,” he answered dryly. “Until the truth is ascertained I, at least, shall believe you had something to do with the theft of that secret convention. Even the telegram sent from the Strand Post-Office to St Petersburg is in your handwriting – ”

“Forged!” I interposed. “Have you not already seen the careful attempts made to copy the formation of my letters and figures?”

“The greatest calligraphic expert of the day has pronounced the telegram to be undoubtedly in your own hand, while the counter-clerk who took in the message and received payment for it, has seen you surreptitiously, and recognised you by the shape of the silk hat you habitually wear.”

Here was an astounding case of mistaken identity. I had never entered the post-office near Exeter Hall for six months at least.

“I should like to meet that clerk face to face,” I burst forth. “He tells a distinct falsehood when he says he recognises me. I did not go into the Strand at all on that day.” Then a thought suddenly occurred to me when I reflected upon the shape of my hat, and I added, “I admit that my hat is of a rather unusual shape,” taking it up and exhibiting it to them. “But when I bought this in Piccadilly two months ago Ogle was with me, and he purchased one exactly similar.”

“Again the evidence is against the dead man,” the Premier said, turning to Lord Warnham. “Where is his hat?” he inquired of me sharply.

“At Shepperton. I can produce it if required. Its shape is exactly like mine.”

“You had better speak to Frayling upon that point,” observed Lord Warnham. “It may prove important. At any rate, Deedes, perhaps, after all, I have been just a trifle unjust in condemning you, therefore consider yourself reinstated in the same position as before, although I must admit that my previous confidence in your integrity is, to say the least, seriously – very seriously – impaired.”

“I hope it will not remain so long,” I said. “If there is anything I can do to restore your belief in my honesty, I will do it at whatever cost.”

“There is but one thing,” he exclaimed. “Discover the identity of the spy.”

“I will regard that the one endeavour of my life,” I declared earnestly. “If the mystery is to be fathomed I will accomplish it.”

“While we’ve been talking,” the Premier interposed, “a thought has occurred to me, and for mentioning it I hope you, Deedes, will pardon me. It has struck me that if, as seems even more than likely, this man Ogle was actually a spy who had carefully cultivated your acquaintance with an ulterior motive, is it not within the range of possibility that the lady, who was also your most intimate friend, as well as his, either knew the true facts, or had a hand in the affair?”

“I can trust Ella,” I said, glancing at him resentfully. “She is no spy.”

The elderly statesman stroked his beard thoughtfully and smiled, saying, “Ah, I expected as much. I myself was young once. When a man loves a woman he is very loth to think her capable of deceit. Yet in this instance we must not overlook the fact that more than one female spy has been brought under our notice.”

“I am aware of that,” I replied, angry that he should have made such a suggestion against my well-beloved, yet remembering her strange utterances when she heard the news of impending war shouted in the street. “But I have the most implicit faith in the woman who is to be my wife.”

“Has she explained, then, the character of the secret existing between herself and Ogle?” asked Lord Warnham, raising his grey, shaggy brows. “From the evidence at the inquest it was plain, you will remember, that there was some mysterious understanding between them. Has she given you her reasons for declaring that Ogle has been murdered?”

For a moment I was silent; afterwards I was compelled to make a negative reply.

“That doesn’t appear like perfect confidence, does it?” the Foreign Minister observed, with a short, hard laugh. “Depend upon it, Deedes, she fears to tell you the truth.”

“No, she fears some other person,” I admitted. “Who it is I know not.”

“Find out, and we shall then discover the spy,” the Premier said, adding, with a touch of sympathy, after a moment’s pause, “Remember, I allege nothing against you, Deedes. Do your duty, and regardless of all consequences discover the means by which we have been tricked. Induce the woman you love to speak; nay, if she loves you, force her to do so, for a woman who truly loves a man will do anything to benefit him, otherwise she is unworthy to become his wife. Some day ere long you yourself will become a diplomat, as other members of your family have been. Now is the time to practise tact, the first requisite of successful diplomacy. Be tactful, be resourceful, be cunning, and look far into the future, and you will succeed both in clearing yourself and in explaining this, the most remarkable mystery that has occurred during the long years of my administration.”

I thanked him briefly for his advice, declaring that it should be my firm endeavour to follow it, and also thanked Lord Warnham for my re-instatement, but my words were interrupted by a loud double knock at the door, and in response to an injunction to enter, there appeared, hot and breathless, Frank Lawley, one of the Foreign Office messengers. He wore, half-concealed by his overcoat, his small enamelled greyhound suspended around his neck by a thin chain, his badge of office, and in his hand carried one of the familiar travelling dispatch-boxes.

“Good evening, your Lordships,” he exclaimed, greeting us.

“Where are you from, Lawley?” inquired Lord Warnham, eagerly.

“From Paris, your Lordship. My dispatch, under flying seal, is, I believe, most important. The Marquis of Worthorpe feared to trust it on the wire.”

In an instant both Premier and Minister sprang to their feet. While Lord Maybury broke the seals Lord Warnham whipped out his keys, opened the outer case, and then the inner red leather box, from which he drew forth a single envelope.

This he tore open, and holding beneath the softly-shaded electric lamp the sheet of note-paper that bore the heading of our Embassy in Paris, both of Her Majesty’s Ministers eagerly devoured its contents.

When they had done so they held their breath, raised their heads, and without speaking, looked at each other in abject dismay. The contents of the dispatch held them spellbound.

The window of the room was open, and the dull, distant roaring of the great, turbulent multitude broke upon our ears. The excitement outside had risen to fever heat.

Chapter Thirteen

A Statement to the Press

“This is indeed extraordinary!” exclaimed Lord Maybury, the Premier, at last.

“An amazing development – most amazing!” the Foreign Minister cried, unusually excited.

“What is the best course?” asked the head of the Government.

“There is but one,” his colleague answered. “I shall wire to St Petersburg at once and await confirmation.”

“The situation is becoming absolutely bewildering,” observed the Premier. “It may be best, I think, to convene another meeting of the Cabinet.”

Lord Warnham, with that involuntary caution that he had developed during long years of office as Minister of Foreign Affairs, at once dismissed Frank Lawley, but allowed me to remain. As his confidential secretary I had been present on many occasions when delicate matters of diplomacy had been adjusted and plans arranged which, if divulged, would have caused an upheaval throughout Europe.

“No, I don’t think another Council is necessary, at least not to-night,” answered Lord Warnham, when the cosmopolitan messenger had closed the door behind him.

“But the whole thing is at present a mystery,” said the Prime Minister, standing astride with his broad back to the empty grate.

“Exactly. We must have news from the Embassy in St Petersburg before long. Until then, I think we should be patient.”

“But hark!” exclaimed the Premier, quite calmly, and as we all three listened we could hear the dull roar of the crowd becoming louder. The popular excitement outside was intense, and the eager multitude increased each moment. “They are clamouring for news. It is, I think, time that another statement should be made in the House.”

“As you wish,” Lord Warnham answered, with ill grace. It was part of his creed to tell the public absolutely nothing. The Premier was for publicity – he for secrecy always.

“But whatever statement is made regarding the receipt of intelligence it cannot compromise our position at St Petersburg,” the Marquis argued.

“Very well. Let the statement be made. But, personally, I cannot see what we can say at present.”

“Say something. It will reassure the public that we are endeavouring to readjust diplomatic negotiations. Already we are being hounded down on all sides by wild-haired agitators as having been asleep. Let us show our opponents that we are now fully alive to England’s peril.”

“Ah, Maybury,” laughed the Foreign Minister, “it is always my opinion that the less the public know the easier it is for us to carry on the business of the country. The irresponsible journals are really the cause of nine-tenths of our diplomatic ruptures.”

“But the Press assist us in many ways, and if you are averse to a statement in the House why not make one to The Times, or to a news agency? Perhaps the latter course would be best, for it will re-establish public confidence.”

“But that will not be official,” Lord Warnham demurred.

“Nevertheless, we can make the official statement later, when we have received confirmation of this extraordinary dispatch.”

“Is the dispatch from Paris very remarkable?” I asked, unable to any longer bear their tantalising conversation, so anxious was I to ascertain the latest development of this conspiracy against our country.

“Read it for yourself,” Lord Warnham answered, glancing at the Premier to ascertain whether this course received his approbation, and finding that it did, he handed me the dispatch, which I found a moment later read as follows: —

“From Marquis of Worthorpe, Paris, to Earl of Warnham, Her Majesty’s Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. – My Lord, – In further continuation of my dispatch of this morning, I have the honour to report to your Lordship that the war preparations actively commenced here on receipt of a telegram from St Petersburg (copy of which was enclosed in my last dispatch) have, owing to a later telegram from Russia, been entirely stopped. The orders for mobilisation have everywhere been countermanded. According to a statement just made to me by our secret agent in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the French Government have to-day received word that the Tzar’s declaration of war will not, for some unexplained reason, be published. I send this by special messenger in the hope that it will reach your Lordship this evening. – Worthorpe.”

“This is remarkable!” I cried. “It appears as if Russia has already repented.” But the Premier and his colleague, at that moment in consultation regarding the steps to be taken should this astounding and reassuring news prove correct, did not notice my remark. Presently, however, the Prime Minister, turning to me, asked, —

“Are any of the reporters your personal friends, Deedes?”

“Yes, I know several.”

“To whom shall we make our statement?” he inquired. “We want it spread throughout the country.”

“In that case I should suggest Mr Johns, of the agency that supplies the club tapes and newspapers.”

“Then send for him.”

At once I went to the door and dispatched the messenger waiting outside to find that well-known figure of the Reporters’ Gallery, who makes it his boast that for years without a break he had sat through every sitting of the House of Commons, and whose friends have a legend that he can enjoy a sleep in his “box” over the Speaker’s chair and awake at the very moment any question of public interest arises. Ten minutes had elapsed when the chosen representative of the Press entered, hot and breathless, bowing to their Lordships. He was spare, dark-haired, with sharp, aquiline features, a breadth of forehead that denoted considerable learning, a pointed, dark-brown beard, and a pair of sharp, penetrating eyes. He spoke with a broad Scotch accent, his sallow face betraying signs of considerable excitement.

“I desire, Mr Johns, to make a statement to the Press, and have sent for you with that object,” exclaimed the Minister for Foreign Affairs, glancing up at him.

“With pleasure, my Lord,” exclaimed the reporter, taking from his pocket a pencil and a few loose sheets of “copy paper.” “I’m quite ready.”

Then, as Lord Warnham dictated his message to the public, the representative of the news agency took it down in a series of rapid hieroglyphics. The words the Minister uttered were as follows: —

“In order to allay undue public alarm, I wish it to be known that, according to advices I have received, the statement in the Novoë Vremya to-day, at first believed to be correct, is without foundation.”

“Then war is not declared?” interrupted the reporter, excitedly.

“No. The alarming report reproduced by the English Press from the St Petersburg journal is apparently totally incorrect.”

“And I presume I may say that there is no rupture of diplomatic negotiations with St Petersburg?”

Lord Warnham, smiling that sphinx-like smile which might be construed into anything the interlocutor chose, turned to the Prime Minister for his opinion upon the point.

“Of course,” exclaimed the Marquis. “We have received no intimation of any diplomatic difficulty. Further, you may reassure the public that the Government will do everything in its power to avert any catastrophe; but as no catastrophe has occurred, all this excitement is quite uncalled for.”

“May I use your own words, your Lordship?” inquired the reporter, quickly. “I want to reproduce this in the form of an interview.”

“You can act as you please about that,” the Premier said, smiling as he added, “I suppose we shall see it in every newspaper in England to-morrow, headed, ‘The War Against England: Interview with the Prime Minister’ – eh?”

“Not to-morrow, your Lordship – to-night,” laughed the reporter, fidgeting in his eagerness to get away with the finest bit of “copy” that ever his pencil wrote.

The Premier turned to speak with Lord Warnham, but my friend Johns was not to be delayed, even by the discussion of the nation’s peril. If the Archangel had suddenly appeared he would have calmly “taken a note” of how such an occurrence affected the onlookers.

“Is there anything more I can say, your Lordship?” he asked, impatiently interrupting their conversation.

“No, I think not at present,” Lord Warnham answered. “If you have any further statement to make, I shall hold myself in readiness,” he said, the journalistic spirit of greed being aroused to have the whole of this exclusive information to himself.

“We will send for you if we have anything further to communicate,” Lord Warnham answered, and wishing him good evening, intimated that at least for the present the interview was at an end.

After he had left, it was desired, upon the suggestion of the Premier, to slightly amend one of the sentences used by Lord Warnham, and with that object I rushed after the excited interviewer. After a little search I found him in the small room behind the Press Gallery, dictating in breathless haste to the clerk, who sat resting his head on one hand while with the other he worked the telegraph-key. As I approached, I heard him exclaim in broad Scotch, – “Now, then, Ford, look sharp, my lad, look sharp! Send this along, ‘Our representative has just interviewed the Marquis of Maybury and the Earl of Warnham on the situation. The exclusive information imparted is of the greatest possible importance, as it shows’ – ”

Here I interrupted him, and having requested him to reconstruct the sentence, as desired by Lord Warnham, left him, and returned to where the two Ministers were still in earnest consultation.

Having busied myself with some correspondence lying upon the Foreign Minister’s table, while the pair discussed a critical point as to the instructions to be sent to Lord Worthorpe in Paris, there presently came another loud knock at the door. One of the clerks, who had rushed over from the Foreign Office, entered, bearing a telegraphic dispatch.

“Where from?” inquired Lord Warnham, noticing the paper in his hand as he came in.

“From St Petersburg, your Lordship,” he answered, handing him the telegram.

The Premier and Foreign Secretary read it through together in silence, expressions of satisfaction passing at once across both their countenances.

“Then we need have no further apprehension,” exclaimed the Premier at last, looking up at his colleague.

“Apparently not,” observed Lord Warnham. “This is certainly sufficient confirmation of Worthorpe’s dispatch,” and he tossed it across to the table whereat I sat, at the same time dismissing the clerk who had brought it.

Taking up the telegram, I saw at a glance it was from our secret agent in the Russian Foreign Office, and that it had been re-transmitted from Hamburg. Although he had stated that all cipher messages were refused, this was in our private code, and its transcription, written beneath, was as follows: —

“Remarkable development of situation has occurred. Ministers held a Council this afternoon, and after conferring with the Tzar, the latter decided to withdraw his proclamation of war, which was to be issued to-night. The reason for this sudden decision to preserve peace is a mystery, but the Tzar left half-an-hour ago on his journey south, two of the Ministers have left for their country seats, and telegraphic orders have been issued countermanding the military preparations, therefore it is certain that all idea of war is entirely abandoned. Immediately at the conclusion of the Council, a telegram was sent to the Russian Minister in Paris, informing him of the decision not to commence hostilities against England. The Novoë Vremya, in order to allay public feeling, is to be prosecuted for publishing false news.”

When I had read this astounding dispatch, congratulating myself that, after all, our country need not fear a foreign foe, I sat listening to the discussion between the two great statesmen. The Premier advocated an immediate statement in the House in order to reassure the public, but Lord Warnham, with that love of secrecy apparent in all his actions, personal or political, was strenuously opposed to such a course.

“Let us wait until to-morrow,” he said. “To-night the papers will publish special editions containing the interview we have just given the Press representative, and this certainly ought to calm the crowd outside.” He spoke with a sneer of contempt of the multitude of excited citizens in fear of their lives and property.

“But they are patriots, many of them, Warnham,” the Premier protested. “Who have placed us in power but that public?”

“Oh, of course,” the other snapped impatiently. “You go in for popularity with the masses. I don’t. I’ve never been popular, not even in my own Department. But I can’t help it. I do my duty, and perhaps it is my very unpopularity that has secured me a reputation as head of Foreign Affairs.”

“It may be, Warnham. It may be,” said the Premier, slowly. “But you are more popular than you imagine.”

“In the Press, yes. These modern journals will lick the boots of anybody in power. It is not as it used to be in the old days, when you and I received a sound rating nearly every morning in The Times.”

“I do not allude to the Press, but contend that you are popular with the public. You would increase that popularity by allowing a statement to be made to-night.”

“Let them wait until the morning,” he growled. “I haven’t the slightest wish to be regarded as the people’s saviour. An immediate statement will appear too much like a bid for cheap notoriety.”

“Is it not your duty to the people to allay their apprehensions of a coming war?”

“It is my duty to Her Majesty alone,” he exclaimed, suddenly remembering that he had forgotten to dispatch the reassuring news to Osborne, and turning, he thereupon dictated to me a telegram, which I quickly reduced to cipher.

“Then you decline to allow any explanation to be given?” said the Premier, in a tone of reproach, stroking his full beard thoughtfully. “You would go home comfortably to bed and allow these thousands of half-scared citizens to remain in fear and doubt throughout the night.”

“Why not?” he laughed. “I tell you I am unpopular, therefore a little secrecy more or less does not matter. If a Foreign Minister allowed the Press and public to know all his doings, how could diplomacy be conducted? The first element of success in dealing with foreign affairs is to preserve silence, and not allow one’s self to be drawn.”

“But in this instance silence is quite unnecessary,” exclaimed the Prime Minister, growing impatient at the dogged persistence of his eccentric colleague, whose delight was to be designated as harsh, unrelenting and ascetic. In private life Lord Warnham lived almost alone in his great, gloomy mansion, scarcely seen by any other person save his valet, the telegraph clerk and myself. Some said that a strange romance in his youth had soured him, causing him to become misanthropic and eccentric; but it was always my opinion that the blow which fell upon him years ago; the early death of his young and beautiful wife, whom he loved intensely, was responsible for his slavish devotion to duty, his eccentricity, and the cool cynicism with which he regarded everybody, from his Sovereign to his secretary. As a Foreign Minister, every Government in Europe admired, yet feared him. He was, without doubt, the most shrewd and clever statesman the present century had known.