The Everlasting Arms Part 22

"A wonderful book, my friend. I have read it many times."

"You read it many times! Why, what interest could such a book have for you?"

"A very deep interest," and there was a curious intonation in his voice.

"What interest?" asked Mr. Brown.

The Count rose to his feet and knocked some ash from the end of his cigar. "Corpo di Bacco!" he cried. "Did not the man get deep? The city of Mansoul! And the Devil wanted to get it. So he studied the fortifications. Eyegate, nosegate, touchgate, eargate he saw, he understood!"

"What on earth are you talking about?" asked Mr. Brown in astonishment.

"There is one pa.s.sage which goes deep," went on the Count as though Mr. Brown had not spoken. "It contained some of the deepest philosophy of life; it went to the roots of the whole situation. I had it in my mind when I advised you to make Faversham's acquaintance."

"What pa.s.sage?" asked Mr. Brown, still failing to catch the drift of the other's words.

"It is this," and the Count spoke very quietly. "For here lay the excellent wisdom of Him who built Mansoul, that the walls could never be broken down, nor hurt by the most mighty adverse potentate, unless the townsmen gave consent thereto."

Mr. Brown looked puzzled. "I don't follow you," he said.

"Don't you? Bunyan wrote in parable, but his meaning is plain. He said that Diabolus could never conquer Mansoul except by the consent of Mansoul. Well, I saw this: England--Britain--could never be conquered except by the consent of the people of England. United, Britain is unconquerable."

"Well?"

"Therefore, I made you see that if your country, which stands for force, and militarism, and barbarism, was to conquer England you must get England divided; you must get her own forces in a state of disunity. A country at war with itself is powerless. Set cla.s.s against cla.s.s, interest against interest, party against party, and you produce chaos. That is the only hope of your country, my friend. The thing was to get a man who could do this for you."

"And you thought of Faversham?"

"I told you to make his acquaintance."

"Which I have done. The results you know."

"Are you satisfied with the results?"

Mr. John Brown was silent a few seconds. Evidently he was thinking deeply.

"He is no Bolshevist at heart," he said.

"Are you?"

"I? Great heavens, no! I hate it, except for my enemies. But it has served our purpose so far. Russia is in a state of chaos; it is powerless--bleeding at our feet. If Russia had remained united, we, the Germans, would have been crushed, beaten, ruined. As it is----"

"I love the condition of Russia," and Romanoff spoke almost exultantly. "I love it! It is what I hoped for, strove for, prayed for!"

"You--a Russian--say that! And you pray?"

"Yes; I pray. What then?"

"But you did not pray to G.o.d?" and there was a note of fear in Mr. Brown's voice.

"I prayed to my own G.o.d," replied Romanoff, "who is a very good counterpart of the G.o.d of your Kaiser. The good old German G.o.d, eh?" and he laughed ruthlessly. "And what is he, my friend? A G.o.d of force, a G.o.d of cruelty. Ruthlessness, mercilessness, anything to win. That's the German G.o.d. I prayed to that."

Mr. Brown almost shuddered.

"Yes; the condition of Russia is one of the great joys of my life. It means victory--victory for me, for you--if we can only get England to follow Russia's example."

"If we only could," a.s.sented Mr. Brown.

"And there are elements at work which, properly used, will bring this about," went on the Count. "I, Romanoff, tell you so. And Faversham is your man."

"He is no Bolshevist," again urged Mr. Brown. "At heart he knows what it means. That's why I am nearly hopeless about him. Give him time to think, and he will see that it will mean chaos--ruin to the things he has been taught to love."

"Before Adam ate the forbidden fruit two things happened," remarked Romanoff.

"What?"

"First the serpent worked. Then the woman."

"The woman! Yes; the woman!"

"Human nature is a curious business," went on the Count. "There are several points at which it is vulnerable. I have made a special point of studying human nature, and this I have seen."

"I don't quite follow you."

"I don't speak in riddles, my friend. Take a strong character like Faversham, and consider it. What is likely to appeal to it? As I understand the case, there are three main channels of appeal. First, money, and all that money means. Next there is ambition, greed for power, place, position, dominance. Then there is the eternal thing--the Senses. Drink, gluttony, drugs, women. Generally any one of these things will master a man, but bring them altogether and it is certain he will succ.u.mb."

"Yes, yes, I see."

"Money, and all that money brings, is not enough in Faversham's case. That I know. But he is intensely ambitious--and--and he is young."

"That is why you told me to introduce him to Olga?"

"A woman can make a man do what, under ordinary circ.u.mstances, he would scorn to do. If you advocated Bolshevism to him, even although you convinced him that he could be Lenin and Trotsky rolled into one, and that he could carry the Democracy of Britain with him, he would laugh at you. I saw that yesterday after your conversation with him. He was attracted for an hour, but I saw that he laughed at your proposals. That was why I told you to let him see and hear Olga. Now, tell me of their meeting."

Mr. Brown described in correct detail d.i.c.k's experiences in the East of London.

"Never did I believe a woman could be such a siren," Mr. Brown concluded. "She charmed, she magnetised, she fascinated."

"Is he in love with her?" asked the Count.

"If he is not he must be a stone," said Mr. Brown.

"Yes, but is he? I told you to watch him--to report to me."

"I do not know. He did not consent readily; he must have time to think, he said. But, man, he cannot resist her!"

"I do not know."

"But have you ever heard of any man who could resist her blandishments? Has she not been called a sorceress?"

"Yes, yes, I know--but he promised her nothing?"

"He said he would let her know later."

"Then he has resisted. My friend, I do not understand him. But--but--let me think."

"He was greatly impressed not only by her, but by her arguments," went on Mr. Brown presently. "I tell you, the woman is a sibyl, a witch. She was wonderful--wonderful. While I listened, I--even I--almost believed in her description of Bolshevism. A new heaven, and a new earth! I tell you, I almost believed in it. She pictured a paradise, an El Dorado, an Elysium, and she made Faversham see, understand. I tell you, he cannot resist her, and if he promises her, as he will, I can see England in a state of chaos in six months. Then--then----"

But the Count did not seem to be listening. His eyes were turned towards the streets, but he saw nothing.

"He went to a spiritualistic seance this afternoon," he said presently.

"What?--Faversham?"

"Yes, Faversham. What do you think it means?"

"I cannot think. He has never struck me as that sort of fellow."

"Look here, Brown, have you had many intimate talks with him?"

"Intimate? Yes, I think so."

"What have you talked about?"

"Always about the condition of the people, politics, and things of that nature."

"Have you ever discussed religion with him?"

"I don't believe he has any religion."

"I wonder?"

"What do you wonder?"

"I say, during your conversations with him--during your visits to Eastroyd--have you ever heard, have you ever discovered, that he is in love with anyone?"

"Never. He has taken no notice of women since I have known him. He seems to have been engrossed in his socialistic work. Mind, I doubt whether, at heart, he is even a socialist, much less a Bolshevist."

"That does not matter if we can get him to enlist in Olga's crusade. He has enough influence among, not only the working cla.s.ses of the country, but among the leaders of the working cla.s.ses all over the land, to create disturbances. He can inspire strikes; he can cause anarchy among the people. He can imbue them with Bolshevist ideals; he can make great promises. That done, the British Army is powerless. Without coals, and without the means of transport--don't you see?"

"Of course I see. That's what I've had in my mind from the first. If that can be done, Germany will be master of the world!"

"And more than that," and the Count spoke exultantly, "I shall have him, body and soul."

"But we must be very careful. If our plans leak out, my life will not be worth a row of pins."

Again the Count paced the room. He did not seem to be heeding Mr. Brown. His face worked convulsively, his eyes burned red, his hands clenched and unclenched themselves.

"I vowed I'd have him," he reflected--"vowed he should be mine. Left by himself he will do great things for what is called the good of the world. He will work for sobriety, purity, British national life. The man has powers, qualities which mean great things for what pietists call the world's betterment. But he is an aristocrat at heart; he loves money, and, more, he loves position, fame. He is as ambitious as Napoleon. He longs for power. But he has a conscience; he has a strong sense of what he calls right and wrong. I thought I had him down at Wendover. But I failed. Why, I wonder? But I will not fail this time. Olga will dull his conscience. She has charmed, fascinated him. She will make him her slave. Then--then----"

"Yes, yes," broke in Mr. Brown, who had only half understood the Count's monologue; "then he will cause a revolution here in England, and Britain as a fighting power will be paralysed. But I am not sure of him. He loves his country, and unless Olga gets hold of him, and that soon, he will see what our plans mean, and he will refuse to move hand or foot. You see, we've got no hold on him."

"We've every hold on him," almost snapped the Count. "We've appealed to his every weakness, and Olga will do the rest. I select my tools carefully, my friend."

A knock was heard at the door, and the Count impatiently opened it. "I am engaged; I cannot be disturbed," he said.

"The lady said she must see you," protested the servant, "so I--I thought I'd better come."

The Count looked beyond the man, and saw a woman closely veiled.

"Show the lady in," and a few seconds later she threw off her wraps and revealed her face.

"Olga?" cried both men together.

"Yes; I thought I'd better brave all danger. I've heard from him."

"From Faversham?"

"Yes; a long telegram."

"What does he say?" gasped Mr. Brown.

"I have it here," replied Olga breathlessly.

CHAPTER XXVI.

A VOICE FROM ANOTHER WORLD.

d.i.c.k Faversham walked along Oxford Street thinking deeply. Although he had been by no means convinced by what he had seen and heard, he could not help being impressed. The whole of the proceedings might be accounted for by jugglery and clever trickery, or, on the other hand, influences might have been at work which he could not understand--influences which came from the unseen world. But nothing satisfied him. Everything he had experienced lacked dignity. It was poor; it was sordid. He could not help comparing the outstanding features of the seance with the events which had so affected him. The face of the woman in the smoking-room of the steamer, the sublime figure which had upheld him when he was sinking in the wild, stormy sea, was utterly removed from the so-called spirits who had obeyed the summons of the mediums, and acted through them. How tawdry, too, were the so-called messages compared with the sublime words which had come to him almost like a whisper, and yet so plainly that he could hear it above the roar of the ocean: "The Eternal G.o.d is thy Refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting Arms."

This was sublime--sublime in the great comfort it gave him, sublimer still in what it signified to the life of the world.

"It's true, too!" he exclaimed aloud, as he threaded his way along the crowded thoroughfare. "True!"

He stopped as the meaning of the words came to him: "The Eternal G.o.d is thy Refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting Arms."

And because that was true, everything was possible!

As he thought of it, his materialism melted like snow in a tropical sun, and he realised how superficial and how silly his past scepticism had been.

G.o.d was behind all, underneath all, in all, through all. And if that was true, He had a thousand agents working to do His will, an infinite variety of means whereby His purposes were carried out. He, d.i.c.k Faversham, could not understand them; but what of that? G.o.d was greater than the thoughts of the creatures He had made.