They had acted cleverly indeed, and had blinded their tracks successfully. The Duke had kept carefully in the background and Elma had so far retained the confidence of Gatrina as actually to learn from her some details of her escape.
I did not forget her reference to the “adventure in which a dog called Chris” had played a part; and I might gamble on it that, if they discovered the part I had taken, I should soon find myself the object of some of their attentions. And they were antagonists whom anyone would be prudent to take very seriously.
Complications were developing at a merry rate; but Karasch’s news had suggested a way by which one of Gatrina’s suitors at any rate might be driven from the field.
This was to face the Duke himself, tell him what I knew, confront him with the men he had employed, and see what the effect on him would be of a threat to reveal the whole plot to the Court. The Queen’s readiness in dealing drastically with her enemies would frighten him surely enough; and I knew the Russian tactics too well not to feel assured that, if once he were discovered and disgraced, they would drop him instantly in favour of some shrewder tool.
Then came another development. A chamberlain from the Court brought me an invitation to a reception for the following night at the Palace; and was at some pains to make it clear that it was to be held out of compliment to myself and “those other illustrious Magnates of America” who were associated with me.
Money was talking loudly enough in that, at any rate; and I sent him away with an assurance of my appreciation of the honour, expressed in such flowery terms as occurred to me at the moment. Even as I was speaking to him my thoughts slipped back to what Elma had said about the “Queen’s advocate.”
I should meet Gatrina again. In a moment a hundred qualms of doubt were started as to how she would receive me, rendering me uneasy, restless, and almost nervous.
What would she say? How would she look? Would the brute she was going to marry be present? Would she reproach me for thus again forcing myself on her? Would she see through the flimsy hypocrisy of my pretended financial mission? Would she give me away to the Court? Should I get a chance of telling her of the danger in which she stood? And then, somehow, that scene on the hill at Samac a week before, came into my thoughts and I sat smoking, mooning and dreaming.
Gatrina seemed so desperately far removed from me now and the opposing forces were gathering such strength that my confidence of success gave ominous signs of wavering. The prospect of winning her looked like no more than a forlorn hope; and although I was as determined as ever to fight on until I was actually beaten, I felt a cold chill of doubt settling down upon me.
Buller entered, breaking my reverie just at that moment, to bring me a card. I took it impatiently.