Whoso Findeth a Wife

by William Le Queux

How she had become possessed of the stolen treaty was inexplicable. Full well she knew all the terrible anxiety its loss had caused me, and the sensation that its revelation had created throughout Europe. Times without number I had mentioned to her how anxious my chief was to recover the original, so that our enterprising friends in St Petersburg could have no tangible proof that it had actually existed, yet she had given no sign that she knew anything of it, much less that it actually reposed in my own drawing-room. I did not fail, in those moments of my despair, to recollect that she had been on the most intimate terms with Dudley Ogle, the man suspected to have been in the service of the Tzar’s Government, and as I sat in wonderment it became gradually impressed upon me that through those many months I had been basely tricked, and that Ella herself, charming and ingenuous as she seemed, was actually a secret agent of the enemies of England.

Several facts that I recollected combined to produce this startling belief. Because of my confidential position as secretary to the Earl of Warnham, it was apparent that Ella, with the assistance of my whilom friend Dudley and the encouragement of her mother, had conspired to hold me beneath her spell. She had become my wife, not because she had ever loved me, but because she could feign affection or hatred with equal impunity, and had some ulterior motive in obtaining my confidence. Her firm resolve to ascertain the true facts regarding Dudley’s mysterious end showed plainly that if they were not lovers they had acted in complete accord, and what was more likely than that he, having stolen the secret convention, had on that memorable night at “The Nook” handed it to her, the instigator of the ingenious theft. Yet an hour or so later he died from some cause that neither doctors nor police had been able to determine.

To her, the tragic occurrence was a mystery, as to all, and her refusal to render me any explanation of her suspicious actions was, I now saw, quite natural. Held beneath the iron thraldom of her masters in St Petersburg, she dared not utter one word; hence I had remained in the outer darkness of doubt and ignorance.

However it might be, one thing was certain. She had been unexpectedly parted from me, either by choice or compulsion. Perhaps it was that to pose as my wife was no longer necessary; yet if she were actually a spy, was it not curious that in departing she should overlook this document, of which the Ministry at St Petersburg were so anxious to possess themselves.

Again, as I sat alone before the cheerless grate, I reflected that if she were in the pay of Russia, surely Monsieur Grodekoff, the Ambassador, would have been acquainted with her. Besides, what reason could Renouf have had in making such careful inquiries, or why did Paul Verblioudovitch discredit the truths uttered by Sonia and urge me to marry the woman I loved? Nevertheless if, as I supposed, my position in the Foreign Office had caused me to be the victim of a clever and deeply-conceived conspiracy, it was scarcely surprising that the Tzar’s representative should disclaim all knowledge of the sweet-faced agent, or that Paul had praised her and cast obloquy upon Sonia in order that their plans, whatever they were, should be achieved. Of the actions of Renouf, and his strange disregard for detection, I could form no satisfactory conclusion. All I knew was that Ella’s career had been an unscrupulous and inglorious one, and that she had cast me aside as soon as her infamous ends had been attained.

The only person who could elucidate the mystery was Sonia, the pretty girl who had been denounced by Renouf as a murderess, and who was now in hiding in far-off Russia, in some out-of-the-world place where I could never hope to find her. If she were clever enough to elude the combined vigilance of the detective force of Europe, as undoubtedly she had done, there was but little hope that I could ever run her to earth.

The mystery had, by Ella’s flight, been increased rather than explained, for the more I pondered the more deeply-rooted became the conviction that she had decamped because she had cause to fear some strange development that would lead to her exposure and shame.

After a time I roused myself, and taking from the broken escritoire the other letters it contained, five in number, examined them eagerly beneath the light.

All were in the same hand, a heavy masculine one, written evidently with a quill. One by one I read them, finding that they contained appointments, which fully bore out her maid’s suspicions.

“My dear Ella,” one ran, “to-morrow I shall be on the departure platform at King’s Cross Station at 11:30. I have good news for you. Come.—X.”