Tales of Mystery & Suspense: 25+ Thrillers in One Edition. E. Phillips OppenheimЧитать онлайн книгу.
“The terms of peace,” he repeated thoughtfully.
“We happen to know what they are, do we not?” she continued, speaking almost under her breath, “the basic terms, at any rate.”
“You mean,” he said slowly, “the terms put forward by the Socialist Party of Germany to ensure the granting of an armistice?”
“And acceded to,” she reminded him, “by the Kaiser and the two greatest German statesmen.”
He toyed with his teacup, drew a gold cigarette case from his pocket, selected a cigarette, and lit it.
“You would try to make me believe,” he remarked, smiling at his companion, “that to-day you are not in your most intelligent mood.”
“Explain, if you please,” she begged earnestly.
He smoked stolidly for several moments.
“I imagine,” he said, “that you preserve with me something of that very skilfully assumed ignorance which is the true mask of the diplomatist. But is it worth while, I wonder?”
She caught at her breath.
“You are too clever,” she murmured, looking at him covertly.
“You have seen,” he continued, “how Germany, who needs peace sorely, has striven to use the most despised power in her country for her own advantage—I mean the Socialist Party. From being treated with scorn and ignominy, they were suddenly, at the time of the proposed Stockholm Conference, judged worthy of notice from the All Highest himself. He suddenly saw how wonderful a use might be made of them. It was a very clever trap which was baited, and it was not owing to any foresight or any cleverness on the part of this country that the Allies did not walk straight into it. I say again,” he went on, “that it was a mere fluke which prevented the Allies from being represented at that Conference and the driving in of the thin end of the wedge.”
“You are quite right,” Catherine agreed.
“German diplomacy,” he proceeded, “may sometimes be obtuse, but it is at least persistent. Their next move will certainly rank in history as the most astute, the most cunning of any put forward since the war commenced. Of course,” the young man went on, fitting his cigarette into a long, amber holder, “we who are not Germans can only guess, but even the guessing is fascinating.”
“Go on, please, dear Baron,” she begged. “It is when you talk like this and show me your mind that I seem to be listening to a second Bismarck.”
“You flatter me, Countess,” the young man said, “but indeed these events are interesting. Trace their course for yourself after the failure of Stockholm. The Kaiser has established certain relations with the Socialist Party. Once more he turns towards them. He affects a war weariness he does not feel. He puts it into their heads that they shall approach without molestation certain men in England who have a great Labour following. The plot is started. You know quite well how it has progressed.”
“Naturally,” Catherine assented, “but after all, tell me, where does the wonderful diplomacy come in? The terms of peace are not the terms of a conqueror. Germany is to engage herself to give up what she has sworn to hold, even to pay indemnities, to restore all conquered countries, and to retire her armies behind the Rhine.”
The young man looked at his companion steadfastly for several seconds.
“In the idiom of this country, Countess,” he said, “I raise my hat to you. You preserve your mask of ignorance to the end. So much so, indeed, that I find myself asking do you really believe that Germany intends to do this?”
“But you forget,” she reminded him. “I was one of those present at the discussion of the preliminaries. The confirmation of the agreed terms, with the signatures, has arrived, and is to be placed before the Labour Council at six o’clock this evening.”
The young man for a moment seemed puzzled. Then he glanced at a little gold watch upon his wrist, knocked the cigarette from its holder and carefully replaced the latter in its case.
“That is very interesting, Countess,” he said. “For the moment I had forgotten your official position amongst the English Socialists.”
She leaned forward and touched his coat sleeve.
“You had forgotten nothing,” she declared eagerly. “There is something in your mind of which you have not spoken.”
“No,” he replied, “I have spoken a great deal of my mind—too much, perhaps, considering that we are seated in this very fashionable lounge, with many people around us. We must talk of these serious matters on another occasion, Countess. I shall pay my respects to your aunt, if I may, within the next few days.”
“Why do you fence with me?” she persisted, drawing on her gloves. “You and I both know, so far as regards those peace terms, that—”
“If we both know,” he interrupted, “let us keep each our own knowledge. Words are sometimes very, dangerous, and great events are looming. So, Countess! You have perhaps a car, or may I have the pleasure of escorting you to your destination?”
“I am going to Westminster,” she told him, rising to her feet.
“In that case,” he observed, as they made their way down the room, “perhaps I had better not offer my escort, although I should very much like to be there in person. You are amongst those to-day who will make history.”
“Come and see me soon,” she begged, dropping her voice a little, “and I will confide in you as much as I dare.”
“It is tempting,” he admitted, “I should like to know what passes at that meeting.”
“You can, if you will, dine with us to-morrow night,” she invited, “at half-past eight. My aunt will be delighted to see you. I forget whether we have people coming or not, but you will be very welcome.”
The young man bowed low as he handed his charge into a taxicab.
“Dear Countess,” he murmured, “I shall be charmed.”
CHAPTER XV
For a gathering of men upon whose decision hung such momentous issues, the Council which met that evening at Westminster seemed alike unambitious in tone and uninspired in appearance. Some short time was spent in one of the anterooms, where Julian was introduced to many of the delegates. The disclosure of his identity, although it aroused immense interest, was scarcely an unmixed joy to the majority of them. Those who were in earnest—and they mostly were in grim and deadly earnest—had hoped to find him a man nearer their own class. Fenn and Bright had their own reasons for standing apart, and the extreme pacifists took note of the fact that he had been a soldier. His coming, however, was an event the importance of which nobody attempted to conceal.
The Bishop was voted into the chair when the little company trooped into the apartment which had been set aside for their more important meetings. His election had been proposed by Miles Furley, and as it was announced that under no circumstances would he become a candidate for the permanent leadership of the party, was agreed to without comment. A few notes for his guidance had been jotted down earlier in the day. The great subject of discussion was, of course, the recently received communication from an affiliated body of their friends in Germany, copies of which had been distributed amongst the members.
“I am asked to explain,” the Bishop announced, in opening the proceedings, “that this document which we all recognise as being of surpassing importance, has been copied by Mr. Fenn, himself, and that since, copies have been distributed amongst the members, the front door of the building has been closed and the telephones placed under surveillance. It is not, of course, possible that any of you could be mistrusted, but it is of the highest importance that neither