“Not many days more. I guessed, I hoped, long ago that Raoul cared, but he wouldn’t have told me, even the day he did tell, if he hadn’t lost his head a little. He hadn’t meant to speak, it seems, for he’s poor, and he thought he had no right. But what’s a man worth who doesn’t lose his head when he loves a woman? I adored him for it. We decided not to let anyone know until a few weeks before we could marry, as I didn’t care to have my engagement gossipped about, for months on end. There were reasons why—more than one: but the man of all others whom I didn’t want to know the truth found out, or, rather, suspected what had happened, the very day when Raoul and I came to an understanding—Count Godensky of the Russian Embassy. He called, and was let in by mistake while Raoul was with me, and, just as he must have seen by our faces that there was something to suspect, so I saw by his that he did suspect. Oh, a hateful person! I’ve refused him three times. There are some men so vain that they can never believe a woman really means to say ‘no’ to them. Count Godensky is one of those, and he’s dangerous, too. I’m afraid of him, since I’ve cared for Raoul, though I used to be afraid of no one, when I’d only myself to think of. Raoul was going away that very night. He had an errand to do for a woman who was a dear and intimate friend of his dead mother. You must know of the Duchesse de Montpellier? Well, it was for her: and Raoul is like her son. She has no children of her own.”
“I don’t know her,” I said, “but I’ve seen her; a charming looking woman, about forty-five, with a gloomy-faced husband—a fellow who might be rather a Tartar to live with. They were pointed out to me at Monte Carlo one year, in the Casino, where the Duchess seemed to be enjoying herself hugely, though the Duke had the air of being dragged in against his will.”
“No doubt he had been—or else he was there to fetch her out. Poor dear, she’s a dreadful gambler. It’s in her blood! I She lost, I don’t know how much, at Monte Carlo on an ‘infallible system’ she had. She’s afraid of her husband, though she loves him immensely; and lately a craze she’s had for Bridge has cost her so much that she daren’t tell the Duke, who hates her gambling. She confessed to Raoul, and begged him to help her—not with money, for he has none, but by taking a famous and wonderful diamond necklace of hers to Amsterdam, selling the stones for her there, and having them replaced with paste. It was all to be done very secretly, of course, so that the Duke shouldn’t know, and Raoul hated it, but he couldn’t refuse. He had no idea of telling me this story, that day when he ‘lost his head,’ while we were bidding each other good-bye before his journey. He didn’t mention the name of the Duchess, but said only that he had leave, and was going to Holland on business. But while he was away a dreadful thing happened—the most ghastly misfortune—and as we were engaged to be married, he felt obliged when he came back to let me know the worst.”
“What was the dreadful thing that happened?” I asked, as she paused, pressing her hands against her temples.
“The necklace was stolen from Raoul by a thief, who must have been one of the most expert in the world. Can you imagine Raoul’s feelings? He came to me in despair, asking my advice. What was he to do? He dared not appeal to the police, or the Duchess’s secret would come out. And he couldn’t bear to tell her of the loss, not only because it would be such a blow to her, as she was depending on the money from the sale of the jewels, but because she knew that he was in some difficulties, and might be tempted to believe that he’d only pretended the diamonds were stolen—while really he’d sold them for his own use.”
“As she’s fond of him, and trusts him, probably she would have thought no such thing,” I tried to comfort Maxine. “But certainly, it was a rather bad fix.”
“Rather bad fix! Oh, you laconic creatures, Englishmen. All you think of is to hide your feelings behind icy words. As for me—well, there was nothing I wouldn’t have done to help him—nothing. My life would have been a small thing to give. I would have given my soul. And already a thought came flashing into my mind. I begged Raoul to wait, and say nothing to the Duchess, who didn’t even know yet that he’d come back from Amsterdam. The thought in my mind was about the commission from your Secretary for Foreign Affairs. As I told you, I’d just sent him word in the usual cypher and through the usual channels, that I couldn’t do what he wanted. He’d offered me eight thousand pounds to undertake the service, and four more if I succeeded. I believed I could succeed if I tried. And with the few thousands I’d saved up, and selling such jewels as I had, I could make up the sum Raoul had been told to ask for the necklace. Then he could give it to the Duchess, and she need never know that the diamonds had been stolen. All that night I lay awake thinking, thinking. Next day, at a time when I knew Raoul would be working in his office, I went to see him there, and cheered him up as well as I could. I told him that in a few days I hoped to have eighteen or twenty thousand pounds in my hands—all for him. To let him have the money would make me happier than I’d ever been. At first he said he wouldn’t take it from me—I knew he would say that! But, at last, after I’d cried and begged, and persuaded, he consented; only it was to be a loan, and some how, some time, he would pay me back. In that office there are several great safes; and when we had grown quite happy and gay together, I made Raoul tell me which was the most important of all—where the really sacred and valuable things were kept. He laughed and pointed out the most interesting one—the one, he said, which held all the deepest secrets of French foreign diplomacy. I was sure then that the thing I had to get for the British Foreign Secretary must be there, though it was such a new thing that it couldn’t have been anywhere for long. ‘There are three keys to that safe,’ said Raoul. ‘One is kept by the President; one is always with the Foreign Secretary; this is the third’; and he showed me a strange little key different to any I had seen before. ‘Oh, do let me have a peep at these wonderful papers,’ I pleaded with him. Before coming I had planned what to do. Round my throat I wore a string of imitation pearls, which I’d put on for a special purpose. But they were pretty, and so well made that only an expert would know they weren’t real. Raoul isn’t an expert; so at the moment he fitted the key into the lock of the safe to open the door, I gave a sly little pull, and broke the thread, making the pearls roll everywhere about the floor. He was quite distressed, forgot all about the key in the lock, and flew to pick up the pearls as if each one were worth at least a thousand francs.
“While he was busy finding the lost beads, I whipped out the key, took an impression of it on a piece of wax I had ready, concealed in my handkerchief, and slipped it back into the lock while he was still on his hands and knees on the floor. Then he opened the safe-door for a moment, just to give me the peep I had begged for, but not long enough for me to touch anything even if I’d dared to try with him standing there. Enough, though, to show me that the documents were neatly arranged in labelled pigeon-holes, and to see their general character, colour, and shape. That same day a key to fit the lock was being made; and when it was ready, I made an excuse to call again on Raoul at the office. Not that a very elaborate excuse was needed. The poor fellow, trusting me as he trusts himself, or more, was only too glad to have me come to him, even in that sacred place. Now, the thing was to get him away. But I’d made up my mind what to do. In another office, upstairs, was a friend of Raoul’s—the one who introduced us to each other, and I’d made up a message for him, which I begged Raoul to take, and bring his friend to speak to me. He went, and I believed I might count on five minutes to myself. No more—but those five minutes would have to be enough for success or failure. The instant the door shut behind Raoul, I was at the safe. The key fitted. I snatched out a folded document, and opened it to make quite, quite certain it was the right one, for a mistake would be inexcusable and spoil everything. It was what I wanted—the treaty, newly made, between Japan, Russia and France—the treaty which your Foreign Secretary thought he had reason to believe was a secret one, arranged between the three countries without the knowledge of England and to the prejudice of her interests. The one glance I had gave me the impression that the document was nothing of the kind, but quite innocent, affecting trade only; yet that wasn’t my business. I had to send it to the Foreign Secretary, who wanted to know its precise nature, and whether England was being deceived. In place of the treaty I slipped into its pigeon-hole a document I’d brought with me—just like the real thing. No one opening the safe on other business would suspect the change that had been made. My hope was to get the treaty back before it should be missed. You see, I was betraying Raoul, to save him. Do you understand?”
“I understand. You must have persuaded yourself that you were justified. But, good Heavens, Maxine,” I couldn’t help breaking out, “it was an awful thing to do.”
“I know—I know. But I had to have the money—for Raoul. And there was no other way to get it. You remember, I’d refused, till the diamonds were lost, and would have refused even if Raoul had nothing to do with the French Foreign Office. But let me go on telling you what happened. I had time enough. I had even a minute or two to spare. And fortunately for me, the man I’d sent Raoul to find was out. I looked at my watch, pretended to be surprised, and said I must go at once. I couldn’t bear to waste a second in hurrying the treaty off, so that it might the more quickly be on its way back. I hadn’t come to visit Raoul in my own carriage, but in a cab, which was waiting. As Raoul was taking me to it, Count Godensky got out of a motor-brougham, and saw me. If only it had been anywhere except in front of the Foreign Office! I told myself there was no reason why he should guess that anything was wrong, but I was in such a state of nerves that, as he raised his hat, and his eyebrows, I fancied that he imagined all sorts of things, and I felt myself grow red and pale. What a fool I was—and how weak! But I couldn’t help it. I didn’t wait to go home. I wrote a few lines in the cab, and sent off the packet, registered, in time I hoped, to catch the post—but after all, it didn’t. Coming out from the post office, there was Godensky again, in his motor-brougham. That could have been no coincidence. A horrid certainty sprang to life in me that he’d followed my cab from the Foreign Office, to see where I would go. Why couldn’t I have thought of that danger? I have always thought of things, and guarded against them; yet this time, this time of all others, I seemed fated.”