the Embassy and the commander shall know — when do you leave?’
‘Just as soon as I can,’ said Bartholomew.
The waiter nodded and flicked some cigarette ash from the table with his napkin.
‘And the Woman of Gratz?’ he asked.
Bartholomew made a gesture of doubt.
‘Why not,’ said the waiter, looking thoughtfully out of the window, ‘why not take her with you?’
There had been the germ of such a thought in Bartholomew’s mind, but he had never given form to it — even to himself.
‘She is very beautiful, and, it occurred to me, not altogether indifferent to your attractions — that kind of woman has a penchant for your type, and frankly we would gladly see her out of the way — or dead.’
M. Menshikoff was by no means vindictive, but there was obvious sincerity in his voice when he pronounced the last two words. M. Menshikoff had been right-hand man of the Grand Master of the Secret Police for too many years to feel any qualms at the project of removing an enemy to the system.
‘I thought we had her once,’ he said meditatively; ‘they would have flogged her in the fortress of St Peter and Paul, but I stopped them. She was grateful I think, and almost human…but it passed off.’
Bartholomew paid for his drink, and ostentatiously tipped the obsequious man before him. He remembered as he did so that Menshikoff was reputedly a millionaire.
‘Your change, m’sieur,’ said Menshikoff gravely, and he handed back a few jingling coppers and two tightly folded banknotes for a hundred pounds. He was a believer in the principle of ‘pay as you go’ Bartholomew pocketed the money carelessly.
‘Good day,’ he said loudly.
‘Au revoir, m’sieur, et ban voyage’, said the waiter.
Chapter VI
Princess Revolutionary
The Woman of Gratz was very human. But to Bartholomew she seemed a thing of ice, passionless, just a beautiful woman who sat stiffly in a straight-backed chair, regarding him with calm, questioning eyes. They were in her flat in Bloomsbury on the evening of the day following his interview with Menshikoff. Her coolness chilled him, and strangled the very passion of his speech, and what he said came haltingly, and sounded lame and unconvincing.
‘But why?’ that was all she asked. Thrice he had paused appealingly, hoping for encouragement, but her answer had been the same.
He spoke incoherently, wildly. The fear of the Four on the one hand and the dread of the Reds on the other, were getting on his nerves.
He saw a chance of escape from both, freedom from the four-walled control of these organizations, and before him the wide expanse of a trackless wilderness, where the vengeance of neither could follow.
Eden in sight — he pleaded for an Eve.
The very thought of the freedom ahead overcame the depression her coldness laid upon him.
‘Maria — don’t you see? You are wasting your life doing this man’s work — this assassin’s work. You were made for love and for me!’ He caught her hand and she did not withdraw it, but the palm he pressed was unresponsive and the curious searching eyes did not leave his face.
‘But why?’ she asked again. ‘And how? I do not love you, I shall never love any man — and there is the work for you and the work for me. There is the cause and your oath. Your comrades—’
He started up and flung away her hand. For a moment he stood over her, glowering down at her upturned face.
‘Work! — Comrades!’ he grated with a laugh. ‘D’ye think I’m going to risk my precious neck any further?’
He did not hear the door open softly, nor the footfall of the two men who entered.
‘Are you blind as well as mad?’ he went on brutally. ‘Don’t you see that the thing is finished? The Four Just Men have us all in the hollow of their hands! They’ve got us like that!’ He snapped his fingers contemptuously. ‘They know everything — even to the attempt that is to be made on the Prince of the Escorials! Ha! that startles you — yet it is true, every word I say — they know.’
‘If it is true,’ she said slowly, ‘there has been a traitor.’
He waved his hand carelessly, admitting and dismissing the possibility.
‘There are traitors always — when the pay for treachery is good,’ he said easily; ‘but traitor or no traitor, London is too hot for you and me.’
‘For you,’ corrected the girl.
‘And for you,’ he said savagely; he snatched up her hand again. ‘You’ve got to come — do you hear — you beautiful snow woman — you’ve got to come with me!’
He drew her to him, but a hand grasped his arm, and he turned to meet the face of Starque, livid and puckered, and creased with silent anger.
Starque was prepared for the knife or for the pistol, but not for the blow that caught him full in the face and sent him staggering back to the wall.
He recovered himself quickly, and motioned to Francois, who turned and locked the door.
‘Stand away from that door!’
‘Wait!’
Starque, breathing quickly, wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand.
Wait, he said in his guttural tone; ‘before you go there is a matter to be settled.’
At any time, in any place,’ said the Englishman.
‘It is not the blow,’ breathed Starque, ‘that is nothing; it is the matter of the Inner Council — traitor!’
He thrust out his chin as he hissed the last word.
Bartholomew had very little time to decide upon his course of action. He was unarmed; but he knew instinctively that there would be no shooting. It was the knife he had to fear and he grasped the back of a chair. If he could keep them at a distance he might reach the door and get safely away. He cursed his folly that he had delayed making the coup that would have so effectively laid Starque by the heels.
‘You have betrayed us to the Four Just Men — but that we might never have known, for the Four have no servants to talk. But you sold us to the Embassy — and that was your undoing.’ He had recovered his calm.
‘We sent you a message telling you of our intention to destroy the Bank of England. The Bank was warned — by the Four. We told you of the attempt to be made on the Grondovitch — the captain was warned by the Embassy — you are doubly convicted. No such attempts were ever contemplated. They were invented
