A WORD OF WARNING
I walked along the Königstrasse, the principal street of Buyda, reflecting on my interview, and wondering how far I could trust the assurance of the Chancellor’s last words. His was one of those complex characters, so hopelessly difficult to understand, that I felt it an even chance whether his word was to be trusted or disbelieved.
Anyhow, I persuaded myself that my visit had done no harm, and there was just the likelihood that his purpose might relax with regard to Von Lindheim. How far I was justified in this idea the sequel will show. But chance certainly made the journey to Buyda one of the most momentous of my life.
My reflections were interrupted by a man who came quickly up from behind, touched his hat and addressed me. A man in livery. He said that the Baroness Fornbach would like to speak to me. She was in her carriage a few yards down on the other side of the street. After a moment’s hesitation I followed the man. If I had my doubts and suspicions about the Baroness I was yet somewhat inclined, remembering her half confidences on the evening I had supped with her, to try whether I could get any information from her about the Chancellor. At the same time I resolved to walk warily.
The Baroness gave me a friendly greeting, asked as to my plans, where I had been, how long my stay in Buyda was to last, and on learning of my immediate departure insisted on my accompanying her home for a cup of tea. As there was not much chance of my learning anything important in the open street and in the presence of a lady who was with her, I accepted the invitation and got into the carriage.
“I don’t care for tea, but shall be delighted to have half an hour’s chat with you,” I said.
“That’s well. I know you English are faddy about spoiling your dinners,” she returned with a laugh as we drove off.
After tea the Baroness’s companion disappeared, and I was free to begin my questions. As to whether they would be satisfactorily answered or not I was doubtful, but anyhow I would make the attempt.
“I am interested and puzzled by the fate of that poor fellow Von Orsova, whom I was to have met the very evening of his death. Can you throw any light upon it, Baroness? In the country one hears nothing but bare facts.”
Affecting to speak more or less carelessly I was watching her narrowly, and saw that at my question she “clinched” a little. All that was meant for me to see, however, was a shrug as she answered: