Parlous Times Part 33

"I think you may be reasonably a.s.sured that your letter will never be found till you and it have long been dust, and till not only its importance, but its very meaning, have become unintelligible. You may consider it irrevocably lost, and so, as there's no further excuse for your remaining, Colonel Darcy, I'll wish you--good-night," and the Secretary threw open the great hall door.

"Good-night, Mr. Stanley," replied the unwelcome guest, with a frown of anger as he pa.s.sed over the threshold. "Good-night--but not good-bye--remember we've still a score to settle."

CHAPTER XIX

A MIDNIGHT MESSAGE

Stanley closed the great front door, turned the key, shot the bolts, and lighting his bedroom candle, slowly and thoughtfully betook himself to his chamber.

Kingsland's knowledge of the mysterious letter only served to increase the Secretary's suspicions of that young officer's complicity with Darcy, while the letter itself presented such a bewildering variety of contradictory possibilities, that his mind was dazed. A further consideration of his past experiences in this matter did not make him feel any the easier, and for the first time, under the spur of doubt and mistrust, he recalled Kingsland's story of the reception of the missive, and subjected it to a critical a.n.a.lysis. Mr. Riddle had said, and the Lieutenant had confirmed, that the letter had been handed by the former to the latter at the Hyde Park Club, and that the Lieutenant was then "leaving the room." Yet the Secretary, now he came to think of it, was sure Mr. Riddle had not been of the company at or after dinner, and that Kingsland had not left the drawing-room or attempted to do so. Moreover, if Riddle had given him the money for the stamp, why had he not mentioned the fact at the time? The letter was evidently of importance, and intended for Darcy, a man of whose every action, he had the greatest distrust. Yet the important missive, after being lost for three days, was given by its owner to Miss Fitzgerald, who thought so little of it, that she used the envelope to scribble an address on, before giving it to the Colonel, who now had lost it under the secret door.

It was certainly a mystery to which he was unable to offer any solution, but which, nevertheless, caused him a vague uneasiness. He drew up an arm-chair beside the table, and lighting his lamp, prepared to seek distraction in a book.

The Secretary had scarcely settled to his reading, however, when he was startled by a sharp click against his window. At first he thought nothing of it, but at a repet.i.tion of the noise, plainly produced by a pebble thrown up against the gla.s.s, he opened the cas.e.m.e.nt and looked out.

The night was very dark, and he could see nothing; but out of the blackness below him came a voice, which he thought he recognised, calling his name softly.

"Why, John!" he cried, scarcely believing it could be the Legation factotum. "What on earth are you doing here at this time of night?"

"Special message from 'is h'Excellency, sir," came in the familiar c.o.c.kney of the messenger, with the added caution, "don't speak so loud, please--it's that private--"

Stanley nodded, quite oblivious of the fact that he was invisible, and added in lowered tones:

"Go round to the front, and I'll come down and let you in."

He cautiously made his way downstairs, pausing at every creaking board in fear that he had awakened the household, and traversing the long hall, opened the great front door, and admitted the shivering John; for the night was cool, and several hours of watching and waiting had chilled the messenger thoroughly.

"How long have you been out there?"

"Since ten, sir."

"Good Heavens! and it's past midnight! Come up to my room, and I'll give you some whiskey."

"Thank ye, sir. I shan't mind a drop--it's that cold, but I'll take off me boots first."

"Take off your boots!"

"'Is h'Excellency was most par-ti'cler, sir, as no one but you should know as I was 'ere."

"Oh, I see. Very well. Leave them at the foot of the stairs. You'll find these flags rather cold for stocking-feet."

A few minutes later John was installed in the Secretary's bedroom, and his inner man was being warmed and refreshed with a copious dram of whiskey--while Stanley, seated at his table, was breaking the seals of the despatch which the messenger had brought him.

"It's most secret, sir."

"Quite so. How did you know which was my room?"

"The lady of the 'ouse, sir, employs the hinnkeeper's daughter to 'elp the 'ousekeeper day times--and so----"

"I see; very clever, John. Eh! what's this?" and bending forward to the light he read the now opened dispatch. It was short and to the point.

"Dear Mr. Stanley," wrote the Minister. "This is to inform you that we have discovered the silent partner in the firm, who is the chief instrument in putting up the money to defeat the treaty. His name is Arthur Riddle. He is a guest of your hostess, and should be watched. Darcy left for Suss.e.x this afternoon, presumably for your neighbourhood.

Kindly report progress, if any, sending letter by John, who should return at once.

"Yours, etc.

"X----."

As the full force of this communication became apparent to the unfortunate Secretary, he sunk back in his chair, groaning in an agony of mortification.

"Dear, dear, sir!" cried John, who had been meditatively regarding the bottom of his empty gla.s.s. "You don't mean to tell me as they've got away."

The messenger, it may be remarked, not being supposed, technically, to know any official secrets, knew more than most of his superiors.

"Oh, it isn't that, it's a thousand times worse than that! I'm such an infernal fool! John, I've had those instructions in my possession."

"You have!" cried the messenger, much excited.

"Yes. Had them for three days in the inside pocket of my dress-suit, and being the greatest idiot in the diplomatic service, I never even suspected what they were, and gave them back to the man who wrote them."

"What, Riddle?"

Stanley groaned, and bowed his head.

"Dear, dear," said John, gravely, "I'm afraid it's a bad business, sir."

And noticing that the Secretary was absorbed in his own woes, he judged it a favourable opportunity to replenish his gla.s.s, which he thoughtfully consumed, while the unfortunate diplomat poured out to the old messenger, who was distinctly the _deus ex machina_ of his Legation, and who had helped him out of many a tight place in the past, the story of the letter. How he had received it, how he had been induced to give it up, and finally how it reached its present destination.

"Well," he said despairingly, in conclusion, "what do you think, John?"

"Hit's hall the woman, sir. Take my word for hit, hit's hall the woman,"

replied that functionary, with dignity.

"What, Miss Fitzgerald?"

John nodded, with the solemnity befitting so weighty a dictum.

"You old idiot!" cried Stanley. "It's nothing of the sort. Miss Fitzgerald's share in this matter was merely a coincidence."

"Didn't you tell me has it was she suggested your taking han hold letter to keep score hon, knowing well you 'ad _the letter_ in your hinside pocket hall the time?"

"Nonsense!" exclaimed the Secretary. "How could she have known anything about it? She had never laid eyes on the letter till I produced it."

"Mr. Stanley," returned the messenger, with a dignity against which the two gla.s.ses he had consumed struggled unsuccessfully, "h'I've fostered young gentlemen, an' got h'em hout hof sc.r.a.pes, an' taught h'em their ha, b, c's of diplomacy, afore you was weaned, han' I knows whereof h'I speaks, h'I tells yer, hit's the woman!"

"I wish you'd get me out of this sc.r.a.pe. I'd be your friend for life."