The Everlasting Arms Part 25

More than once his hands clenched and unclenched themselves as he muttered angrily, savagely, while again and again a laugh of vindictive triumph pa.s.sed his lips. And yet even in his laugh of triumph there was something of doubt. He was perturbed, he was furious.

"But he shall be mine," he said at length, "mine! and then----"

But his tone lacked certainty; his eyes burnt with anger because he had not been able to accomplish his designs.

"It might be that he was especially watched over," he reflected, as though some beneficent Providence were fighting for him. "Providence! Providence! As though----!"

He started to his feet and began to pace the room. His stride was angry, his whole appearance suggested defeat--a defeat which he had determined to transform to triumph.

"Good! Evil!" he cried. "Yes, that is it. Good! Evil! And I have given myself over to evil, and I have sworn that evil could be made stronger than good! I have sworn to exemplify it, in the case of that young fool, d.i.c.k Faversham. I thought I should have accomplished it long ago but I have so far failed, failed!"

He still continued to pace the room, although apparently he was unconscious of the fact. There was a far-off look in his eyes, a look that almost suggested despair.

"Does it mean after all that right is stronger than wrong, that right is more eternally established in the world than wrong? That in the sweep of events the power of right is slowly but surely conquering and crushing the evil, that the story of what is called evolution is the story of the angel in man overcoming the beast?"

Again he laughed, and the laugh had a cruel ring in it.

"No, no; evil is triumphant. Nearly two thousand years have pa.s.sed since the Man of Nazareth was crucified, and yet for years the devil has been triumphant. Europe has been deluged in blood, world hatreds have been created, murder has been the order of the day, and the earth has been soaked in blood. No, no; evil is triumphant. The Cross has been a failure, and Him who died on it defeated!"

He paused in his angry march around the room, and again he looked doubtful.

"No, no," he cried; "cruelty, lies, treason, have not triumphed. Germany is beaten; her doctrine that might was right--a doctrine born in h.e.l.l--has been made false. After all this sword-clanging, all the vauntings about an invincible army, materialism, devilry, have failed. Germany is being humbled to the dust, and her militarism defeated and disgraced."

The thought was evidently wormwood to him, for his features worked convulsively, his eyes were bloodshot. It might seem that the triumph of right filled him with torture.

Presently he shrugged his shoulders impatiently, and lifted his hands above his head as though he would throw a burden from him.

"But that is not my affair," he cried. "It was for me to conquer that man, to make him my slave. I swore to do it. I had every chance, and I thought that he, young, ambitious, and subject to all human pa.s.sions, would be an easy victim. He was no dreamer, he had none of the makings of an ascetic, much less a saint, and yet so far he has beaten me. He still lives what is called the clean, healthy life. He still mocks me. It might be that he is specially guarded, that some angel of good were constantly fighting against me, constantly defeating me."

The thought seemed to disconcert Romanoff. A look almost like fear swept over his features, and again something like despair came into his eyes.

"But no, I have other weapons in my armoury yet," he reflected. "He is no religious fanatic, no pious prig with ideals, he is still ambitious, still craves for all the things that humanity longs for."

A clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour of six.

"He should soon be here," he reflected. "I told him not to waste a second."

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and a second later a man entered who gave the appearance of having come from a distance.

He was a mild, placid-looking creature whose very walk suggested that he was constantly making an apology for his existence. A creature not of highways, but of byways, a humble Uriah Heep sort of fellow who could act like a whipped cur in his desire to curry favour, but who in his hour of triumph would show his fangs, and rend his victim without mercy.

"You are back to time, Slyme. Well, what news?"

By this time Romanoff was the great gentleman again--haughty, patronising, calm, and collected.

"Of course your honour has heard that he's in? I wired the moment I knew."

"Yes, I knew that before I got your wire. A servant in the hotel here told me the moment it was ticked off on the tape. Of course I expected that. Naturally it was uncertain, as all such things are. One can calculate on the actions of the few; but not on those of the many. Human nature is a funny business."

"Isn't it, your Excellency? It's a remark I've often dared to make; one can never tell what'll happen. But he's in; he's the Member for Eastroyd."

"With over a thousand majority."

"I've discovered that he's coming up to town by the midnight train from Eastroyd."

"Ah!" The Count's eyes flashed with interest.

"Yes, he seemed very much delighted at his victory, and is coming up I suppose to consult with other Members of his party."

"Of course he's delighted with his victory. For heaven's sake refrain from remarking on the obvious. Tell me about the election."

"What does your honour, that is, your lordship, want to hear about? What phase of the election, I mean?"

"You had your instructions. Report on them."

"Well, if I may say so," remarked Slyme apologetically, "although he has over a thousand majority, he has very much disappointed the people."

"Why? In what way?"

"He isn't so much of a firebrand as he was. The people complain that he is too mealy-mouthed."

"Less of a people's man, do you mean?"

"I don't say that quite. But he's more moderate. He talks like a man trying to see all sides of a question."

The Count reflected a few seconds, and then snapped his fingers.

"And his private life?" the Count questioned.

"As far as I could find out, blameless."

"Have the wealthier cla.s.ses taken up with him at all?"

"No, not actively. But they are far less bitter towards him. They are saying that he's an honest man. I do not say that for myself. I'm only quoting," added the little man.

Romanoff asked many questions on this head, which the little man answered apologetically, as if with a desire to know his employer's views before making direct statements.

"There are generally a lot of scandals at a political election," went on the Count. "I suppose that of Eastroyd was no exception?" He said this meaningly, as though there were an understanding between them.

Little Polonius Slyme laughed in a sn.i.g.g.e.ring way. "Polonius" was the name by which he was known among his friends, and more than once the Count used it when addressing him.

"I made many inquiries in that direction," he replied; "I even went so far as to insinuate certain things," he added with a covert look towards the Count. "I had some success, but not much."

But the Count's face was like a mask. Polonius Slyme could tell nothing of his thoughts.

"I did not think your lordship would be offended?" he queried with a cunning look in his eyes.

"Go on."

"I had some success, but not much."

"What were your insinuations about? Drink, drug-taking, debt, unfaithfulness to his cla.s.s?--what?"

"Oh, there was no possibility of doing anything on those lines, although, as I said, there was some disappointment on the last head. But that's nothing. I reflected that he was a young man, and a bachelor--a good-looking bachelor." He added the last words with a suggestive giggle.

"I see. Well?"

"Of course he is a great favourite with the fair s.e.x. By dint of very careful but persistent investigation I discovered that two ladies are deeply in love with him."

Romanoff waited in silence.

"One is the daughter of a wealthy manufacturer, quite the belle of the town among the moneyed cla.s.ses. I inquired about her. There is no doubt that she's greatly interested in him."

"And he?"

"He's been seen in her company."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, nothing. She would be a good match for him, that's all. There was a rumour that she had visited his lodgings late at night."

"Which rumour you started?"

"I thought it might be useful some day. As for the other woman, she's a mill girl. A girl who could be made very useful, I should think."

"Yes, how?"

"She's undoubtedly very much in love with him--after her own fashion. She possesses a kind of gipsy beauty, has boundless ambitions, is of a jealous disposition, and would stop at nothing to gain her desires."

"And is Faversham friendly with her?"

"Just friendly enough for one to start a scandal in case of necessity. And the girl, as you may say, not being overburdened with conscientious scruples, could be made very useful."

Romanoff reflected for some time, then he turned to Slyme again.

"Slyme," he said, "I don't think you need go any further in that direction. Faversham is scarcely the man to deal with in the way you suggest. Still you can keep them in mind. One never knows what may happen."

Polonius Slyme was evidently puzzled. He looked cautiously, suspiciously, at the face of the other, as if trying to understand him.

"I have tried to do your lordship's will," he ventured.

"Yes, and on the whole I'm satisfied with what you've done. Yes, what is it?"

"If your lordship would deign to trust me," he said.

"Trust you? In what way?"

"If you would tell me what is in your mind, I could serve you better," he a.s.serted, with a nervous laugh. "All the time I have been acting in the dark. I don't understand your lordship."

The Count smiled as though he were pleased.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

"I am very bold, I know, and doubtless I am not worthy to have the confidence of one so great and so wise as your lordship. But I have tried to be worthy, I have worked night and day for you--not for the wages, liberal though they are, but solely for the purpose of being useful to you. And I could, I am sure, be more useful if I knew your mind, if I knew exactly what you wanted. I am sure of this: if I knew your purposes in relation to Faversham, if I knew what you wanted to do with him, I could serve you better."

The Count looked at Slyme steadily for some seconds.

"I allow no man to understand my mind, my purposes," the Count answered.

"Certainly, your lordship," a.s.sented the little man meekly; "only your lordship doubtless sees that--that I am handicapped. I don't think I'm a fool," he added; "I am as faithful as a dog, and as secret as the grave."

"You want to know more than that," replied Romanoff harshly.

Polonius Slyme was silent.

"You want to know who I am," continued the Count. "You have been puzzled because I, who am known as a Russian, should interest myself in this man Faversham, and up to now you, in spite of the fact that you've hunted like a ferret, have found out nothing. More than that, you cannot think why I fastened on you to help me, and, cunning little vermin that you are, you stopped at nothing to discover it."

"But only in your interest," a.s.sented the little man eagerly; "only because I wanted to deserve the honour you have bestowed upon me."

"I am disposed to be communicative," went on the Count; "disposed to make something of a confidante of you. Of my secret mind, you, nor no man, shall know anything, but I will let you know something."

Polonius Slyme drew nearer his master and listened like a fox. "Yes, your lordship," he whispered.

"Look here, Polonius, you have just told me that you are a man of brains: suppose that you wanted to get a strong man in your power, to make him your slave, body and soul, what would you do? Suppose also that you had great, but still limited power, that your knowledge was wide, but with marked boundaries, how would you set to work?"

"Every man has his weaknesses," replied Polonius. "I should discover them, fasten upon them, and make my plans accordingly."

"Yes, that's right. Now we'll suppose that Faversham is the man, what would you regard as his weaknesses?"

"Pride, ambition, a love, almost amounting to a pa.s.sion, for power," answered the little man quickly. "That would mean a longing for wealth, a craving for fame."

"And conscience?" queried the Count.

"He has a conscience," replied the little man; "a conscience which may be called healthily normal."

"Just so. Now I'll tell you something. I've placed wealth in his way, and he has rejected it for conscience sake. I've tempted him with power and fame, almost unlimited power and fame, and although he's seen the bait, he has not risen to it."

Polonius was silent for some time. Evidently he was thinking deeply; evidently, too, he saw something of what lay behind the Count's words, for he nodded his head sagely, and into his cunning eyes came a look of understanding.

"Of course you do not care to tell me why you want to make him your slave, body and soul?" he whispered.

"No!" the Count almost snarled. "No man may know that."

"You ask what I would do next?"

"Yes, I ask that."

"No man is invulnerable," said the little man, as though he were talking to himself. "No man ever was, no man ever will be. Every man has his price, and if one can pay it----"