“Tell me something about her.”
Rutile threw up his hands. “I haven’t time to do justice to the subject,” he declared. “She came to Berlin about six months ago, and promptly got the whole hoch wohlgebornen bunch at her feet, men and women too. She’s beautiful, but it isn’t altogether her looks, you know; it’s her amazing knowledge of men and things. They say she hired out once as a chambermaid and at another time worked in a factory here. They also say that she was the masked unknown who caused such a sensation by dancing as Salome for charity in the most outrageous costume that ever—”
“I don’t believe it!” Topham’s face was flushed and his eyes glittered.
Rutile studied him curiously. The dispatches Topham had brought had been devoted wholly to the Count and Countess del Ouro Preto. The navy officer did not know this, of course, but Rutile felt very sure that he believed the two were behind the efforts that had been made to rob him of them. Knowing the fascinations of the countess, the secretary had little hesitation in guessing that Topham had fallen a victim to them. He wanted to warn him, but scarcely knew how to begin. After all, Topham was going away in twenty-four hours, and the first canon of friendship is “don’t butt in.”
So he changed the subject. “Hope you enjoyed yourself tonight,” he observed.
“Finely! I went to your Thiergarten and met several people I knew—Lord Maxwell, the British Ambassador, and young Ferreira—the Count del Ouro Preto, I should say—and—”
“Ouro Preto!” Rutile was startled. “What did he want?”
Topham considered. “Nothing!” he answered. “He was full of his coming audience with the emperor and—”
“Audience with the emperor!” Rutile was on his feet. “What do you mean? Has Ouro Preto seen the emperor?”
Topham drew out his watch and consulted it. “Well!” he said. “It’s now 12:45, so I may safely say that he has. He was to be received at eleven o’clock tonight.”