All this time Wylie made no sign. As soon as she reached Therma, Eirene had asked her hostess about him, saying frankly that she wished to thank him for his efforts in procuring her ransom; but she was told that he had returned to India, satisfied that his friends were safe. She did not believe this, but she thought it very probable that he wished it to be believed, in order that he might have more freedom to act, and in her drives she looked narrowly among the crowd of many nationalities that thronged the streets for the tell-tale eyes which no disguise could hide. But she never saw them. Once or twice she ventured casually to inquire of Madame Ladoguin’s guests if they knew anything of Captain Wylie, and was always assured, with a look of astonishment, that he had made himself only too well known in the city while he remained there, but that he had now, happily, left it. Still, this did not necessarily prove that he had not returned to it, and Eirene began to wonder whether she could not write to him, as he seemed so strangely slow in seeking her. She did not know his address, but the British Consul-General would certainly forward a letter. Would it be best to send it by post or by one of the servants? So far as she knew, she was free to correspond with any one she would, and it was merely the feeling that she had very careful and subtle adversaries to deal with that made her hesitate. She could not afford unsuccessful experiments. If it was discovered that she was attempting to communicate with Wylie, the fact would give the lie to the attitude she had so resolutely maintained, and even if it were only discovered that she had written to him, it would enable the Ladoguins to anticipate any step he might take.
Curiously enough, the danger attending both the means of communication she had contemplated was made clear to her on the same day. She was well supplied with money, and had been occupied in the very necessary task of getting some new clothes. One of her orders had been sent to a British firm in Vindobona. It was written in Eirene’s name by Madame Ladoguin, who acted as a kind of unofficial lady-in-waiting, but it chanced that she was called out of the room before it was finished, and Eirene addressed and fastened the envelope in a hurry, in order to catch the post. The answer arrived in due time, but the tradesman begged to know whether there had been more than one enclosure, as the letter had been skilfully unclosed and refastened before it reached him. The incident spoke volumes as to the safety of letters confided to the Consulate post-bag, and Eirene realised that, though she had not discovered it, she was under as strict surveillance as that which had proved so irksome on the journey. Was it safe to attempt to bribe the servants, she wondered? They all seemed anxious to oblige—even, so it struck her, to be bribed—especially Madame Ladoguin’s French maid, whose services she shared. Were they also spies, eager to tempt her to employ them, that they might carry a report to their mistress? An impulse, for which she could not account, prompted her to look at the money with which she had been furnished. It was all in gold, and every coin was marked with a tiny scratch in exactly the same place. Eirene gave up the idea of bribing the servants.
One attempt she did actually make, which might have ended more disastrously than it did. She was driving with Madame Ladoguin, and the latter had stopped the carriage at a shop in order to leave a message. Before the cavass had time to return, she caught sight of a lady advancing towards the carriage.
“Pardon, dearest Princess!” she said, stepping out hastily, “but that is the Pannonian Consul-General’s wife, who has not been presented to you. I won’t inflict her on you, if you will permit me to go to her, for she is a sad bore.”
Not guessing that the lady in question was really the wife of the British Consul-General, and one of the persons in all Therma whom Madame Ladoguin least wished her to meet, Eirene looked round for some means of utilising this opportunity. The programme of a concert which was to take place for some charity lay on the seat opposite her, and she snatched it up and wrote on it in pencil:—
“The Princess Eirene Féofan will be glad to receive Captain Wylie at any time convenient to him. Let him see that his name is taken to her direct.”
She folded the paper, addressed it to the care of the British Consul-General, and beckoned to a beggar whom the absence of the cavass had tempted to draw near the carriage. In her hand she held a gold piece.
“For Sir Frank Francis, at the Consulate of Great Britain,” she whispered in French. “This is for you, if you will take it to him.”
He looked up at her with greedy, uncomprehending eyes, and she waved him hastily away as Madame Ladoguin turned round. “The British Consul-General!” she repeated, in an agony, and saw that he understood her; but he shambled away down an alley in the opposite direction to that in which the British Consulate lay. Eirene never heard anything more of him or her message, but she realised gradually that she ought to be thankful she had lighted on a rogue too unsophisticated to double his gains by carrying it to the Scythian instead of the British Consul-General.