CHAPTER I. RECALLED BY THE DOUBLE-FOUR
It is the desire of Madame that you should join our circle here onThursday evening next at ten o'clock.
The man looked up from the sheet of note-paper which he held in hishand, and gazed through the open French-windows before which he wasstanding. It was a very pleasant and very peaceful prospect. Therewas his croquet lawn, smooth-shaven, the hoops neatly arranged, thechalk-mark firm and distinct upon the boundary. Beyond, the tenniscourt, the flower gardens, and, to the left, the walled fruit garden.A little farther away was the paddock and orchard, and a little fartherstill, the farm, which for the last four years had been the joy of hislife. His meadows were yellow with buttercups; a thin line of willowsshowed where the brook wound its lazy way through the bottom fields. Itwas a home, this, in which a man could well lead a peaceful life, coulddream away his days to the music of the west wind, the gurgling stream,the song of birds, and the low murmuring of insects. Peter Ruff stoodlike a man turned to stone, for, even as he looked, these things passedaway from before his eyes, the roar of the world beat in his ears--theworld of intrigue, of crime, the world where the strong man hewed hisway to power, and the weaklings fell like corn before the sickle.
"It is the desire of Madame!"
Peter Ruff clenched his fists as he stood there. It was a message froma world every memory of which had been deliberately crushed, a world,indeed, in which he had seemed no longer to hold any place. Scarcely yetof middle age, well-preserved, upright, with neat figure dressed in theconventional tweeds and gaiters of an English country gentleman, henot only had loved his life, but he looked the part. He was Peter Ruff,Esquire, of Aynesford Manor, in the county of Somerset. It could not befor him, this strange summons.
The rustle of a woman's soft draperies broke in upon his reverie. Heturned around with his usual morning greeting upon his lips. If countrylife had agreed with Peter Ruff, it had transformed his wife. Her cheekswere no longer pale; the extreme slimness of her figure was no longerapparent. She was just a little more matronly, perhaps, but withoutdoubt a most beautiful woman. She came smiling across the room--a dreamof white muslin and pink ribbons.
"Another forage bill, my dear Peter?" she demanded, passing her armthrough his. "Put it away and admire my new morning gown. It camestraight from Paris, and you will have to pay a great deal of money forit."
He pulled himself together--he had no secrets from his wife.
"Listen," he said, and read aloud:
RUE DE ST. QUINTAINE.
PARIS.
DEAR Mr. RUFF, It is a long time since we had the pleasure of a visitfrom you. It is the desire of Madame that you should join our circlehere on Thursday evening next at ten o'clock.
SOGRANGE.
Violet was a little perplexed. She failed, somehow, to recognize thesinister note underlying those few sentences, "It sounds friendlyenough," she remarked. "You are not obliged to go, of course."
Peter Ruff smiled grimly.
"Yes, it sounds all right," he admitted.
"They won't expect you to take any notice of it, surely?" she continued."When you bought this place, Peter, and left your London offices, yougave them definitely to understand that you had retired into privatelife, that all these things were finished with you."
"There are some things," Peter Ruff said, slowly, "which are neverfinished."
"But you resigned," she reminded him. "I remember your letterdistinctly."
"From the Double-Four," he answered, "no resignation is recognized savedeath. I did what I could and they accepted my explanations, gracefullyand without comment. Now that the time has come, however, when theythink they need my help, you see they do not hesitate to claim it."
"You will not go, Peter? You will not think of going?" she begged.
He twisted the letter between his fingers and sat down to his breakfast.
"No," he said, "I shall not go."
That morning Peter Ruff spent upon his farm, looking over his stock,examining some new machinery, and talking crops with his bailiff. In theafternoon he played his customary round of golf. It was the sort ofday which, as a rule, he found completely satisfactory, yet, somehow orother, a certain sense of weariness crept in upon him toward its close.
Two days later he received another letter. This time it was couched indifferent terms. On a square card, at the top of which was stamped asmall coronet, he read as follows:
Madame de Maupassim at home, Saturday evening, May 2nd, at ten o'clock.
In small letters at the bottom left-hand corner were added the words:
To meet friends.
Peter Ruff put the card upon the fire and went out for a morning'srabbit shooting with his keeper. When he returned luncheon was ready,but Violet was absent. He rang the bell.
"Where is your mistress, Jane?" he asked the parlor-maid.
The girl had no idea. Mrs. Ruff had left for the village several hoursbefore; since then she had not been seen. Peter Ruff ate his luncheonalone, and understood. The afternoon wore on, and at night he traveledup to London. He knew better than to waste time by purposelessinquiries. Instead he took the nine o'clock train the next morning toParis.
It was a chamber of death into which he was ushered, dismal--yet, of itssort, unique, marvelous. The room itself might have been the sleepingapartment of an empress--lofty, with white paneled walls, adorned simplywith gilded lines; with high windows, closely curtained now, so thatneither sound nor the light of day might penetrate into the room. In themiddle of the apartment upon a canopy bedside, which had once adorneda king's palace, lay Madame de Maupassim. Her face was already touchedwith the finger of death, yet her eyes were undimmed and her lipsunquivering. Her hands, covered with rings, lay out before her uponthe lace coverlid. Supported by many pillows, she was issuing her lastinstructions with the cold precision of the man of affairs who makes thenecessary arrangements for a few days, absence from his business.
Peter Ruff, who had not even been allowed sufficient time to change histraveling clothes, was brought without hesitation to her bedside. Shelooked at him in silence for a moment, with a cold glitter in her eyes.
"You are four days late, Monsieur Peter Ruff," she remarked. "Why didyou not obey your first summons?
"Madame," he answered, "I thought there must be a misunderstanding. Fouryears ago, I gave notice to the council that I had married and retiredinto private life. A country farmer is of no further use to the world."
The woman's thin lip curled.
"From death and the Double Four," she said, "there is no resignationwhich counts. You are as much our creature to-day, as I am the creatureof the disease which is carrying me across the threshold of death."
Peter Ruff remained silent. The woman's words seemed full of dreadsignificance. Besides, how was it possible to contradict the dying?
"It is upon the unwilling of the world," she continued, speaking slowly,yet with extraordinary distinctness, "that its greatest honors are oftenconferred. The name of my successor has been balloted for, secretly. Itis you, Peter Ruff, who have been chosen."
This time he was silent because he was literally bereft of words. Thiswoman was dying and fancying strange things! He looked from one to theother of the stern, pale faces of those who were gathered around herbedside. Seven of them there were--the same seven. At that moment theireyes were all focused upon him. Peter Ruff shrank back.
"Madame," he murmured, "this cannot be."
Her lips twitched as though she would have smiled. "What we havedecided," she said, "we have decided. Nothing can alter that, not eventhe will of Mr. Peter Ruff."
"I have been out of the world for four years," Peter Ruff protested. "Ihave no longer ambitions, no longer any desire--"
"You lie!" the woman interrupted. "You lie or you do yourself aninjustice. We gave you four years, and looking into your face, I thinkthat it has been enough. I think that the weariness is there already. Inany case, the charge which I lay upon you in these my last moments, isone whi
ch you can escape by death only."
A low murmur of voices from those others repeated her words.
"By death only!"
Peter Ruff opened his lips, but closed them again without speech. Awave of emotion seemed passing through the room. Something strange washappening. It was Death itself, which had come among them.
A morning journalist wrote of the death of Madame eloquently, and withfeeling. She had been a broad-minded aristocrat, a woman of brilliantintellect and great friendships, a woman of whose inner life during thelast ten or fifteen years little was known, yet who, in happier times,might well have played a great part in the history of her country.
Peter Ruff drove back from the cemetery with the Marquis de Sogrange,and, for the first time since the death of Madame, serious subjects werespoken of.
"I have waited here patiently," he declared, "but there are limits. Iwant my wife."
Sogrange took him by the arm and led him into the library of the housein the Rue de St. Quintaine. The six men who were already there waitingrose to their feet.
"Gentlemen," the Marquis said, "is it your will that I should bespokesman?"
There was a murmur of assent. Then Sogrange turned toward his companion,and something new seemed to have crept into his manner--a solemn, almosta threatening note.
"Peter Ruff," he continued, "you have trifled with the one organizationin this world which has never allowed liberties to be taken with it. Menwho have done greater service than you have died, for the disobedienceof a day. You have been treated leniently, according to the will ofMadame. According to her will, and in deference to the position whichyou must now take up among us, we will treat you as no other has everbeen treated by us. The Double-Four admits your leadership and claimsyou for its own."
"I am not prepared to discuss anything of the sort," Peter Ruffdeclared, doggedly, "until my wife is restored to me."
The Marquis smiled.
"The traditions of your race, Mr. Ruff," he said, "are easily manifestin you. Now hear our decision. Your wife shall be restored to you on theday when you take up this position to which you have become entitled.Sit down and listen."
Peter Ruff was a rebel at heart, but he felt the grip of iron.
"During these four years when you, my friend, have been growing turnipsand shooting your game, events in the great world have marched, newpowers have come into being, a new page of history has been opened. Aseverything which has good at the heart evolves toward the good, so weof the Double-Four have lifted our great enterprise onto a higher plane.The world of criminals is still at our beck and call, we still claimthe right to draw the line between moral theft and immoral honesty, butto-day the Double-Four is concerned with greater things. Within thefour walls of this room, within the hearing of these my brothers, whosefidelity is as sure as the stones of Paris, I tell you a great secret.The government of our country has craved for our aid and the aid of ourorganization. It is no longer the wealth of the world alone, which wemay control, but the actual destinies of nations."
"What I suppose you mean to say is," Peter Ruff remarked, "that you'vebeen going in for politics?"
"You put it crudely, my English bull-dog," Sogrange answered, "but youare right. We are occupied now by affairs of international importance.More than once, during the last few month, ours has been the hand whichhas changed the policy of an empire."
"Most interesting," Peter Ruff declared, "but so far as I, personally,am concerned--"
"Listen," interrupted the Marquis. "Not a hundred yards from the FrenchEmbassy, in London, there is waiting for you a house and servants noless magnificent than the Embassy itself. You will become the ambassadorin London of the Double-Four, titular head of our association, apersonage whose power is second to none in your great city. I do notaddress words of caution to you, my friend, because we have satisfiedourselves as to your character and capacity before we consented that youshould occupy your present position. But I ask you to remember this. Thewill of Madame lives even beyond the grave. The spirit which animatedher when alive breathes still in all of us. In London you will wielda great power. Use it for the common good. And, remember this--theDouble-Four has never failed, the Double-Four never can fail."
"I am glad to hear you are so confident," Peter Ruff said. "Of course,if I have to take this thing on, I shall do my best, but if I mightventure to allude, for a moment, to anything so trifling as my owndomestic affairs, I am very anxious to know about my wife."
Sogrange smiled.
"You will find Mrs. Ruff awaiting you in London," he announced. "Youraddress is Porchester House, Porchester Square."
"When do I go there?" Peter Ruff asked.
"To-night," was the answer.
"And what do I do when I get there?" he persisted.
"For three days," the Marquis told him, "you will remain indoors, andgive audience to whoever may come to you. At the end of that time, youwill understand a little more of our purpose and our objects--perhaps,even, of our power."
"I see difficulties," Peter Ruff remarked. "There will be a good manypeople who will remember me when I had offices in Southampton Row. Myname, you see, is uncommon."
Sogrange drew a document from the breast pocket of his coat.
"When you leave this house to-night," he proclaimed, "we bid good-byforever to Mr. Peter Ruff. You will find in this envelope the titledeeds of a small property which is our gift to you. Henceforth you willbe known by the name and title of your estates."
"Title!" Peter Ruff gasped.
"You will reappear in London," Sogrange continued, "as the Baron deGrost."
Peter Ruff shook his head.
"It won't do," he declared, "people will find me out."
"There is nothing to be found out," the Marquis went on, a littlewearily. "Your country life has dulled your wits, Baron. The title andthe name are justly yours--they go with the property. For the rest, thehistory of your family, and of your career up to the moment when youenter Porchester House to-night, will be inside this packet. You canperuse it upon the journey, and remember that we can, at all times,bring a hundred witnesses, if necessary, to prove that you are who youdeclare yourself to be. When you get to Charing-Cross, do not forgetthat it will be the carriage and servants of the Baron de Grost whichawait you."
Peter Ruff shrugged his shoulders.
"Well," he said, thoughtfully, "I suppose I shall get used to it."
"Naturally," Sogrange answered. "For the moment, we are passing througha quiet time, necessitated by the mortal illness of Madame. You will beable to spend the next few weeks in getting used to your new position.You will have a great many callers, inspired by us, who will see thatyou make the right acquaintances and that you join the right clubs.At the same time, let me warn you always to be ready. There is troublebrewing just now all over Europe. In one way or another, we may becomeinvolved at any moment. The whole machinery of our society will beexplained to you by your secretary. You will find him already installedat Porchester House. A glass of wine, Baron, before you leave."
Peter Ruff glanced at the clock.
"There are my things to pack," he began--
Sogrange smiled.
"Your valet is already on the front seat of the automobile which iswaiting," he remarked. "You will find him attentive and trustworthy.The clothes which you brought with you we have taken the liberty ofdispensing with. You will find others in your trunk, and at PorchesterHouse you can send for any tailor you choose. One toast, Baron. We drinkto the Double-Four--to the great cause!"
There was a murmur of voices. Sogrange lifted once more his glass.
"May Peter Ruff rest in peace!" he said. "We drink to his ashes. Wedrink long life and prosperity to the Baron de Grost!"