Part 3

He turned the rays of the lamp upon the boat, which lay quietly rocking in the water, a boat which seemed but little different from others of its style; the usual build of submarine vessels, cigar-shaped, with a conning-tower of steel, studded with thick glass port-holes, and a man-hole next to it.

Monsieur handed the lamp to me, and I kept its light fixed upon the vessel, while he strode across the deck, and, unscrewing the circular trap, passed into the interior. In an instant the conning-tower blazed with light, throwing brilliant beams from each of the round windows that looked like eyes staring into vacancy, and then, after what seemed an eternity, he appeared again, and beckoned me to come aboard.

For an instant I hesitated, but he walked towards me, and helped me across the sloping deck, down the man-hole, and into the cabin below.

In one glance I perceived the luxury of the interior, a small saloon, tapering off slightly at one end, upholstered in amber satin, save at the smaller end, where, upon a polished switchboard, was a group of strange handles of brass and ebony. Just in front of them a high seat was placed, which seemed arranged so that the whole of the handles were within the reach of a single operator, whose eyes would be on a level with the windows of the conning-tower. To the right was a steering-wheel, and to the left a compass.

I turned to my companion; he was busy adjusting the screws of the man-hole, and then, when all was finished to his satisfaction, he came towards me, and led me to the group of handles.

"It is your cruise, madame," he said, with a smile, "therefore you shall be the captain. Draw down the handle on the right."

I pulled it sharply downward, and felt the boat sink under my feet--we were beneath the water.

"Up!" he cried, and I obeyed him, and instantly the vessel's descent was arrested.

"The handle next to it," he said, "an inch down," and as I moved it the boat sprang forward, while he stood by my side, his eyes fixed on the compass, and his hand upon the wheel, now giving a turn to the left, and now to the right.

"We are clear of the cave," he cried, after a moment, "and in the open sea." Then, with a glance at the clock, he continued: "It has taken longer than usual to get away. Let _Le Diable_ show his power, if you would breakfast where I promised. Pull down that handle, madame, as far as it will go."

Grasping it firmly, I obeyed him, and as I did so the boat bounded forward with such speed and suddenness that I should have fallen had he not caught me by the arm.

"Too sudden!" he cried, with his usual chuckle. "You must not drive even the devil too furiously."

I seated myself on a lounge, while he remained at the wheel, his eyes alternating between the compass and a chart.

Presently he became blurred to me, for I had risen unconscionably early, and the motion of the boat, after the first plunge, was conducive to slumber, so that I sank back and knew no more until I felt a touch upon my arm and found him bending over me.

"In a quarter of an hour you will breakfast," he said.

"_Merci, monsieur_," I answered; "I am hungry."

"This boat is my coffin," he suddenly ejaculated, looking me straight in the face. "That is why I will sell it to no one."

I nodded, and tried to smile in spite of my terror at this sudden change in his manner and the fierceness with which he gripped my wrist.

"When I am tired of life I shall drive into the midst of the Atlantic, sink _Le Diable_ to the lowest ocean depths, and die."

"Yes, when you are tired of life," I answered.

"And who knows when that may be!" he cried. "Perhaps to-day, perhaps to-morrow," and he chuckled in a mirthless fashion.

I gazed at him and shivered, but in a few moments his frenzy passed, and, taking my hand, he led me towards the mechanism that controlled the boat, and pointed to the clock. "In ten minutes more we shall be there," he cried.

"How do these handles work the boat?" I asked, gently, with my mind upon my mission. "Where is the actual machinery?"

"That is my secret!" he shouted. "Pull." And he placed my fingers on another handle. Obedient to the touch the vessel slowed, and then stopped.

Again he placed my fingers upon a lever. "Hold it," he cried; and then suddenly he switched out the light, and we were in densest blackness.

"Raise it gently; give me your hand."

He drew me back with him, and I waited nervously in the darkness, until a faint, ghostly light flickered through the glass before me. A deep green grew lighter and lighter, until at last the sunlight streamed full in my eyes and the foam-flecked sea danced before me, with the roofs of a town, backed by English hills, beyond it.

It was Ventnor, and we had reached the spot that he had promised.

Then we breakfasted, and all through the meal, while the morning sunshine streamed through the circular windows, I wondered how I was to tempt the secret from him. Of what use was it for me to return to my friends and say I had cruised in the boat, that it was controlled by a series of handles, and that was all I knew? As well not have ventured at all.

"Now show me what guides the boat," I exclaimed, in my most ingenuous voice, as he rose from the meal and moved towards the tower.

"These handles," he answered. "See!" The sunlight vanished, the opalescent green of the sea grew darker and darker, and then blackness enshrouded all. There was not a sound save the click of the wheel as he moved it, and then the boat sprang forward again.

Then, in the darkness, he seized my arm and drew me towards him.

"There are no works," he whispered, "no mechanism at all. All the power is in my brain--_I_ drive it, _I_ control it."

I laughed a nervous laugh. "You are droll, monsieur."

"And you're a fool!" he shouted, wildly. "It's my brain, I tell you, that controls it all."

I wrenched myself free, and he switched on the light again, and then gave a shriek that froze my blood.

I turned with a start, and my flesh prickled as I saw him standing with madness blazing in his eyes, his attenuated hand extended, pointing to the far end of the cabin. "Who is that?" he gasped.

"There is no one here but ourselves," I cried, trembling with apprehension.

"You lie! Look there, and there, and there," and his bony finger pointed to every corner of the saloon. "And there, and there! _Nom de Diable!_ They are all here!"

"Who are here?" I cried, with a weak attempt at bravado.

"They are; those who have tried to rob me of my secret--those whom you met at dinner. Ah!" He turned swiftly and moved slowly towards me, his body half bent, like a wild animal about to spring upon its prey.

"Ah!" he hissed again. "Those you met at dinner. Those you conspired to bring upon the boat to rob me."

"You're mad!" I shrieked, my courage utterly deserting me.

"Mad!" he raved, pointing about the cabin and grimacing at the imaginary intruders. "It's you who are mad. All of you, for you've come to your death. And you're in your coffin now!"

I had gradually crept as far from him as the limited space would allow, but he still advanced with a stealthy tread; and then, when only a few inches separated us, and I hid my face in my trembling hands, I realized that he had halted.

He turned, and, with a bound, made for the switchboard and stopped the boat, pulled the lever right down, and then, snatching a heavy wrench from the side, hammered with the fury of a maniac, until the brass and ebony splintered to fragments, and the handles were snapped off and lay on the floor.

I could feel the vessel sinking rapidly beneath my feet, and he stood grinning hideously, until a slight jar showed that we could descend no farther.

"We are at the bottom of the sea," he chuckled, "and no power on earth can move us."

With two blows he demolished the compass and steering-gear, and then, with a shriek of laughter, stood and viewed the wreckage.

And, dazed and bewildered, deprived of power of speech or movement, I sank back on a seat, the words ringing in my ears, "At the bottom of the sea, and no power on earth can move us."

How long we remained so who can say? for my senses were numbed. I kept no count of time, and was only aroused to consciousness as I saw him, with the wrench still in his hand, creeping towards me again.

I shut my eyes, knowing his purpose, and yet in apathy whether he struck or not. After what seemed ages I opened them, and he had only advanced one step. As I waited, so quietly, so slowly, that I could scarce see any movement, he made another step, and I found myself calculating how many more would be needful, and how long would be the time before he was near enough to strike.

Suddenly, as I watched him, the boat gave a lurch, as though the ground had slipped from beneath it, casting me upon the floor; while he, flinging up his hands to save himself, missed his footing, and fell backwards with a crash, his head striking the jagged edges of the shattered brass-work.

I saw him lying there senseless, and then saw no more, for when I recovered the electric light was spent, and the cabin was in densest darkness. The boat seemed to have righted itself, for the floor was level again, but the air had grown hot and stifling.

Not a sound broke the stillness, unless it was the beating of my heart. There was naught but silence and inky blackness--the silence of the tomb, the loneliness of death.

The air seemed to grow more close and stifling, and my breath came in quick, short gasps. Better any death than this gradual suffocation. If I could only let the water into the boat, and so die swiftly, it would be easier. And so I crawled across the floor. Once I touched him, and drew away; but by his side I found a wrench, and in the darkness I groped on, till I found the steps to the tower and felt for the glass.

Poor Vanity! the reigning passion with us all. I turned my head, so that the flying splinters of glass should not cut my face, and brought the wrench with all my force against the window. It resisted stoutly. But again and again I struck, until at last, with a crash, it flew outwards. And then, in that fraction of a second, so strong is the love of life, I wished I had held my hand.

But there came no torrent of water, only a rush of cold air, and I realized that I was on the surface of the ocean--realized that when the madman fell backwards upon the shattered switchboard he must have moved the lever. But night had fallen again, and so I had not known it.

Trembling the more now that there was hope of escape, I climbed on deck and waited for the dawn.

And with the first faint streaks upon the eastern horizon came rescue, for a French cruiser had seen us, and steamed down like the wind to examine _Le Diable_.

Yet, with it all, the madman kept his secret--and his coffin.

When the boat from the cruiser was but a yard away I glanced through the open man-hole, and saw that he was moving across the cabin below, and as I stepped upon the gunwale of the launch _Le Diable_ sank like a stone from beneath my feet.

THE ABDUCTED AMBASSADOR

"Monsieur Roche," Therese murmured, and held a card before me.

"I have already told you I will receive no one," I answered, with more than usual tartness, for the afternoon was warm, and the thought of my evening's engagements made me feel that life was unendurable.

"It is a matter of most urgent importance," she so far forgot herself as to urge, and I could scarcely restrain a smile, for through my maid's prim black gown I almost fancied I could hear the rustle of the note that had tempted her to impertinence.

Was it not enough that I had said I was not receiving? And one would assume not, for she still stood there, and the day was too warm to scold her.

But she was an excellent girl, the perfection of maids. To this day I have never met one who could dress my hair as she could, nor one who could understand my peculiar--my dearest friends say exasperating--temper so admirably, and so my heart softened, and, with merely an uplifting of the eyebrows, to show that I noted her persistence, I said I would receive Monsieur Roche. And well I made a virtue of necessity, for he was one who knew not refusal. I turned poor virtue into my necessity, as all did whom Monsieur Roche asked to favor him.

"One would even risk madame's anger for the happiness of seeing her," he murmured, as he took my hand; for, though he held the reputation of one not admiring the sweeter sex, a better gallant for turning a compliment, a more skilful adept in the epigram of flattery, this jaded world has never viewed.

"It is a trying hour for calling, monsieur, unless the reason be most urgent."

"It is most urgent," he gravely assented, as he placed a slender forefinger upon my shoulder. "_Ma chere_," he continued, softly, "you are the cleverest woman in Paris."

"I should have better liked the compliment had you said the prettiest," I answered, demurely.

"Tut, tut! The whole world tells you that. Why proclaim the obvious? I prefer to be original, and pronounce you the cleverest."

"With an object, monsieur, _n'est ce pas_?"

"With a very great object, madame--the desire for your assistance."

Monsieur Roche leaned impressively towards me.

"Have you heard the strange news," he asked, "that is being whispered in diplomatic Paris?"

"There are many strange things whispered in diplomatic Paris," I responded.

"Truly; but this is unprecedented. Sir Edward Rivington, the English Ambassador, has been abducted."

"Yes. It was mentioned to me by a particularly uninteresting gallant at last night's reception; but"--I shrugged my shoulders--"it is too absurd."

"And therefore the more likely to be true! In fact, I know that it is true and also that it is false."

"An enigma, monsieur?"

"Listen. The story is that a closed carriage called for Sir Edward two nights ago. He left the Embassy, saying he would return in an hour. He has not been seen since, and Paris is growing perturbed at this unwarrantable violation of international courtesy. That is the story. But the facts are that Sir Edward has tricked France, has purposely promulgated this mystery, and has departed on a secret mission to England."

"I can see no reason for such ridiculous procedure. _Perfide Anglais_ is only a Boulevard cry when there is no domestic sensation to occupy the green hour."

"Tush!" Monsieur Roche impatiently interrupted. _Ma foi_, how impatient these diplomats are! "France was in active negotiation with England, and also with Italy, upon the same point. What it was matters nothing."

"You are reticent, monsieur."

"It is sufficient that it discloses that England was not wholly in our thoughts. Now, by an unpardonable blunder, Sir Edward received among his own certain other papers intended for Signor Faliero."

"France was playing a difficult game, monsieur."

"A delicate and diplomatic one, madame."

"And has failed."

"Been tricked," he hotly retorted. "The superscription upon the cover was plainly to the Italian Ambassador, and Sir Edward knew that even English diplomacy or intrigue could not be stretched to the fine point of not at once returning the packet. He knew that we should immediately demand it, if necessary, and that restitution could not be withheld. The documents were handed to Sir Edward himself by one of my secretaries, who is now open to accept a fresh appointment, and a couple of hours later, when the error was discovered, I was met with this melodramatic fable of abduction."

"But what is to be gained by such a fabrication? Surely Sir Edward could say he had gone to England, if he wished to."

"What is gained," Monsieur Roche answered, incisively, "is a strong hold upon us, we never knowing whether the papers have been inspected or not. When he returns he will, no doubt, send the packet to me, apparently untouched, and we can only assume that England is cognizant of its contents. We shall be compelled to maintain the negotiations now in progress, and all the time Sir Edward Rivington will smile, and placidly await a _coup d'etat_. It is maddening, simply maddening. _Mon Dieu!_ it binds us hand and foot."

"I do not agree with your theories, monsieur," I said, calmly. "Sir Edward Rivington is an Englishman, and, as a nation, they are honorable."

"Tush! Sir Edward is a diplomat, and the code of honor is different. His aim is to serve his country. Should I hesitate to take advantage of such an opportunity for France?"

"You are unscrupulous, monsieur."

"For what," he cried, "do we all pay millions of francs a year? Secret service: such information as that which Sir Edward has had placed in his hands by chance. Is it reasonable that he would be such a child as to neglect a stroke of policy sufficient to render his country's position impregnable?"

"If all this be as you say, monsieur, then the damage is done, and beyond repair."

"Utterly. There is, however, one favor I would ask of you. To actually, indisputably, know that Sir Edward Rivington has been to England will at least make me sure of my ground. It will be a difficult task, one worthy of the cleverest woman, the prettiest widow in Paris." And, even in his worry of mind, he smiled as he paid me the double compliment. "Ask where you will in London, and they will tell you he is still in Paris. A man would fail miserably, a woman's intuition will succeed."

I pondered over the position. Love for a little excitement, something to relieve the ennui of a solitary existence, had induced me to undertake many little diplomatic services for my friend Monsieur Roche, but in all there had been something of the glamour of romance. This seemed more the task of a secret agency, or even the Quai de l'Horloge itself. What so simple as to discover if a man so well known in Paris as Sir Edward Rivington had crossed the Channel?

And yet, if things were as Monsieur Roche asserted, what infinite pains would be taken to conceal the visit! Looked at from that point of view, the mission appeared more fitting to my disposition, and I accepted.

Why is it ever the fashion to speak of London as a city of smoke and gloom? Paris is not all Champs-Elysees. We have our sunlight and our shadow; and London, sublime in its rugged beauty of stability, common alike to the city and the people, has the same; while Parliament Street, under the bright spring sunshine, might have been one of the boulevards of beloved Paris itself.

A far-seeing Providence must surely have intended women to shine in diplomacy, for men are so impressionable, and some women so fascinating, that the victory is assured before the struggle commences.

And because of this I refused to be satisfied with any of those zealous and most polite officials and secretaries, and ultimately, because I, too, am at times fascinating, found myself in the presence of one of the rulers of the State, whose name in France was as well known as those of our own politicians.

He received me graciously, and waited.

"At a reception in Paris," I said, after a moment, "I had the honor of meeting your Ambassador, Sir Edward Rivington; the greater honor of giving certain information, to him that was of service."

Monsieur seemed to freeze a little. Secret service is necessary, but its agents, be they even pretty women, do not command more than the coldest respect.

"There were further matters which he deemed it desirable I should obtain details of, and as he was leaving suddenly for London upon a special mission, I was instructed to follow him, and, insisting upon seeing you in person, obtain his address, as it was not general knowledge that he had left Paris."

Monsieur looked at me curiously. He seemed debating in his mind whether he should tell me.

"You are under a strange misapprehension," he said, at length, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers.

"It is impossible that such can exist," I interrupted. "Those were my instructions from Sir Edward himself."

"Then he must have changed his plans," monsieur continued, blandly. "Assuredly he is not in London now, and, so far as I am aware, has not left Paris; certainly on no business that could bring him to the Foreign Office. We have our official messengers for such duties. Sir Edward would not come himself."

"I understood the matter was too secret--"

"I am afraid you have been deceived," he answered, with a quiet smile of amusement; "I can give you no address but the British Embassy, Paris, and that must be well known to you already."

The interview was ended, and as I left I carried with me the conviction that the conversation had been marked by such an absence of diplomacy on his part that it must be truthful, and Sir Edward Rivington had not come to England.

Yet I determined that I would stay in London, at all events until I had something more to show for my efforts--what, I knew not; and while I strolled, the gods came to my rescue.

My dearest friend, Gaspard Levive, stood, hat in hand, before me.

"Madame, the fates are kinder to me than I deserve."

"Perhaps they have a better knowledge of your merit than you possess yourself," I responded, with an upward glance. "Are you staying in London?"

"Until this evening only. My friend, Sir Edward Rivington, has done me the honor to ask me to be his second. I have accepted, and return to Paris."

I stopped in bewilderment. "Sir Edward Rivington, the English Ambassador?" I said, hurriedly.

"Yes," he answered, with a smile. "It does not sound English, does it? But here is his letter: 'At le Duc d'Eautine's chateau to-morrow morning. I rely upon your honor to hold this secret, and, as you are in London, to deliver, yourself, the enclosed envelope at the Foreign Office.'"

"_Mon Dieu!_" I cried, excitedly. "_Mon cher_, you have not delivered it yet; you have it still?"

"I am on my way," he replied.

"Then you will not. You will hold it back; bring it to Paris, and give it to Monsieur Roche."

"It is impossible!" he exclaimed, glancing at me in surprise.

"It is not. If you deliver this you will ruin France! For the love of France, pause!"

"I will not be a traitor to a friend who trusts me, even for the love of France," he answered. "I have been asked to deliver this letter; how, then, can I carry it to Monsieur Roche? No, not for the love of France!"

"Then, Gaspard, for me!" I said, turning my eyes upon him. "Do this for me. Prove your protestations have not been idle. Do this for me."

His face flushed crimson, and then grew pale and gray, until, in but a few seconds, he seemed to have become death-like before my eyes.

"Why do you ask this'?" he asked, icily.

"For the sake of France," I repeated. And then, like the lifting of a veil, I saw things clearly, realized that I was tempting him, whom I loved to call my dearest friend, to disgrace; realized that it was not for love of France, but for love of victory, and Monsieur Roche's praises. Gaspard seemed to hesitate, and I trembled lest he should consent.

"Not even for your sake can I do this," he answered, slowly; and my heart quickened at the proof that he was as true as I believed him; yet, because I am a woman, I must perforce feign some slight resentment that he would not yield me what I wished he should not.

"Then leave your papers," I said, after a cold pause, "and escort me to Paris."

"You mean it?" he cried, his eyes brightening again.

"Yes, I mean it," I calmly replied; "one cannot break long friendships for the sake of a difference of opinion. Leave your papers, _mon cher_, and then rejoin me."

"I asked a favor yesterday," I said, as we drew near to Paris, "I ask another to-day. I want to accompany you to le Duc d'Eautine's."

Gaspard raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"It is an affair of honor," he protested. "You know what you ask is impossible, unheard of."

"Again?" I pettishly ejaculated.

"But you must see it yourself," he urged, with a half-amused smile. "How can you be present?"