“I am aware of that,” I replied, angry that he should have made such a suggestion against my well-beloved, yet remembering her strange utterances when she heard the news of impending war shouted in the street. “But I have the most implicit faith in the woman who is to be my wife.”
“Has she explained, then, the character of the secret existing between herself and Ogle?” asked Lord Warnham, raising his grey, shaggy brows. “From the evidence at the inquest it was plain, you will remember, that there was some mysterious understanding between them. Has she given you her reasons for declaring that Ogle has been murdered?”
For a moment I was silent; afterwards I was compelled to make a negative reply.
“That doesn’t appear like perfect confidence, does it?” the Foreign Minister observed, with a short, hard laugh. “Depend upon it, Deedes, she fears to tell you the truth.”
“No, she fears some other person,” I admitted. “Who it is I know not.”
“Find out, and we shall then discover the spy,” the Premier said, adding, with a touch of sympathy, after a moment’s pause, “Remember, I allege nothing against you, Deedes. Do your duty, and regardless of all consequences discover the means by which we have been tricked. Induce the woman you love to speak; nay, if she loves you, force her to do so, for a woman who truly loves a man will do anything to benefit him, otherwise she is unworthy to become his wife. Some day ere long you yourself will become a diplomat, as other members of your family have been. Now is the time to practise tact, the first requisite of successful diplomacy. Be tactful, be resourceful, be cunning, and look far into the future, and you will succeed both in clearing yourself and in explaining this, the most remarkable mystery that has occurred during the long years of my administration.”
I thanked him briefly for his advice, declaring that it should be my firm endeavour to follow it, and also thanked Lord Warnham for my re-instatement, but my words were interrupted by a loud double knock at the door, and in response to an injunction to enter, there appeared, hot and breathless, Frank Lawley, one of the Foreign Office messengers. He wore, half-concealed by his overcoat, his small enamelled greyhound suspended around his neck by a thin chain, his badge of office, and in his hand carried one of the familiar travelling dispatch-boxes.
“Good evening, your Lordships,” he exclaimed, greeting us.
“Where are you from, Lawley?” inquired Lord Warnham, eagerly.
“From Paris, your Lordship. My dispatch, under flying seal, is, I believe, most important. The Marquis of Worthorpe feared to trust it on the wire.”