 CHAPTER XXI It was New Year's Day, and official Washington was a stir early, for the diplomatic corps and officers of the Army and Navy must pay their respects to the President, as well as test the contents of various hospitable punch-balls later on, according to long-established custom. So the city was gay with cock-tats and brass buttons, and the small boys upon the curb-stones all determined upon a military career composed of glory and gold lace. The Honorable Charles Rivers, breakfast at the Metropolitan Club, read the morning paper, and considered how best to dispose of the hours intervening before any social obligations claimed his attention. He was well known to be an economist in time, and liked to employ every minute profitably. He looked over his mail carefully, and was surprised not to see a penitent little note from his fiancée. He did indeed receive a missive, small, perfumed, and apparently interesting, for he read it twice before relegating it to the waste-basket, but it was not the one for which he waited. Poor little thing, he reflected as he buttoned up his overcoat. It is a dull life for her. I'll drop in for a while this morning. As he bent his steps among the respectable thoroughfares frequented by the shabby Gentile, he reviewed the events of the preceding evening, and was astounded to find himself decidedly apprehensive, lest he should not have an opportunity to return to its legitimate owner, the ring now snugly ensconced in his waistcoat pocket. And as he ascended the steps of the most dingy house in the square he was conscious of a feeling of resentment against David Lee, nearly akin to jealousy, a sensation to which the member of Congress had hitherto believed himself immune. What a pretty spitfire she looked, he remarked aloud as he pulled the bell and inquired for Miss Gray. Christine was in her third floor back, improving the opportunity offered her by a legal holiday to perform the mysterious right dear to most women known as Fixing Up the Top Drawer. A heterogeneous collection of treasures was heaped beside the bureau, and Christine herself sat upon the floor, surrounded by bits of ribbon, soiled gloves, faded flowers, and the various trifles accumulated by girls in all stations of life. She had paused in her researches, however, and was gazing with a puzzled expression at a long, sealed envelope just unearthed from beneath a pile of handkerchiefs. Where did I get it? she remarked, turning it over curiously. Where in the world did I get it? The one word indistinctly written in pencil afforded no clue, so, after hesitating a moment, she broke the seal and drew out the enclosure. End of state, confidential, she read aloud, then paused suddenly, and turned over the papers with a troubled face. Christine had been employed by the government long enough to realize that a document so labelled had no legal right in her top bureau drawer. So she rested her chin in her hand, and looked at the papers very much as she might have regarded any unwelcome black spider. I know, she exclaimed suddenly. I know. It was Mr. Marx, the ossification papers and the white hyacinths. I remember all about it. But how did he—and again the chin went down into the hand? It was at this juncture Mr. Rivers was announced by the slip-shot maid, who looked at her with an ill-concealed curiosity of which Christine was entirely unconscious. With an exclamation of relief, she gathered the papers together, thrust the envelope into the bosom of her shirt-waste, and ran downstairs. The member of Congress listened patiently to the confused account of the white hyacinths, tiresome young men, and official papers, into which she launched as soon as possible, ending with lucid remark. And when I heard you were here, I was so delighted, for I knew you could tell me what to do with them. Perhaps, he suggested at last, if you would let me look at them, or at least tell me what they are about, I might be able to be of some assistance. Why, she said, producing the long envelope? It's awfully funny, but do you remember the word on the scrap of paper we found in the octagon house—Roustchuk, I think, or something like that? Well, it's about that—I mean the papers are about Rustchuk, whatever that is. Let me see them, said Rivers quickly, his manner alert and interested. With growing astonishment he took them to the window, read them slowly, returned them to their envelope, and put it carefully in his pocket. Now, he said quietly, tell me about it all over again, and Christine repeated her story, adding anxiously, and what had I better do about it, I feel dreadfully worried. He laughed carelessly, and seated himself on the sofa beside her. Don't worry, he said, it brings wrinkles. You need not give the subject another thought, but it is fortunate you happened to give the papers to me. Of course, I shall simply return them to the State Department, and there the matter will end. But don't accept any more presents from this peculiar young man without looking at them. It would be interesting to know where he got them, and why. Well, replied Christine, dimpling suddenly. You can ask him, I expect him here this morning. By the way, he interrupted hastily. Don't mention the papers to him. I do not think it would be wise to agitate the subject, especially as he has apparently forgotten it. But, objected Christine, I want to ask him where he got them. Much better let the whole thing drop and forget it. Now let us talk about something more interesting. Yourself, for instance. Have you recovered from your fright? I reproach myself for leaving you alone, even for a few moments, but I am interested in old houses and wanted to explore. Would you trust yourself to me again? Yes, said the girl, shyly. Anywhere. But, she added with a little shiver, it was not imagination. I did hear that sigh, and it was heart-rending. Sometime I'm going there to listen for it. Meanwhile, I have brought you a little New Year's gift to help you forget an unpleasant experience. With shining eyes and trembling fingers, Christine unwrapped the little box and raised the lid. Oh! she gasped, and relapsed into wondering silence. The member of Congress lifted a string of pearls from which hung a little ruby heart. I brought it to you myself, he whispered, leaning towards her, that I may put it on. May I? I thought the pearls were perfect, he continued as he fastened the clasp, but now I see them on your neck they look less pure by contrast. It was at this interesting juncture Mr. Marks elected to appear, his hair more rampantly erect than usual, and an unfortunate tendency to talk through his nose aggravated by cold in the head. He carried a large handkerchief with a red border which he was obliged to use frequently, and was sublimely unconscious of the lack of cordiality in his welcome. After an interesting scrutiny of his rival for some minutes, rivers departed, donning his overcoat in the contracted little hall with a strange mixture of sensations. The roost-chuk papers were safe in his pocket, and he was proved wrong in the theory he had advanced to Senator Byrd. It now only remained for him to restore them to their proper custodian and to put the secret servicemen in touch with Mr. Marks in order to recover the second lost paper. His course was perfectly clear, and the whole unfortunate affair seemed to be gradually drawing to a close. Yet, as he walked slowly down the street, Mr. Rivers had not the bearing of a man pleased with the world in general. Rather he was lost in the mazes of Browne's study which did not appear to afford him much gratification. Redmond forced to resign, he said reflectively to his inner self. Forced to resign and out of the way. It is all plain sailing, and the White House one term nearer. The wind blew sharply around the corner and took liberties with his hat, but he had a reason for turning down that particular street and did so after a brief battle with the interfering elements. It was Mr. Rivers's custom to accomplish whatever object he had in view in spite of obstacles, so he mounted the steps of the octagon house, breathless but triumphant. Apparently his previous visit had but whetted his curiosity, for once again he explored the old rooms carefully, regardless of the dust which marked his immaculate coat sleeve with unsightly streaks. The lower floor was indisputably empty. He therefore quietly ascended the curved stairway and explored the second and third floors. The caretaker's door was inhospitably shut, but as he lingered on the landing he heard a low, indistinguishable murmur and a soothing, decided voice in reply. He also heard a clinking as of a spoon against a glass and the unmistakable gurgle of water when poured from a jug. A chair was moved hastily, scraping noisily over bare boards, and the doorknob turned quietly. Instinctively the member of Congress stepped into the adjoining room and partly closed the door in such a manner that he could command a view of the stairs and remain himself unseen. He was conscious of a decided thrill of astonishment at the figure which presently passed within his range of vision. Instead of the typical janitor, careworn and shabby, he saw an immaculate old gentleman with shining silk hat and carefully buttoned black frock coat over pearl-gray trousers and a carnation in his buttonhole. Upon my word remarked Mr. Rivers aloud as he heard the front door close, it grows interesting. Advancing softly he stood before the caretaker's room and gazed earnestly at the placard upon the door. As he stood there he heard a sigh from within, long, slow, and filled with weariness, such a sigh as Christine Gray had described so graphically when she told him the story of her fright. The member of Congress did not disdain to put his ear close to the door and listen intently. He did not fear the supernatural, and the actual was, as he said, interesting. The sigh was repeated, followed after a moment's silence by the low muttering he had previously heard. After little hesitation he knocked softly and, getting no response, turned the knob quietly. The room looked bare and comfortless enough as he entered, with its few accessories for the convenience of its occupant. Moreover it was quite empty. The uninvited guest looked curiously about and sniffed the air thoughtfully, for the odor of kerosene was apparent, although no lamp was visible. It seemed to him to come from an adjoining closet, and he was about to follow it when his glance fell upon the rickety table, upon which a piece of tracing paper was carefully fastened with thumbtacks. With an exclamation of astonishment he examined the incomplete drawing, intently following its details, and now and then giving vent to an astonished whistle. Water, said a voice suddenly, thick and inarticulate. For God's sake, water! River straightened himself abruptly and fell to momentary regret that he was alone and unarmed. The sound undoubtedly came from behind the door he had supposed led into the closet, and once now preceded the low muttering he had heard from the landing, varied at intervals by a long sigh and the movement of a restless body, unmistakably human and evidently in pain. Wasting no time in speculation he opened the door leading into the small inner room and paused upon the threshold to reconnoitre. He saw a kerosene stove doing its odorous best to consume the surrounding oxygen, a broken chair on which were grouped a few bottles and glasses, and on the floor in the corner a narrow mattress upon which tossed and muttered a figure. Water, it cried imperatively, I'm burning up, I tell you, water. The honourable Charles Rivers took a glass of water from the chair in advance to the cot. Kneeling down upon the dusty boards, regardless of their effect upon his spotless trousers, he held the water to the hot, parched lips and exhaustively studied the flushed face upon the pillow. Rising from his knees he replaced the glass upon the chair and went into the caretaker's room with the manner of one who walks in his sleep. Involuntarily he bent over the table and again examined the unfinished drawing. After a while his hand sought his pocket and he produced the white envelope so recently escaped from Christine's upper drawer. He weighed it carefully, or first in one hand, then in the other. Advanced a few steps, hesitated, and advanced again, his fingers tightening about the envelope. His daughter, Isabelle, murmured the figure on the floor, announces the engagement of his daughter, Isabelle. Water, I want water. The member of Congress again knelt beside the cot and put the glass to the fevered lips. He remained in this lowly position for some minutes and when he rose had nothing in his hands except an empty glass. When he emerged from the octagon house, a little later he walked with a preoccupied air of one absorbed in thought and was even guilty of not returning the salutations of passing acquaintances. Upon reaching the club he sat down beside a little table and ordered a brandy and soda. And let it be stiff, he admonished the waiter. CHAPTER XXII Colonel St. John, on leaving his residence, drew on a pair of fresh gloves and walked briskly up the street. He intended to do a little New Year's visiting and the prospect was exhilarating, for he was by nature gregarious and had been for some time debarred from the pleasures of society. Therefore he walked quickly, with head erect and shoulders well back, as became a military man. Threading his way among the carriages and pedestrians which blocked the street before the house of the Secretary of State, he hesitated a moment, then walked boldly up the broad stone steps, in the wake of the German ambassador. The diplomatic corps had called upon the President, and its members were now assembled in full regalia to partake of the breakfast annually tendered them by the Secretary of State. Madame, remarked Monsieur de Pré impressively, may the New Year contain for you only happiness. And the little Frenchman, having exchanged the compliments of the season with his hostess, twisted up the ends of his moustache and passed on. How tired she looks, la belle madame, he remarked to Lindhurst whom he encountered in the doorway. The season has begun to weary her. The Englishman, after a moment's survey, acquiesced. She looks ill, he said quietly. But then she has been standing a long time at the White House. No doubt, as you say, she is tired. Monsieur de Pré turned to greet an acquaintance, and Lindhurst resumed his position in the doorway, enjoying the brilliant spectacle, for the representatives of the various countries wore their native costumes, and the spacious rooms glowed with the colours of the Orient, and glittered with a gold lace and uniforms of many nations. The Chinese minister conversed amicably with the Secretary, whose tall, spare figure in its black coat looked somber indeed beside the robe's celestial of his guest, and Lindhurst smiled at the contrast. Suddenly he saw an ashen pallor overspread Mrs. Redmond's face, and she swayed as though about to fall. Recovering herself with a visible effort, she extended her hand to the British ambassador and returned his salutation. Following the direction of her eyes, the young attaché saw nothing alarming, merely the dignified back of an old gentleman in severely correct mourning costume about to pass into the adjoining room. Lindhurst recollected that Miss Bird was also there, and prepared to follow him. As he turned to do so he saw Count Valdmir enter and greet Mrs. Redmond. He also saw her whisper a few hurried words, to which the Russian apparently made a soothing reply and immediately sought the dining room. Lindhurst wondered greatly. He had found much food for reflection since his sojourn in America, and the longer he thought, the more puzzled he became, so he merely followed the example of the old gentleman and went into the dining room. Colonel St. John had yielded to a sudden impulse in presenting himself at his daughter's house. He knew he would have no difficulty in gaining admittance, as he had among his relics a past prosperity garment suitable for the occasion. He trusted to the severely aristocratic bearing he could assume when necessary to conceal the fact that those said garments were of irreproachable fit and quality they were somewhat out of date as to style, and handed his overcoat to the servant so hotly that the man forebore to notice its cut and deposited it among its fellows with marked respect. He had no definite object in view, and was well aware of the risk he ran in thus exposing himself to public gaze. Colonel St. John, however, had nursed a wounded spirit ever since his daughter had visited him, and was sullenly determined to extort money from her in spite of the injunctions to the contrary he had received from Count Valdmir. Also he wished to prove to the latter that he possessed some independence of spirit. In fact he had grown restive under his chains, and thought he saw an opportunity to escape through his daughter or his daughter's husband. Consequently, like certain species of wild animals, Colonel St. John cringed before his master while entirely in his power, but snarled and showed his teeth when escape seemed not impossible. As to Lindhurst? Well, he trusted to the crowded rooms to avoid him. Moreover, a contingency had recently arisen making it most desirable for him to leave America as speedily and quietly as possible, and he felt convinced that the time had arrived when a bold stroke was advisable. The Colonel therefore bowed low before Mrs. Redmond and much enjoyed the pallor which overspread her face and the trembling hand extended to the British ambassador, who followed in his wake. Already he saw himself living in luxurious idleness in some congenial retreat across the water, with a bottomless purse in Washington always to be opened by a suggested return to that city. So he entered the dining-room jauntly and helped himself to a glass of wine. Colonel St. John had been a connoisseur in wine before his pallet had become vitiated by Bad Whiskey, and the vintage offered his guests by the secretary was beyond reproach. The Colonel took a second glass immediately, then made the circuit of the room and lifted another to canter. He evidently thought he was going to enjoy himself very much. Count Waldmere followed Colonel St. John to the dining-room as quickly as possible. Do not be alarmed, he had said quietly to Mrs. Redmond in reply to her agitated whisper, he shall go immediately. I will see to it. The Russian anticipated no difficulty in fulfilling his promise. He felt coldly angry that his tool should thus have taken the initiative and determined to bring their relations to a close as speedily as possible and ship him to some remote corner of the world where he could be kept stationary by police surveillance. This is an unexpected pleasure, Colonel, he remarked politely, appearing suddenly at the old man's elbow. Colonel St. John, however, was on his guard and not to be surprised by a flank attack. On the pleasure's holy mine, he replied suavely in his most impressive manner. I was much surprised, Colonel, to meet you here. Is it not the custom in Russia, Count, for men to visit his daughter? There was undeniable challenge in the last remark, and Colonel St. John raised his glass with the smile of one who has uttered a bombot and awaits its effect. The Russian glanced hastily about the crowded room and saw that they were unobserved, so he stepped closer to his companion with bent brows and threatening aspect. Do you forget the police, he said in a hurried whisper. If you become troublesome, I can easily send them to you. How well it would look in the newspapers, replied the old man reflectively, and I can see the headlines now. Father of Mrs. Redmond, the wife of the Secretary of State, in large type, you know. By the way, Count, he continued slowly, I wish you would visit me at my secluded residence. I need your assistance. There was an unfortunate contretem. I am in difficulty. Quite an embarrassing position for one of my years. I have, no doubt you will be surprised to hear it, a guest. A guest. Colonel St. John moved towards an open space behind some potted plants. Let us stand here, he said compositely, out of the crush. What a brilliant scene, it quite recalls other days. Yes, Count, a guest. You remember the paper in which you are interested? Be careful. Yes. Did you get it? Ah, thereby hangs a tale. The day after Christmas, my duty to my country, and to you, kept me in the State Department until quite late at night. I went out the door opposite the mall, preparatory to seeking Jackson City, and… well? Colonel St. John did not reply. His eyes were fixed on the opposite doorway in a helpless, glassy stare, and his knees shook in a manner much at variance with his former heir of easy, Bragadicio. Lindhurst, he gasped. He's looking this way. I think he knows me. Upon reaching the dining-room, Lindhurst adjusted his eyeglasses and looked for Miss Bird. Before he discovered her, however, he chanced to glance at the opposite corner, and noticed the figure he had seen a short time previous and whom he judged to be an unwelcome guest. As he looked, his first idle curiosity was replaced by incredulous astonishment, gradually changing into unwilling conviction, and Mrs. Redmond, standing a few inches behind him in the broad hall, looked also with a sickening sense of impending catastrophe, not unlike the moments of oppressive breathlessness immediately preceding the crash of a storm. He recognizes you, observed Count Faldmer Cooley. I'm not sorry. Your blood is on your own head. You'll help me out. Not I, Colonel. You came uninvited, and you may get out the best way you can. The old man laid a shaking hand on his companion's arm. Listen, he said quickly. I was just going to tell you. I've got the paper. Which paper? I lack, too. The first, the story of the rustic case, the confidential history, the underside. Turn your head aside. Linter's may not be sure of you. Now give it to me. It is not here. I left it in my room. If I get away safely, safely, Count, you shall have it. Otherwise it is lost to Russia. Count Faldmer hesitated a moment, then lifted the heavy portiere beside him. This passage, he said hurriedly, leads into the front hall. Be quick. I will see that you get out safely because I need your assistance. I will also accompany you to the front door to make sure you do not conceal yourself anywhere in this house. As I told you, she shall not be annoyed by you while I can prevent it. This way, Colonel, I will see you later. I must have that paper tonight. Do you understand? Lindhurst watched the two figures disappear behind the heavy portiere. Instinctively he turned to follow them, but paused abruptly, for his hostess stood directly in his path. Her eyes raised to his, filled with the dominant note of appeal that he had once before encountered. As he hesitated, he heard the front door close. The Englishman took out his monocle, polished and carefully readjusted it. It was his ever-present refuge in moments of embarrassment. Madame, said Count Faldmer, appearing suddenly beside them, will you not allow me to get you a glass of wine? One should welcome the new year cordially. Eh, Lindhurst? I do not want the wine, said Mrs. Redmond, as they turned away. But I must sit down a moment. My head whirls. He drew forward a chair in an alcove in the hall, screened by a tall palm and comparatively quiet. Do not be troubled, he said gently. He has gone. I shall insist upon his leaving the country immediately. You are kind sometimes, Count, and I am grateful. She rested her head against the high, carved back of her chair, and it seemed to the man looking down upon her that the dark mahogany afforded a most appropriate setting for the pure fleshed tints against it. Count Faldmer possessed decidedly artistic tendencies and appreciated a picture perfect in all its details. I'm tired, she said, closing her eyes wearily. Very tired. Outside, a carriage door slammed, and the roll of wheels filled the ensuing pause. The Russian attaché stood for some moments in silence, and when at last he spoke it was reluctantly, as though he would gladly have left the stillness unbroken. It is Thursday, he said slowly. The dark lashes lifted suddenly, and a soft flush replaced the pallor of the cheeks as she replied in a voice which hesitated somewhat, as though unwilling to perform its task of articulation. You have said very kind, very complimentary things to me sometimes, Count. I wonder if you mean them. I wonder if you really care. He came closer and leaned over the back of the chair, his hands grasping the grinning griffons carved upon its arms. Care, he said hoarsely. How like a woman. Care. Hush, she interrupted, but we will be noticed. It is, as you did not fail to remind me, Thursday. I will keep my word, unless you voluntarily release me. Now listen. She paused and touched her lips with her lace-edged handkerchief, while the rose in her corsage stirred uneasily. Tonight, she resumed with an effort. I had promised to meet you. Instead, you may come here at 10 o'clock. I will receive you alone. Quite alone? Quite alone, Count Waldmere. The senator bird gives the stag dinner, and my husband is aghast. I can allow you one hour. An hour passes quickly. Can you not be more generous? One hour, she repeated, I am engaged for the early evening, and later it is not safe. May I expect you? I shall be punctual, madame. Estelle, said the secretary, appearing from behind the palm, I have been looking for you. Beren van Vertemen is going. CHAPTER 23 Some hours later, Estelle Redmond lay on the couch in her dressing room with closed eyes and throbbing temples. She heard the voices of the servants as they moved quietly about, setting the house to rights, and submitted unresistingly to the ministrations of Josephine and the Cologne bottle. The touch of the maid's cool fingers was pleasant to her hot forehead and their slow, regular motion insensibly soothing. But at last her mistress turned away her head and motioned her to stop. Thank you, Josephine, she said gently. It was very refreshing. If you will leave me alone now, I think I can sleep. And the maid's smooth, the crushed pillow, and noiselessly departed. The winter twilight deepened, and still she lay motionless, gazing with wide, sleepless eyes at the gathering shadows. The room was filled with ghosts, persistent in their silent obtrusiveness. The ghosts brought pictures with them, a constantly changing panorama which would not be ignored. Then and again it passed before her with increasing distinctness. She saw a little girl, at first systematically neglected, and left to pick up what crumbs of knowledge she could, and then, grown older, a subject of discussion between her father and his friends. She heard the child's points checked off one by one, eyes, hair, complexion, and one man say with a coarse laugh, By Jove, Saint John, she'll be your strongest guard. Let her invest the little money in her. Well, the money had been spent lavishly, and Estelle understood now how profitable the investment had been. She recalled the winter in Egypt, and the hurried flight thence one night. That was the year her father gave her the opals, with a tender little speech about her mother and the jewel she had left in his keeping for her little girl, and she had guarded them carefully even during the period of poverty and loneliness in Paris. Now she doubted whether her mother had ever seen them, and was oppressed by their possession. She remembered Berlin and her horrified awakening, also Paris, and the happiness which had come to her there. And always, when the scene of retrospection changed from country to country, two dominant figures stood beside her in the foreground, her father, and Count Waldmeer. Estelle turned restlessly. Was there no peace in the world? She heard her husband ascend the stairs and pass into her sitting-room. His step, she noted, had become singularly slow of late. The clock struck six. At ten she would receive Count Waldmeer. Estelle sat silently upright, with clenched hands and burning cheeks. In his own house, she said, glancing toward the next door. His own house. She sat for some minutes on the edge of the couch, gazing at the portier which hung at the communicating door. As she looked, a strange sensation of peace and security gradually replaced the turmoil of her mind, and her lips curved in a tremulous smile. After a moment she rose and moved slowly towards the door. I'll tell him, she whispered as she crossed the room. Why, of course, it's very easy. I'll tell him everything myself, and he'll understand. He'll be very sorry, but he'll understand. Her husband sat upon a couch beside the fire, leaning back against the soft pillows and watching the flickering light of the burning logs. He did not hear Mrs. Redmond raise the portier and enter, for he was absorbed in thought. Halfway across the room she paused, uncertainly. How tired he looked. How very tired. John, she said softly, the secretary turned quickly. Room for two, he said, holding out his arms. Room for two, Estelle. He drew her down upon the couch beside him, her head upon his shoulder. One arm was about her waist, the other held her soft, wide hand, and occasionally raised it to his lips. John, she repeated, and again paused, irresolute. The secretary looked at his wife and smiled. It was a smile which came from his heart and drove from his face the lines of care. In his eyes shone love, boundless, generous, and capable of much endurance. A love based on faith and secure in its utter confidence. Is there anything special, dearest? He said, the arm about her waist tightening a little. Mrs. Redmond made an ineffectual effort to speak. Her breath came quickly, and she was oppressed with a sensation of smothering. Only a moment she hesitated, then looked up into his eyes with an answering smile. No, John, she said gently, I want it to be with you. The log blazed up cheerfully, its rosy light falling upon the white folds of her dressing gown and touching gently her brow and hair. Estelle, said the secretary slowly, would you like to go abroad? For the summer, dear, for as long as you please. But could you be spared indefinitely, John? I think so, he said regretfully. In fact, Estelle, I think I will be spared altogether. I am going to resign. What? Mrs. Redmond said upright and pushed back her hair. To resign, she repeated. Do you mind so much giving up your high estate, my dear? I am sorry. It isn't that, she said breathlessly. You know I don't mind anything as long as we are together, but why are you going to do it? Tell me, John. I am getting old, he replied slowly. No official life is too much for me. Since Lee disappeared, I trust nobody, believe in nobody, confide in nobody, and accept you, dear, always accepting you. John, she said, resuming her position within his arms. It's strange about Mr. Lee, isn't it? Very strange, Estelle. Do you believe him guilty? I don't know, he returned. I don't know, dear. I hope, if he is guilty, he may never be found. I would rather think of him with the benefit of a doubt than with the certainty of conviction. Why, John? He was such a fine young fellow, so clean-cut and straightforward. I could not help being much interested in him. And if anyone I have loved and trusted deceives me for any reason, I think, dear, I had rather not know it. I am not so strong as I once was, and it is that sort of thing which takes the life out of a man. Yes, she said tremulously. Yes. With all the circumstantial evidence against young Lee, my better judgment tells me he is not guilty, but a victim to something that will yet be explained. But as I said, he continued drawing her closer. I am not so young nor so strong as I once was. Things worry me. I don't suppose I am as capable of handling vexatious problems as I used to be. And so, dear, I'm going to resign. They won't let you, she said, speaking with conviction. The president would never accept your resignation. On the contrary, Estelle, he would be very willing. Our relations are not cordial. This morning at the White House, before the diplomatic reception, we had a most unpleasant interview. Don't ask me to tell you about it. I had thought him my staunch friend until lately, and therein lies the sting. Oh, she cried. I hate him. I hate him. Hush, dear. Perhaps he is right. He is troubled as well as I, for this roost chook matter is of vital importance. The loss of the papers just now affects the integrity of the government, his honor, and most of all mine, Estelle, for they were in my hands for safekeeping. And all this, she said bitterly, comes of a paper, a miserable paper which may be found at any time. Ah, he replied, I would take a new lease on life, little girl, if I could have it in my hands together with the synopsis the president gave me of his policy. You remember I told you about it, and how it disappeared also. She remembered very well. But, John, she said timidly, I can't see what great harm is done if it has been stolen. Isn't it just a tempest in a teapot which will blow over shortly? It seems to me there is a tremendous excitement about a very little matter, after all. Estelle, he said, turning back the lace on her loose sleeve and watching the play of the firelight upon her arm. Do you understand what war means? I think so, John. Well, if the stolen paper should be in the possession of the Russian government, in six months or less this country would be involved in a war which might become international. There would be fatherless children and widows, sacrifice of human life, and unutterable horrors you could not even imagine. Now do you understand the president's attitude? She did not reply, and he continued quietly. The country needs a more vigorous man to bring it safely through this crisis. I have been put in a position of great trust, weighed and found wanting. So, dearest, I am going to resign, and Rivers will be made Secretary of State. Ah, the exclamation was expressive and the Secretary smiled sadly. You don't like him, he said. You don't want to see him in my place, filling it more efficiently than I have done. Is that it, dear? Well, we won't stay here. I think I would not enjoy myself. We'll go abroad, you and I. After all, we have each other. I will not be sorry to have done with public life. I don't like leaving under a cloud, that's all. But, John, will you play me something, Estelle? We won't talk any more just now. Very soon I must dress and go out. I wish I had not told Bird I would come. I have a fancy for a little music, and there's none so sweet as yours. So if you don't mind. She put her arms about his neck and laid her cheek to his. John, she said brokenly, you will never, never know how much I love you. And the Secretary held her close, oblivious to everything except the present moment. Now, she continued, raising a flushed face and speaking quietly, put your head on this pillow. So, that poor head which aches from so much thinking, perhaps things will come out right after all, dear. I will play very softly and you shall go to sleep. I'll wake you in time to dress. It's dinner at eight. Play the old scotch airs, Estelle, he said as she opened the piano. I like them best. So Mrs. Redmond played the old scotch airs, and the Secretary listened dreamily. Softer and softer grew the music until it last it ceased entirely. The fire snapped and sparkled appreciatively, but the Secretary was asleep. His wife crossed the room and sank upon her knees beside the couch. Her head upon the pillow close to his. Mechanically she repeated his words in reference to David Lee. If one I love has deceived me, I would rather never know it. How worn he looked. His hand, laying half open upon his knee, was almost transparent in the fitful light of the fire, and now and then the fingers twitched nervously. The half hour struck. At seven she must wake him. At eight he would be gone, taking with him all her sense of strength and security. At nine she must dress. At 10, how the time flew. The Secretary stirred in his sleep. She rose and, leaning over the couch, smoothed his hair caressingly, adroitly moving the pillow to a more comfortable position and touching his forehead gently with her lips. Judas, she murmured as she returned to the piano. But the fingers which pressed the keys trembled and produced discord. For the little devils which lurk in the background of life had leaped upon Mrs. Redmond, and she winced before the attack. They are named Regret and Remorse. Their arrows are poisoned and their swords too edged. They are very busy little devils too, for they neglect nobody and constantly pay a great many visits during the day and night. End of Chapter 23. Chapter 24 of the wife of the Secretary's State. And this is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mary Ann. The wife of the Secretary of State by Ellen Middleton Typeout, Chapter 24. Count Waldmere adjusted the gold link which held his cuff and surveyed the effect of his immaculate evening costume critically. From head to foot it was beyond reproach. His valet gathered up the debris of rejected ties and unsatisfactory shirts and remarked tentatively, the old gentleman, sir, he has waited a long time. You may bring him in. Colonel St. John had waited patiently in the small reception room for an hour or more. The air of debonair assurance he had worn so hotly that morning had quite departed, leaving in its stead a nervous depression in his customary manner a furtive obsequiousness. So he returned Count Waldmere's greeting depreciatingly and at once announced his errand. I have brought the papers, he said, producing a package from his coat pocket. Ah, said the Russian, that is well. He held them reflectively, studying the outer wrapper carefully. Roost juke, confidential, he read slowly. This looks promising, Colonel, where did you get it? Colonel St. John hesitated. It is a long story, Count. As I said this morning, I need your assistance. My position is most embarrassing. I have not time to hear you now, said Count Waldmere, impatiently, looking at his watch, nor to examine the papers. I have an important engagement at 10. After all, it does not matter where they came from, nor how you procured them, provided they are genuine. If not, Colonel, well, we won't discuss the result. Putting the package in his desk, he turned the key carefully. I'm going out, he remarked suggestively, producing a fur-lined overcoat. I think, Colonel, you will soon be at liberty to leave America. Our work is almost completed. Next week, at the latest, I hope to send in my report to my government. You will receive an adequate reward, although not perhaps as large as you secured from the Hurtford case. The old man wince perceptively. Count, he said hurriedly. I am watched, I feel it. Ah, replied the Russian indifferently. Doubtless, you have become quite a public character, Colonel, and must expect these annoyances. I have myself today employed an agent whom I can trust to shadow you and prevent you from again committing the indiscretion of this morning. No doubt it was he who followed you to-night. There was a malignant hatred in the glance Colonel St. John shot from beneath his lowered eyelids at his companion and his hand clenched angrily. Come, said Volmier authoritatively, I am going out and have no idea of leaving you alone in my apartments. Go home. He spoke very much as though his dog had followed him against his will. Yes, said the old man dejectedly, I am going, count. The figure which crept down the stairs was stooped and feeble and did not suggest the erect, well-clad form which had surprised Mr. Rivers earlier in the day by emerging from the octagon house. Colonel St. John had aged perceptibly in a few hours and as he retraced his steps he glanced from side to side in evident apprehension. When he opens them, he muttered, my God, when he opens them. Count Volmier, having disposed of his guest, walked rapidly along enjoying the keen air of the winter's night. Overhead were myriads of stars and underfoot the pavement glistened with a powdering of snow. It had sleeted in the afternoon and the parks through which he passed were transformed into fairyland where every leaf and twig was outlined in a transparent covering which glittered and shone beneath the electric lights. Count Volmier's pulses throbbed unaccountably as he walked and his mind was not occupied with the interview just ended with Colonel St. John. Instead he thought exultantly of the interview yet to come with Colonel St. John's daughter and quickened his pace that he might be punctual. Meanwhile Mrs. Redmond in her dressing room turned slowly from the mirror. That will do, Josephine, she said reluctantly. Josephine breathed a relieved sigh and stepped back to admire her work. Never in all her experience had she found her mistress so difficult to please. One gown after another had been tried and rejected and her best efforts as to coiffure had failed to prove satisfactory. Josephine had not suggested rouge tonight for Mrs. Redmond's cheeks alternately glowed and paled after the manner of the opals in her jewel case and her eyes shone brilliantly beneath her black brows. Josephine straightened a fold of the lace which veiled the pale pink undershirt and looked critically at the result. The gown was long and clinging in effect, a demi-toilette of lace and soft silk. The sleeves, open to the shoulder, fell away from the arms in a misty cloud of lace and the white breast and throat were framed in the same filmy material. The French maid clasped her hands aesthetically. Madame is ravishing, she exclaimed. Now, if she would but consent to the opal about her neck, it would be complete. The one stone, Madame, it is necessary. And the opal upon its glittering string of diamonds added an effective finishing touch. Now, remarked Josephine triumphantly, Madame is indeed irresistible. I hope so, I am sure, replied Mrs. Redmond involuntarily as she passed into her sitting-room with its rose-shaded lights and glowing fire. It seemed to count Waldmeer, when he entered a few moments later, that the room was an appropriate setting for the woman who stood at the window looking out into the street, one arm holding back the heavy curtain and showing round and white against the dark velvet. Ah, she exclaimed softly, turning from the window. You have come, I was watching for you. I am not late, he said, taking her outstretched hand. I lingered on the doorstep until my watch crawled round to ten, how slowly it moved, but it was the appointed hour, so I waited for it. And I, said she, waited also. Tell me, he said eagerly, are you glad to see me? Am I, for once, welcome? Let me look into your eyes and read my answer there. They are such truthful eyes. I doubt if they could lie. But as he bent over her, the dark lashes were lowered instinctively. I wanted you to come, she whispered. I wanted you. Little hands, he said, drawing her towards him. Little hands, see how easily I hold them both in one of mine. Come, she said, gently withdrawing them. Let us be comfortable. Talk to me, say pleasant things. I want to be diverted tonight. She seated herself beside the fire and the Russian leaned over the back of her chair, his eyes alight with that other fire which of late had often smoldered there. So you were watching for me, he said, for me. I've watched for you before, Count, often. Tonight, he continued, his breath stirring the hair about her ears. Tonight, this one hour is mine. You are not Mrs. Redmond. You are not Estelle St. John. You are the Countess Valdmir. The Countess Valdmir, she repeated. And do you love her, your Countess? Is she more to you than anything in life? In life or death, Estelle. Ha, you frown. May I not call my Countess by her name. By any name, tonight. I have waited, he said eagerly. I have been patient and at last I have my reward. See, your color varies, it is your heart and tonight it throbs for me. For you, she said, for you, tonight. In Russia, he continued, I have estates where I am unquestioned master, but the castles beyond the steps have no mistress and I have no home. Very soon I shall be recalled for my mission is drawing to a close. He paused and knelt upon the tiger skin rug beside her. I do not wish to return alone, he said slowly. A red, hot flush stained her face and breast, faded and left her white and trembling. Hush, she exclaimed, hush. I want you, he resumed, more than anything in heaven or earth, I want you. More than fame, she interrupted, more than official honor, more than the glory of court life, the friendship of the Tsar. More than life itself, he replied quickly, and I mean to have you, star of the world. Don't, she said, her brow contracting, don't. The old name is painful, then. Listen, Estelle, I can make you happy. For me you have nothing to conceal, no secret to eat away your heart, no specter of the past to shadow you. Together we would bury it, together begin a new life. You are strong, she interrupted, her eyes fixed on the little French clock on the mantle and we are weak sometimes. We women, we need support. And I can love, he said, impetuously. Ah, what would I not do for the woman who has returned that love? The fire blazed up brightly and the little clock ticked hurriedly as though indeed it were working against time. What would you do for her? She whispered, leaning towards him. Tell me, what would you do if she loved you? If she went back to Russia with you, to the castles beyond the steps. Home, he said softly. Home, Estelle. What would you do for her? She persisted. Would you give up for her sake all that you have been at so much trouble to procure? Would you return to Russia and acknowledge failure? Attest, Count, attest. Would your love survive it? Count Valmere sprang to his feet and walked hurriedly up and down the room. Mrs. Redmond rose also and stood watching him. Her figure tense and rigid and her fingers tightly interlaced. The price is high, he said, pausing before her, very high. She straightened herself suddenly and moved a stepper two towards him. The loose lace sleeves fell away from the white arms and the small head with its weight of dark hair was held proudly erect as though conscious of its value. The price is high, he repeated, his eyes upon the figure before him. Well, she said haughtily, what of that? Am I not worth it? The diamonds about her throat shot forth a hundred rays and the opal pendant gleamed scarlet as it caught the light. Worth it, he cried passionately. Aye, that and more, much more. And the little clock upon the mantle struck 11 sharply as though glad to have it over with. The time is up, she said. Your hour count has ended. But my life has just begun, he answered. There are details to arrange, much to discuss. When may I see you again? Estelle, I want to say good night. He put his arm about her waist and drew her gently towards him. Your lips, he said, are mine. With a swift unexpected movement, she slipped away from him. You are too late, count, too late. Your hour has passed and you must go. Another time, Count Waldemir's face darkened and his brows contracted. It is my right, he said. Not yet, she replied breathlessly. Your privilege, perhaps, if I choose to grant it. But not yet, your right, Count Waldemir. He turned towards the door, white and angry. I shall not ask the privilege again, he said shortly. It waits you at my rooms. I also have my price. I do not desire to give all and receive nothing. Ah, she said, holding out her hand appealingly. Do not go away angry. If I have hurt you, I am sorry. I will see you again. But now the time passes quickly. It is not safe for you to stay. I will let you know when next you may come and we will talk over our plans and my request. It is the only stipulation I shall make. Count Waldemir's eyes narrowed as he grasped her hand almost roughly. If you want me, he said breathlessly, you must come to me. Do you understand? I also can stipulate. I am not a safe plaything for a woman unless she proves herself sincere. And if she proves it, Count, to your satisfaction, if she puts aside the conveniences and comes at your bidding, comes to you gladly as her privilege and your right, what then? Then, he said softly, ah, then, Estelle, she has but to request, there is nothing I will not do. The blazing long smoldered and fell apart, sending a shower of sparks upward to mark its dissolution. You will tell me, he said, bending towards her when I may expect. The Countess Waldemir, she finished softly. End of chapter 24. Chapter 25 of The Wife of the Secretary of State. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Marianne. The Wife of the Secretary of State by Ella Middleton-Typout, chapter 25. The row of carriages lined up against the curb stone indicated to the world at large that it was Friday afternoon and Mrs. Chesley was, according to custom, at home. There had been many visitors, chiefly feminine, and much conversation of a spasmodic and desultory nature had been conducted over the teacups and beneath waving plumes. The senator was wont to say, with an apology for the pun, that the sounds which emanated from the crowded rooms during these receptions rendered the birdhouse on Case Street not unlike the birdhouse at the zoo, a remark his sister received with the silent contempt it deserved. Isabelle, presiding at the tea-table, distinctly sulked. The same people, she reflected morosely, had visited them almost every Friday that winter and said the same things. Also, on the other five days of the week, she was apt to encounter them elsewhere and exchange similar remarks. And she actually remembered having enjoyed it and entered keenly into the world of the engagements which always presented themselves during the season and which seemed so tiresome today. She wondered if she could be growing old. Had she not that morning discovered one gray hair, a discovery bringing as much depression in its wake as though she had found it necessary to assume a wake. As a matter of fact, she had not yet quite recovered her poise since her outburst a few evenings previous and was inclined to consider the world flat, stale and unprofitable, and herself a much injured damsel for having to reside therein. She therefore returned Montseur de Pré's civilities so abstractedly that the little Frenchman mentally deplored the absence of a plume in the American girl and sought relief elsewhere. Isabelle enjoyed one portion of the afternoon only, and this was when Mr. Rivers hovered on the outskirts of the crowd waiting an opportunity to approach. At this time she was apparently absorbed in her duties with the tea cups and handed Lindhurst the sugar with a glance and smile which caused that young attaché to believe himself supplied with nectar. The member of Congress shrugged his shoulders and walked away. He was quite conscious that the dimples brought to bear on Lindhurst were displayed for his a special benefit and determined to surprise her by making no further effort to secure a word for himself. And Miss Bird was surprised and somewhat chagrined. She had expected a different result when she saw him enter and had anticipated bestowing upon her recreant lover the slight nod and frosty smile which would convey to him the fact that he was still unforgiven. Rivers took his departure as soon as possible, a blandly smiling without and hotly raging within. He had not enjoyed recently receiving a package containing the gifts he had bestowed upon his fiancee nor had he relished the curt not at home which had baffled his attempt to see her and the return of his letter unopened. These were slights which the popular and rising young politician felt to be undeserved. He therefore determined that the next advance should come from Isabel and he would graciously respond. He entertained no real doubt that sooner or later she would make this advance. Was he not the most desirable party in Washington? Meanwhile, the girl deserved a lesson and he resolved upon a wholesome course of indifference and neglect which experience had taught him was often efficacious in such cases. So the desirable party betook himself to the Metropolitan Club and sat down ostensibly to read the evening paper but in reality to reflect. He was about to make a move in the game of politics which demanded delicacy of touch and careful manipulation and which would, he believed, give him command of the situation it therefore required thoughtful attention. There was another matter, however, of less importance which interfered with its calm consideration by continually rising uppermost in his mind and in refusing to be ignored. By some unfortunate chance he had lost the ring Isabel had so contemptuously returned to him and which he had carried afterwards in his waistcoat pocket. Of course it could be duplicated although the stone was of great value. It was not the necessity of buying another which disturbed the Honourable Charles Rivers for he was generously disposed. It was the fact that the missing ring was marked with their joint initials and a date. Also he had good reason to believe it had dropped from his pocket during his New Year's visit to the Octagon House and was apprehensive lest it be found there and advertised in the daily papers with full accompanying description for Isabel or her father to read and recognize. It was all most annoying but he believed the best solution was to immediately order a duplicate which could be produced by him if necessary. Meanwhile, Lindhurst had also brought his visit to a termination and walked slowly to his rooms absorbed in thought. He had in his pocket the report of the Secret Service Man he had employed to trace Colonel St. John and this report contained singularly disquieting information. He remembered it word for word. Colonel St. John, alias William Lewis, alias Joseph Sanders, present residence Washington, present occupation, Viz, as Colonel St. John conducts the gambling house at Jackson City, as Joseph Sanders employed as watchman in the State Department, as William Lewis, janitor of the Octagon House, 18th Street and New York Avenue, sometimes visited at latter place by one gentleman after nightfall, once visited by a lady, followed on New Year's Day to the reception given by the Secretary of State, followed the same evening to the apartments of Count Alexis Valdmir, Atashe, Russian Legation. Thus read the report and he repeated it as he walked along. Well, he had traced his man at last. He had but to say the word and Colonel St. John's days of liberty were at an end. Still, he hesitated unaccountably. There had been unexpected developments and certain complications had arisen unknown to the Secret Service, perhaps, but painfully obtrusive, nevertheless. Again and again, Lindhurst put two and two together and compared the result. It was an unpleasant total. Taking it all in all, he told himself disgustedly that he'd be hanged if he understood it. How did Colonel St. John, notorious black leg that he was, secure a position under the United States government? Why should he present himself as a guest at the home of the Secretary of State? And why should Mrs. Redmond appear disconcerted upon perceiving him? What connection had he with Count Waldmeer? Colonel St. John of Berlin was well known to possess a daughter. Colonel St. John of Washington was apparently childless. Where was his daughter? At this point, Lindhurst abruptly checked his train of thought only to encounter fresh perplexities and a new series of questions admitting of no satisfactory reply. He recalled his first visit to the Octagon House and the bit of blue gauze he had found there, which now reposed in his card case and seemed to him strangely like the gown this bird had worn the evening he had discovered the wet spot on her skirt and had been informed of her engagement. Also the footprints in the snow in the old garden when he had reconnoitred on Christmas Day. What did it all mean? A sudden recollection of the Cadizves' opals flashed before him and he paused hopelessly. It's too deep for me, he ejaculated aloud. His hands thrust into his coat pocket and his hat pulled well down over his eyes. Should he have Colonel St. John arrested at once or should he wait for an answer to the letter he had sent to Berlin? He thought the arrest should be made immediately and the matter done with. Suddenly out of the dark two reproachful blue eyes assailed him, tearful, appealing and with all a little frightened. Colonel St. John was reprieved for the time being. Again recalling the footprints, Lindhurst instinctively turned down the alley leading to the old garden and crossed the gap in the wall. The snow of Christmas had melted and been replaced by a slight covering today. So the garden glistened white and spotless as the Englishman crossed it and approached the house. He scarcely knew why he went for it formed no part of his plan to encounter his foe single-handed. He knew too well the desperate fight of corner bees to attempt it. Far up in the top of the old house a ray of light shone out from a chink in the broken shutter. So the caretaker was at home. He paused and looked at it long and earnestly. As he gazed the indecision of the moment vanished leaving in its place a grim determination and a burning thirst for revenge. Washington faded and in its place arose Berlin and the costly establishment of the gambler. He saw his cousin's frank, boyish face and the eagerness with which he had entered upon his first important work. He saw the same face, cold in death, with a nasty hole in the temple and heard his sister's voice as she clung to him with trembling lips and tear-dimmed eyes. It can't be true Cecil, it can't be true. Bertie could not have done it. The blue eyes appeared again but without a veil for Lindhurst remembered the misery in the gray eyes at home and swore softly as he recalled them. As ye sow, so shall ye reap, he said aloud as the desire for justice overpowered him. He would quietly make sure Colonel St. John was at home. Then he would himself return with the police. The affair should be settled once for all. He would not hesitate no matter who was involved. He repeated it quite fiercely to himself as he opened the insecure latch of the old back door and entered the hall, dark with the early dusk of the winter's day, no matter who is involved. The Englishman was troubled by no fears of the supernatural as he swiftly ascended the stairs towards that upper light. He was only conscious of the sportsman's desire for a look at his prey safe in its lair before taking the decisive step of its capture. So he walked as softly as possible and reached the landing unmolested. The janitor's door was slightly ajar. The lock had become difficult to manage since Mr. River's visit. Colonel St. John had observed it apprehensively that very evening and intended to provide himself with a bolt as soon as possible. Tonight, however, the door swung partly open and Lindhurst looked expectantly inside, but the room was empty, the dim light coming from an inner door. Colonel St. John was on duty tonight as watchman and had left some time before, but Lindhurst, ignorant of this fact, hesitated on the landing undecided whether to retreat or advance, being alone and unarmed. As he paused uncertainly, a sound from the inner room arrested his attention. It was the restless movement of an uneasy body and he involuntarily stepped inside the door as a voice thick with fever uttered a familiar name. Senator Byrd, it said, as the reading allowed, announces the engagement of his daughter, Isabel, to the Honorable Charles Rivers, member of Congress from Virginia. A moment's pause and then the sentence was repeated with parrot-like accurateness. Lindhurst hesitated no longer, but followed the example of Mr. Rivers and advanced to the inner room. The light that had attracted him emanated from the kerosene stove which stood upon the floor at some distance from the cot and fell but dimly on the muttering figure. The Englishman, however, not beside it and scrutinized the flushed face gravely. Lee, he exclaimed in astonishment. David Lee, the private secretary. Lee raised himself upon his elbow and fixed his burning eyes upon his companion's face. I know where they went, he said in a horse whisper. The roost choked papers, but I'll never, never tell. By Jove, ejaculated the Englishman, in great perplexity. By Jove. Glensing helplessly about the little room, his eye was attracted by a brilliant ray of light from a crack in the board beside the cot. Instinctively he put out his hand. It proved to be a ring. Lindhurst carried it to the oil stove and examined it. In a moment, Colonel St. John, David Lee, and the object of his visit were forgotten, for he recognized the slender rim of gold supporting one large diamond. Had he not regretfully watched it flash on a certain white hand only recently, it did not need the initials inside. I H B from C R. And the date engraved to tell him where it belonged. The lights from the diamond scorched the hand which held it, and the young attaché's face was very grave as he placed the ring in his card case beside the bit of blue gauze and turned again to the figure on the floor. How did he get there? What did it all mean? Lee was very ill and quite delirious. That was evident. Lindhurst was, of course, ignorant of his mysterious disappearance as well as the loss of the Ruschuk papers. But as he looked at the young fellow, restless and suffering, his face hardened ominously. More foul play, he said aloud. His daughter Isabel, repeatedly huskily, his daughter Isabel, don't ask me about the Ruschuk papers. I know. I know. And Lindhurst, with a sensation of an unwitting eavesdropper, hurriedly retreated. He felt confident there was black dealing somewhere and it once started to inform the police. As he reached the street, he paused again. Justice, he said sternly. Justice, whomever it may involve. And the rays from the diamond in his pocket burned through the card case and into his heart. Well, it would all be over soon. Colonel St. John should be arrested tonight. Lee removed to a hospital and his friends notified. By the way, who were his friends? The Englishman did not know. Whome, then, should he inform? An officer approached and looked curiously at him. But Lindhurst hastened on as though he himself were within reach of the arm of the law and breathed a sigh of relief as the man turned the corner without backward glance. Again he was in Berlin, paying such of Hertford's debts as money could obliterate and packing his effects to ship home along with his body. Lindhurst shuttered. It had been a bitter period of his existence. He remembered the boy's rooms, the furniture, papers, pictures, the sketch, Star of the World. It hung beside the chimney, exactly within range of the eye from the easy chair before the fire. His sister's picture in its silver frame stood upon the dressing table, but Evelyn's pretty face seemed strangely insipid when compared with the witchery of the head among the clouds. The easy chair was worn for much use. It stood uncompromisingly with its face to the chimney piece and its back to the dressing table. Lindhurst, sitting down in it, raised his eyes to the watercolor sketch, looked a long time and angrily, unwillingly understood. With complete comprehension came the hot desire for revenge and the resolution to spare neither pains nor money in bringing about just retribution. The chase had been long and weary-some. Colonel St. John and his daughter had apparently disappeared from the face of the earth, but now the end had come, suddenly, unexpectedly, with an overwhelming crash of events and a full realization of what might follow in its wake. Again, he repeated the report of the Secret Service, followed to the apartments of Count Alexis Waldmier. Lindhurst endeavored to classify his evidence and deduce the results calmly and dispassionately. Waldmier, sent on special duty, cold, relentless, and indefatigable, Russia's best resource in time of emergency. Waldmier in communication with Colonel St. John. Colonel St. John employed in the Department of State. David Lee, the Secretary's secretary, delirious in the octagon house, raving indiscriminately about Isabel Byrd and Roostchuk, on the floor beside him, a ring. The wheels of his thinking mechanism seemed to pause with a sudden snap, then slowly, painfully, revolve once more. Waldmier had assisted Colonel St. John to depart from the New Year's reception, Mrs. Redmond. The British attaché felt suddenly giddy and removed his hat to allow the cold air to pass across his brow. He discovered he was in Farragut Park and sank abstractly down upon one of the benches. Not far distant was the British Embassy. Lindhurst recognized his proximity and recognized also his official connection with it. It was no part of England's policy that Russia should hold a controlling card regarding the vexed question of the Roostchuk trouble. Lindhurst had that morning been present at a long and anxious conference on the subject. Was it not his plain duty to go at once and lay his lately acquired knowledge and suspicions before his chief to act upon as the latter thought best? First his duty to his country. The young Englishmen had been well-grounded in patriotism and talked to look fax squarely in the face. It was now a matter too serious for the personal equation to be considered, and he must go, he realized, to the acting head of his government for such use as he might see fit. Whomever it may involve, he repeated gloomily as he rose and walked toward the Embassy. At the iron fence before the substantial red brick house, he paused again and gazed fixedly at the lion and unicorn, surmounting the stone Port Coucherre. But instead of the emblem of his nation, Lindhurst saw a girl's head with its background of filmy clouds. The eyes sought his, changing as he looked from blue to purple, and in them shown the innocence of girlhood as well as the appeal of womanhood to man. Lindhurst convulsively grasped the iron railing. Drunk, said a passing young woman disgustedly, drying back her skirts. Again he raised his eyes to the stone-trimmed Port Coucherre. The lion and unicorn now stood erect and rampant in their struggle for the crown, but the scion of their nation turned his back upon them and walked briskly toward Farragut Square and up the broad stone steps of a house nearby. Here he paused and, taking out his card, wrote a few words upon it, unconscious that a carriage had stopped before the door. Will you give this card to Mrs. Redmond? he said to the servant who responded to his ring. The man stood back respectfully. Mrs. Redmond is just returning, sir, he said. She came slowly up the stairs towards him and paused a moment in surprised recognition. I'm just back from a round of visits, with barely time to dress for dinner, she remarked lightly. The Englishman bent forward and said a few words in an undertone. Come in, said Mrs. Redmond hastily. Yes, certainly, Mr. Lindhurst, I understand. James, I do not want to be disturbed. Lindhurst followed her into the brightly lighted hall and James closed the heavy door with unmistakable decision. End of Chapter 25. Chapter 26 of The Wife of the Secretary of State. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Rebecca Case. The Wife of the Secretary of State by Ella Middleton-Tybaut. Chapter 26. The secretary sat alone in his library, watching the firelight play across the open letter in his hand. Into every life come moments when we pause and review the past. We trace, step by step, our progress up or down as the case may be. We say to ourselves dejectedly, if I had only done thus or so, it might have been different and long to go back and do it over again. For we are now older, wiser, and more careful, if less confident and joyous. These moments are no respecters of persons. They come unsought to the systematically fortunate as well as the perpetually unfortunate. They are blessed indeed who have eaten the apple of life and found no bitter taste about the core. The secretary moved slightly and the paper rustled in his fingers. Instinctively he raised it and read it slowly with the careful attention one should accord an autograph letter from the president. It was a cordial epistle expressing great personal regard and much appreciation of his services. But it was the concluding paragraph to which he returned, scanning it word for word as though it were not already permanently engraved upon his memory. It has been with sincere regret that I have for some time observed the gradual failing of your health. Do no doubt to the heavy responsibility you have been called upon to undergo. It is only young shoulders that can stand erect beneath the official burden. Of late, this has caused me serious apprehension, so much so that I felt an incumbent upon me to write and remonstrate against this needless sacrifice on your part. You have surely earned a long rest. Why not take it? Why not take it? repeated the secretary gravely. Well, he was tired. That was true enough. He had served his country to the best of his ability and guided the ship of state safely, so far, through some rather deep and turbulent waters. Was his grasp upon the helm becoming insecure? He remembered the trouble in Ecuador, the crisis in Brazil. Now it was Ruschuk. He also recalled the hesitation with which he had accepted the portfolio of state and the insistence of the President. I must have at the head of the cabinet, he had said, a man of ability, in sympathy with the administration. For my own pleasure, I want him to be congenial and well-known to me. For the sake of our old friendship, as well as for proclinical reasons, I beg you not to refuse to accept the billet. The secretary's chin drooped forward on his breast, his hand clenched, crushing into a tight ball the sheet of white paper with its blue heading of executive mansion, as he sat motionless while the moments passed unnoticed. Finally he rose and went to his desk. I should have done it myself, he murmured, as he took up a pen. He might have waited a little longer. The secretary was indeed tasting the bitterness of the apple. Meanwhile, a subdued bustle had arisen in the hall without, accompanied by a ringing of bells and a general air of suppressed excitement. Mrs. Redmond issued hurried but emphatic directions while the servants hastened to obey, wandering greatly while Lindhurst stood, hat in hand, in the drawing room waiting to depart. Would not a hospital be better? He suggested as Mrs. Redmond returned from an interview with the housekeeper. Oh, no, she said positively. He must be brought here at once. Mr. Redmond would wish it, I am sure. We are indebted to you, Mr. Lindhurst, for letting us know so promptly. Mr. Lee's unexplained absence from the department has caused my husband great anxiety. Lindhurst hesitated perceptibly. He had more to say and scarcely knew how to say it. I ought to tell you, he began, why I was looking around the octagon house tonight. No, she replied quickly, don't. It is not necessary, and I do not wish to know. Mrs. Redmond, said the young attaché, suddenly, I, well, there is something. You are Miss Bird's friend, are you not? Her closest friend? Her friendship is one of my pleasures, Mr. Lindhurst. He produced his card case and opened it. On the floor, he said reluctantly. Beside Lee, I found this. Mrs. Redmond uttered a surprised exclamation and held out her hand for the ring. You think, he said anxiously, that it is surely hers? There might be some mistake, some strange coincidence. Such things do happen. But Mrs. Redmond shook her head gravely. There is no mistake. I am too familiar with it. See, the claw of the setting is slightly bent. Isabel's ring. How very strange. I thought, he said, his eyes upon his hat, that perhaps, as you are her friend, you might return it without telling her who found it. No doubt she is anxious over its loss. Mrs. Redmond was turning the ring over in her hand with a puzzled expression and made no reply. She had that afternoon stopped at Senator Byrd's and received a hurried confidence from Isabel over which she had rejoiced openly. The carriage is ready, announced James at the door, and she roused herself abruptly. You are very good to trouble yourself about this, she said gratefully. I had them telephone for everything necessary. The doctor and nurse will meet you here and everything will be ready. As to the ring, well, I will return it and I am quite sure, Mr. Lindhurst, that Miss Byrd will be as surprised as ourselves to learn where it was found. She extended her hand and Lindhurst took it quietly in his. Mrs. Redmond, he said earnestly, if I can ever be of any real service to you, believe me, I shall be very glad to do what I can. She did not reply and he continued, I'm rather a bungling fellow, you know, and sometimes I run plum into things I had much better keep clear of. The only thing I can do then is to back out and say nothing, but I can always be depended upon to do that. I'm rather an expert in keeping quiet and attending to my own affairs only, you know. It's quite a hobby with me, but if at any time, he hesitated, uncertain how to proceed, as he felt the hand in his grow cold to the fingertips. Thank you, she said almost inaudibly, I shall remember. He turned aside, hot and uncomfortable, and with an incoherent remark about a speedy return with his patient, beat a hasty retreat into the hall. His self-imposed task had grown most difficult of achievement, and he felt the conviction forced unwillingly upon him that Colonel St. John was indefinitely reprieved as far as he was concerned. Also that he would have no report to submit to his chief upon the all-absorbing, roost shook question. Lindhurst felt for a cigar and repressed an inclination to swear. He cordially detested periods of indecision, and heretofore had not encountered many of them during his career. He also detested becoming involved in the affairs of others, but he reflected gloomily as he approached the octagon house. He seemed to be in for it this time. The secretary, bending over his desk in the library, heard the front door close without interest. He wrote and rewrote, copied and revised, and at last put aside his pen and looked at the result of his labors. Mrs. Redmond entered quietly, laid her hand upon his shoulder, and looked also. Her blue eyes clouding and her lips compressed. I have the honor to tender my resignation as the secretary of state, to take effect upon the first proximal and to request that it be accepted without delay. In taking the step, I am actuated by a desire to preserve the efficiency of the department and to further the interest of the government in the present emergency. I beg to express my thanks for the honor conferred upon me by being selected as the head of your cabinet, and for the confidence reposed in me in the past. With the hope that I may receive a speedy acceptance of my resignation, I remain your obedient servant, John Redmond. The secretary looked at his wife and smiled. Tomorrow, he said, I will take this to the department and have it put in official shape. Don't be distressed, dear, it's all for the best. But Mrs. Redmond pushed the paper aside impatiently. John, she said with an odd little laugh, you must not do this, and you don't want to anymore. He is found, Mr. Lee is found, and I'm having him brought here. Found, he repeated. Found? Where, Estelle? I don't think I understand. He's ill, John, very ill. Mr. Lindhurst discovered him in an empty house. I saw him this afternoon. Mr. Lindhurst, I mean, and he told me. I don't quite understand myself, but I gave orders for Mr. Lee to be brought here at once, because I thought you would wish it. Yes, returned the secretary anxiously, of course, but I've had the blue room arranged for him, she interrupted, and telephoned for a nurse to be sent at once. We must do all we can, and this, she touched the paper on the desk, can go into the fire, for the present at least. The secretary's fingers tightened about that other paper compressed into such small compass, and he laid a detaining hand upon the draft of his resignation. No, dear, he said, it goes to the president. Under any circumstances, it goes to the president. Mrs. Redmond leaned over her husband and slipped her arm about his neck. Ah, John, don't, she whispered, wait a day or two. It's all coming right, for my sake, for your own sake. Wait a little. But Mr. Redmond had arrived at a decision while he sat alone in the library, reviewing the past. It goes to-morrow, he said gently. I'm sorry you care so much, my dear, but it goes. She gave an inarticulate little cry and sank on her knees beside the chair. Why, Estelle, he said gravely, Estelle. John, she said, taking his face between her hands and gazing earnestly into his eyes. You love me, don't you? And, and trust me too, isn't it so? You know it, dear, why ask me? I'm asking you to prove your love. I've never made a point of anything since we've been married, but now I ask you, beg you. See, John, I, your wife, am on my knees to you. I beg you to wait, not to send in that resignation. I do not understand you tonight, Estelle. It's because I have only lately learned what it means to you, she continued hurriedly. I've only just realized how things could reflect on your honor, but I know now, I know. I've seen you grow old and ill under the strain and I can't bear it, I cannot bear it. Something must happen. Mr. Lee has found, you know, wait a day or two longer. Don't resign tomorrow, dear, for your own sake, for my sake, don't, John. He did not reply, and she paused a moment, and then resumed breathlessly. Just two or three days, that's all I ask. Wait that long. If you love me, wait that long. The secretary put his arm about his wife and raised her gently. I do not like to see you there, my dear, he said. It is not fitting. You are strangely excited. Your hands are cold and your face is flushed. Tell me why this is such a vital matter to you. I thought you would be glad to go abroad, where we could be together all the time. You have often said you wish I would leave politics. But not this way, she interrupted, not this way. I only want you to wait until you are vindicated, until they want you to stay. Something will happen. I, I feel it. Oh, it's not much, I ask. Two or three days, a week at the longest. Oh, John, dearest, to please me. Listen, Estelle, he said gravely. Since you make such a point of it, I will, much against my better judgment, delay a few days, but certainly no longer than a week. The secretary's mouth set in a hard straight line, and he squared his shoulders as he laid a crushed ball of paper upon the draft of his resignation. At the end of that time, he said firmly, it goes to the president, whatever happens, and under any circumstances, it goes. Now let us change the subject. I want to understand more fully about Mr. Lee. She gave a relieved sigh, taking his hand in both of hers and resting her face against it. Oh, you're good, she murmured, so good, and you won't be sorry. I have an intuition, dear. Women do sometimes, you know. That's why I was so insistent. I didn't want you to leave under a cloud. That's what you called it the other night, isn't it? But it's lifting, the cloud is lifting. It's very black now, but behind it the sky is clear. Oh, John. And with a sudden collapse of overwrought nerves, Mrs. Redmond laid her head upon the desk and gave way to a paroxysm of tears. Sorley puzzled, and with all a little anxious, the secretary put his arms about her and drew her to the large chair beside the fire. Don't, sweetheart. He said, unfastening with gentle fingers the plumed hat she had forgotten to remove. Don't. Why, the whole thing is not worth a tear from you. You are tired and nervous, I think, and no wonder. Don't cry, it hurts me. John, she said brokenly, her face hidden on his shoulder. Do you think you would love and trust me under any and all circumstances? Under any and all circumstances, Estelle. Because I may put you to the test. Don't ask me what I mean. I don't think I know. I am tired and nervous too, I suppose. But I've got lots to do, John. Hard work, and when it's done, I'll rest. We'll both rest. I hear wheels stopping at the door, don't you? It's Mr. Lee. We must go out and see him. And I'm foolish, John. Don't worry about me. Kiss me. Now we'll go to Mr. Lee. End of Chapter 26. Chapter 27 of The Wife of the Secretary of State. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Rebecca Case. The Wife of the Secretary of State by Ella Middleton-Tibout. Chapter 27. Lindhurst had faithfully discharged his errand. He had seen Lee carried bodily downstairs, mattress and all, by the Redmond servants without rousing from the deep sleep into which he had sunk, and had felt thankful to the early darkness of the winter's night and the seclusion of the octagon house, which combined to prevent the accumulation of the curious crowd, usually inseparable from such occasions. To the wondering servants, he volunteered no explanation whatever, and devoted his energies to supporting his companion on the wide back seat of the Brogum. Put the mattress inside the door and go home. Drive carefully. He directed with a sigh of relief at the absence of an inconvenient policeman of an inquiring turn of mind. Lee slept heavily. Indeed, he seemed to be in a stupor from which he could not be awakened. The Englishman anxiously touched his pulse and thanked heaven his own responsibility would soon cease. He saw Lee carried up the broad stairway of the Redmond house, followed by the doctor and the white-capped nurse who waited to receive them, and found himself entering into a halting explanation to Mr. Redmond of how he happened to be near the octagon house, was attracted by the muttering of Lee and his delirium, and at once investigated being interested in ferreting out sounds attributed to the supernatural and curious regarding the legends of the old house. He grew quite fluid toward the latter part of his story and brought himself to an abrupt pause, conscious that the secretary was listening with a puzzled air and an expression of surprised incredulity. Lindhurst suddenly remembered he had forgotten dinner and that the evening was well advanced and, remarking that he would look in later to hear the report of the doctor, beat a hasty retreat. It was a fact worthy of comment that when he returned to his rooms he avoided passing the British legation. He believed the lion and the unicorn would look reproachfully down upon him and felt he deserved their contempt. So much for prying into your neighbor's back doors, he remarked grimly to a friendly lamppost as he stopped to light his cigar. Meanwhile Mrs. Redmond waited the verdict of the doctor. The secretary, after a moment's hesitation, had followed the patient upstairs, so she sat alone in the brightly lighted hallway, reviewing the events of the day. Events seemed to be crowding upon one another with bewildering swiftness of late, and there was a decided uncertainty as to what the next revolution of the Wheel of Fate might bring forth. Estelle caught her breath as she reflected upon the helplessness of humanity when their garments catch upon its cogs, and she knew that with the flowing draperies of woman escape is particularly difficult. Indeed, it sometimes seemed as though the civilized world was determined to shield and protect its masculine element, even in the fashion of their raiment. She sat in a large carved chair from which she had invited Count Waldmeer to be her guest on New Year's night. Was it only yesterday? It seemed to her ages had come and gone since then. The very griffins carved upon its arms suggested the handsome face of the Russian, and the surrounding air was filled with echoes of his voice. A week, she said aloud. Only a week, seven days. But it's got to be done somehow. There was a movement in the hall upstairs. A servant was summoned and hastily dispatched to the nearest drugstore, and quiet was again restored. Mrs. Redmond put her hands upon the arms of the chair, as though to hide the griffins' heads and thought of her interview with Lindhurst. So he knew. What ultimate use would he make of his knowledge? Colonel St. John's daughter believed she realized the implacability of his nature, but Mrs. Redmond involuntarily trusted in the chivalry of his manhood. She heard the doctor in the upper hall say something in a low voice and her husband's quiet reply. In another moment they might come downstairs. Could she pull herself together and talk to them naturally? For an instant surrounding objects blurred, and the walls leaned towards each other. Then gradually furniture and brick-a-brack separated, and the walls resumed their former upright position. Air. She must have air. Catching up the fur-lined cloak she had flung aside upon her return a few hours previous, she went out on the doorstep and leaned against the stone framework, her cheek pressed against its rough surface. I must think, she said, as the cool wind drove away the faintness and brought a trace of color to her face. It takes a lot of thinking. But after a while it will come to me. It's got to be done. I see it quite plainly. The street lamps shone dimly, and the stars overhead displayed shining points of light against the dark background of the sky. Carriages and pedestrians hurried along, bent on reaching their destination as speedily as possible, and the quiet of the early evening descended upon the city. After a while, some hours later, the avocations of the night would commence and parts of Washington, at least, would be far from peaceful. Estelle pressed her face closer to the hard stone and looked from the stars to the street below. The debt is mine, she said slowly. Mine, and I must pay the price. A man and woman approached. She, resplendent as to hat and feathers, dragging her tawdry skirts along the pavement to conceal defective shoes. He, with hands thrust deep in his pockets and hat well down over his eyes to conceal his identity. Just opposite the house she laid her hand in its torn and dirty white glove, upon his arm and spoke earnestly, the painted face beneath the draggling feathers raised appealingly. With a muttered oath he shook off the hand as though fearing contamination from her touch. Drop your whining, he commanded. Don't you know it's all past and over? She made a low-voiced reply and he impatiently pulled out his purse. There, he said, rapidly selecting a note, I want to see no more of you. As a man never to be free from a millstone around his neck, here, take it, and go back to where you belong. Where I belong, she cried sharply, yes, and who sent me there? Who? They passed out of hearing, and faded away in the distance. He striding along in front. She following dejectedly a few feet in the rear. Night had become already. Mrs. Redmond shivered as she went back into the radiance and warmth of the hall. She had looked with unwilling eyes into a dangerous abyss of darkness, and felt an irresistible desire for light and safety. At the foot of the stairs her husband stood in earnest consultation with the doctor. A blow on the back of the head, the physician was saying, resulting in concussion. The danger lies in the abnormally high temperature. The case bears investigation, Mr. Redmond. With your permission I shall report it to the police. Certainly, said the secretary promptly, the sooner the better, I will offer a liberal reward for the capture of the man who dealt the blow. Mr. Lee is my private secretary, and an uncommonly fine young fellow. I have a great personal regard for him and interest in his welfare. The doctor thoughtfully drew on his gloves. The octagon house, I think you said, he remarked slowly. A very strange case. Pity he is unable to throw any light on it himself, but of course that is out of the question for the present. Perhaps he may be able to talk a bit in a day or two, however, and it might be well to delay informing the police for a little. Well, I must be off. The nurse is entirely competent, the best on my list. It's lucky she was at leisure, for he needs skilled attention. I'll look in again later on. Mrs. Redmond need feel no responsibility in the matter. Miss Gray has my instructions, and as I said, she is very efficient. Good night. John, said Mrs. Redmond as the door closed. Will the police be notified tonight? He replied absently that he hardly thought so, but was not sure. And, she continued, they will search the octagon house. Set someone to watch it, perhaps? Dinner is served, said James, appearing at the door with a long suffering expression of countenance. It was the third time that night he had made the announcement, and yet no one had responded. The secretary put his arm about his wife. Come, dear, he said gently, you need your dinner, and so do I. We are both tired, I think. In the blue room, the nurse stood beside the bed and gazed at her patient. Up to the present time she had been too busy for more than a hasty pause of surprise when the light first fell upon his face. Now, however, had come a lull in active operations and she could collect her thoughts. She had grown accustomed to emergency cases and responded promptly when summoned, although very tired and sorely in need of a few days' rest, and she experienced a decided thrill of gratification when the doctor, in a few hasty words, expressed his satisfaction that she was at leisure. For you know, Miss Gray, we have a tough job before us for a few days at least. After that it ought to be plain sailing, but together we'll pull him through, I hope. Fine-looking young chap, isn't he? I'll drop in again to-night. Meanwhile watch the temperature. It ought to fall somewhat shortly and it must not rise. Mary Gray knew that her profession was apt to bring her in constant contact with the unexpected, but as she looked at the face upon the pillow she experienced a moment of incredulous astonishment. David Lee at Mrs. Colson's had insensibly attracted her. His frank, hearty manner and laughing blue eyes, as well as the air of good fellowship with the world in general, had appealed to the girl already weary of the struggle for existence, although his exuberant health and spirits had rather overpowered her. Mary shaded the light and turned to collect the garments scattered about the room. As she folded the coat, giving a little shake to free it from the dust, something fell from an inside pocket and she stooped to pick it up. Was it necessary for her to remove everything from his pockets, she wondered, as well as the purse the doctor had laid on the dressing table. She held a long envelope in her hand, oppressed with the sense of something strangely familiar in the surrounding atmosphere. Her patient's condition demanded her undivided attention. Why then should she be able to think only of her sister? Why should Christine's laces, ribbons, and various unimportant articles of apparel be uppermost in her mind? Lee stirred uneasily, but she stood absorbed, his coat over her arm, and the hand holding the papers hanging listlessly at her side. Suddenly she raised the envelope, looked at it with startled eyes, and held it to her nose. Yes, it was there, the subtle penetrating odor which Christine loved and she considered sickening. The curious mixture of sachet powders the younger girl had learned from an old Frenchwoman, and in possession of which secret she exalted openly, triumphing in the individuality of her perfume, Mary felt in the coat pocket and drew out a handkerchief. It was possible the Frenchwoman had given her recipe to more than one person. The handkerchief, however, was guiltless of scent of any kind, and she returned it regretfully. Why did the envelope seem familiar? She bent over it, and laboriously examined the one word, blurred and indistinct, R-O-O. Suddenly she paused. She remembered the night of Mr. Mark's first visit to Christine. The white hyacinths and the package flung impatiently aside, unopened after the first three letters were spelled out, and never again mentioned. The nurse forgot her duty to her patient, and her realization of her duty to her sister, and opened the envelope.