CHAPTER XXXII
AN INTERESTING MEETING
Hunterleys leaned suddenly forward across the little round table.
"The question of whether or no you shall pay your respects to MonsieurDouaille," he remarked, "is solved. Unless I am very much mistaken, weare going to have an exceedingly interesting luncheon-party on ourright."
"Monsieur Douaille----" Mr. Simpson began, a little eagerly.
"And the others," Hunterleys interrupted. "Don't look around for amoment. This is almost historical."
Monsieur Ciro himself, bowing and smiling, was ushering a party ofguests to a round table upon the terrace, in the immediate vicinity ofthe two men. Mr. Grex, with his daughter and Lady Hunterleys on one sideand Monsieur Douaille on the other, were in the van. Draconmeyerfollowed with Lady Weybourne, and Selingman brought up the rear with theComtesse d'Hausson, one of the most prominent leaders of the Frenchcolony in Monte Carlo, and a connection by marriage of MonsieurDouaille.
Mr. Grex, with his daughter and Lady Hunterleys on oneside and Monsieur Douaille on the other, were in the van.]
"A luncheon-party for Douaille," Hunterleys murmured, as he bowed, tohis wife and exchanged greetings with some of the others. "I wonder whatthey think of their neighbours! A little embarrassing for the chiefguest, I am afraid."
"I see your wife is in the enemy's camp," his companion observed."Draconmeyer is coming to speak to me. This promises to be interesting."
Draconmeyer and Selingman both came over to greet the English Minister.Selingman's blue eyes were twinkling with humour, his smile was broadand irresistible.
"This should send funds up in every capital of Europe," he declared, ashe shook hands. "When Mr. Meredith Simpson takes a holiday, then thepolitical barometer points to 'set fair'!"
"A tribute to my conscientiousness," the Minister replied, smiling. "Iam glad to see that I am not the only hard-worked statesman who feelsable to take a few days' holiday."
Selingman glanced at the round table and beamed.
"It is true," he admitted. "Every country seems to have sent itsstatesmen holiday-making. And what a playground, too!" he added,glancing towards Hunterleys with something which was almost a wink."Here, political crises seem of little account by the side of theturning wheel. This is where the world unbends and it is well that thereshould be such a place. Shall we see you at the Club or in the roomslater?"
"Without a doubt," Mr. Simpson assented. "For what else does one live inMonte Carlo?"
"How did you leave things in town?" Mr. Draconmeyer enquired.
"So-so!" the Minister answered. "A little flat, but then it is a dullseason of the year."
"Markets about the same, I suppose?" Mr. Draconmeyer asked.
"I am afraid," Mr. Simpson confessed, "that I only study the city columnfrom the point of view of what Herr Selingman has just called thepolitical barometer. Things were a little unsteady when I left. Consolsfell several points yesterday."
Mr. Draconmeyer frowned.
"It is incomprehensible," he declared. "A few months ago there was realdanger, one is forced to believe, of a European war. To-day the crisisis passed, yet the money-markets which bore up so well through thecritical period seem now all the time on the point of collapse. It ishard for a banker to know how to operate these days. I wish yougentlemen in Downing Street, Mr. Simpson, would make it easier for us."
Mr. Simpson shrugged his shoulders.
"The real truth of the matter is," he said, "that you allow yourmoney-market to become too sensitive an affair. A whisper will depressit. A threatening word spoken in the Reichstag or in the House ofParliament, magnified a hundred-fold before it reaches its destination,has sometimes a most unwarranted effect upon markets. You mustn't blameus so much, Mr. Draconmeyer. You jump at conclusions too easily in thecity."
"Sound common sense," Mr. Draconmeyer agreed. "You are perfectly rightwhen you say that we are over-sensitive. The banker deplores it as muchas the politician. It's the money-kings, I suppose, who find itprofitable."
They returned to their table a moment later. As he passed Douaille,Selingman whispered in his ear. Monsieur Douaille turned around at onceand bowed to Simpson. As he caught the latter's eye he, too, left hisplace and came across. Mr. Simpson rose to his feet. The two men bowedformally before shaking hands.
"Monsieur Simpson," the Frenchman exclaimed, "it is a pleasure to findthat I am remembered!"
"Without a doubt, monsieur," was the prompt reply. "Your last visit toLondon, on the occasion when we had the pleasure of entertaining you atthe Guildhall, is too recent, and was too memorable an event altogetherfor us to have forgotten. Permit me to assure you that your speech onthat occasion was one which no patriotic Englishman is likely toforget."
Monsieur Douaille inclined his head in thanks. His manner was notaltogether free from embarrassment.
"I trust that you are enjoying your holiday here?" he asked.
"I have only this moment arrived," Mr. Simpson explained. "I am lookingforward to a few days' rest immensely. I trust that I shall have thepleasure of seeing something of you, Monsieur Douaille. A littleconversation would be most agreeable."
"In Monte Carlo one meets one's friends all the time," Monsieur Douaillereplied. "I lunch to-day with my friend--our mutual friend, without adoubt--who calls himself here Mr. Grex."
Mr. Simpson nodded.
"If it is permitted," he suggested, "I should like to do myself thehonour of paying my respects to you."
Monsieur Douaille was flattered.
"My stay here is short," he regretted, "but your visit will be mostacceptable. I am at the Riviera Palace Hotel."
"It is one of my theories," Mr. Simpson remarked, "that politicians areat a serious disadvantage compared with business men, inasmuch as, withimportant affairs under their control, they have few opportunities ofmeeting those with whom they have dealings. It would be a great pleasureto me to discuss one or two matters with you."
Monsieur Douaille departed, with a few charming words of assent. Simpsonlooked after him with kindling eyes.
"This," he murmured, leaning across the table, "is a most extraordinarymeeting. There they sit, those very men whom you suspect of thisdevilish scheme, within a few feet of us! Positively thrilling,Hunterleys!"
Hunterleys, too, seemed to feel the stimulating effect of a situation sodramatic. As the meal progressed, he drew his chair a little closer tothe table and leaned over towards his companion.
"I think," he said, "that we shall both of us remember the coincidenceof this meeting as long as we live. At that luncheon-table, within a fewyards of us, sits Russia, the new Russia, raising his head after athousand years' sleep, watching the times, weighing them, realising hisown immeasurable strength, pointing his inevitable finger along the roadwhich the Russia of to-morrow must tread. There isn't a man in thatgreat country so much to be feared to-day, from our point of view, asthe Grand Duke Augustus. And look, too, at the same table, within a fewfeet, Simpson, of you and of me--Selingman, Selingman who represents thereal Germany; not the war party alone, intoxicated with the clash ofarms, filled with bombastic desires for German triumphs on sea and land,ever ready to spout in flowery and grandiloquent phrases the glory ofGermany and the Heaven-sent genius of her leaders. I tell you, Simpson,Selingman is a more dangerous man than that. He sits with folded arms,in realms of thought above these people. He sits with a map of the worldbefore him, and he places his finger upon the inevitable spots whichGermany must possess to keep time with the march of the world, to findnew homes for her overflowing millions. He has no military fervour, notinselly patriotism. He knows what Germany needs and he will carve herway towards it. Look at him with his napkin tucked under his chin,broad-visaged, podgy, a slave, you might think, to the joys of the tableand the grosser things of life. You should see his eyes sometimes whenthe right note is struck, watch his mouth when he sits and thinks. Heuses words for an ambush and a barricade. He talks often like a gayfool, a flood of empty verbiage
streams from his lips, and behind, allthe time his brain works."
"You seem to have studied these people, Hunterleys," Simpson remarkedappreciatively.
Hunterleys smiled as he continued his luncheon.
"Forgive me if I was a little prolix," he said, "but, after all, whatwould you have? I am out of office but I remain a servant of my country.My interest is just as keen as though I were in a responsible position."
"You are well out of it," Simpson sighed. "If half what you suspect istrue, it's the worst fix we've been in for some time."
"I am afraid there isn't any doubt about it," Hunterleys declared. "Ofcourse, we've been at a fearful disadvantage. Roche was the only man outhere upon whom I could rely. Now they've accounted for him, we'vescarcely a chance of getting at the truth."
Mr. Simpson was gloomily silent for some moments. He was thinking of thetime when he had struck his pencil through a recent Secret Serviceestimate.
"Anyhow," Hunterleys went on, "it will be all over in twenty-four hours.Something will be decided upon--what, I am afraid there is very littlechance of our getting to know. These men will separate--Grex to St.Petersburg, Selingman to Berlin, Douaille to Paris. Then I think weshall begin to hear the mutterings of the storm."
"I think," Mr. Simpson intervened, his eyes fixed upon an approachingfigure, "that there is a young lady talking to the maitre d'hotel, whois trying to attract your attention."
Hunterleys turned around in his chair. It was Felicia who was making herway towards him. He rose at once to his feet. There was a little murmurof interest amongst the lunchers as she threaded her way past thetables. It was not often that an English singer in opera had met with sogreat a success. Lady Hunterleys, recognising her as she passed, pausedin the middle of a sentence. Her face hardened. Hunterleys had risenfrom his place and was watching Felicia's approach anxiously.
"Is there any news of Sidney?" he asked quickly, as he took her hand.
"Nothing fresh," she answered in a low voice. "I have brought you amessage--from some one else."
He held his chair for her but she shook her head.
"I mustn't stay," she continued. "This is what I wanted to tell you. AsI was crossing the square just now, I recognised the man Frenhofer, fromthe Villa Mimosa. Directly he saw me he came across the road. He waslooking for one of us. He dared not come to the villa, he declares, forfear of being watched. He has something to tell you."
"Where can I find him?" Hunterleys asked.
"He has gone to a little bar in the Rue de Chaussures, the Bar deMontmartre it is called. He is waiting there for you now."
"You must stay and have some lunch," Hunterleys begged. "I will comeback."
She shook her head.
"I have just been across to the Opera House," she explained, "to enquireabout some properties for to-night. I have had all the lunch I want andI am on my way to the hospital now again. I came here on the chance offinding you. They told me at the Hotel de Paris that you were lunchingout."
Hunterleys turned and whispered to Simpson.
"This is very important," he said. "It concerns the affair in which weare interested. Linger over your coffee and I will return."
Mr. Simpson nodded and Hunterleys left the restaurant with Felicia. Hiswife, at whom he glanced for a moment, kept her head averted. She waswhispering in the ear of the gallant Monsieur Douaille. Selingman,catching Draconmeyer's eye, winked at him solemnly.
"You have all the luck, my silent friend," he murmured.