Foster duly received his card for Lady Ashington’s reception, and proceeded to the house in Belgrave Square wondering what the immediate future held in store for him. He was not blind to the fact that the path he would have to tread might prove to be one of desperate peril. Hitherto he had not been engaged on any enterprise overshadowed by much danger. Now, alone, unaided, he was expected to carry out a task that would quite likely involve him in trouble not only with the German secret police but with the Marshal of State himself. He certainly had been given his chance – a glorious chance – and he intended grasping it with both hands. Nevertheless, it must be confessed that he felt a trifle worried. Ever since he left school he had been thrown constantly in the society of girls, most of them his sister’s friends. He had got on very well with them; had more than once imagined himself in love, only to find out that there was a disease that frequently gripped young men called infatuation. This fact was pointed out to him by the girls themselves, who being very modern in their ideas, were extremely sensible. Now he was asked to become infatuated, or at least pretend to be infatuated, with an experienced, worldly-wise woman. The questions that bothered him were: Could he do it, and gain her interest and sympathy? Could he succeed without her seeing through the deception? He recognised the wisdom of Sir Leonard in selecting him for the part. He knew himself to be good-looking and attractive to members of the opposite sex – there was no nonsensical or mock modesty in the composition of Foster – in addition his circle of friends was acquainted with his amorous affairs, and would, therefore, not be surprised at another. It would be rather distasteful to make love to a woman with the purpose of worming important secrets from her, but a Secret Service man cannot regard his feelings or those of others when duty bids otherwise. Unpleasant functions make part of the price one has to pay for serving one’s country in such a capacity. The disturbing thought occurred to him that he might find the young baroness distinctly attractive and, despite all his efforts to the contrary, actually fall in love with her. He had no illusions on the score that he was impressionable. To betray the woman one loved seemed a desperately low-down thing to do. He resolved to be on his guard from the very first, and avoid falling in love with her if he possibly could. But what difference would that make? It was his business to get her to fall in love with him, or at least become fond of him, wasn’t it? As low-down to disclose the secrets of a woman who had conceived an affection for one, and therefore trusted one, as to betray the woman one loved; more so in fact. Such reflections caused a little frown to appear on his ingenuous face; he shrugged his shoulders rather painfully. Perhaps for the first time he was realising something of the unsavoury side of Secret Service life. His instincts rebelled against accomplishing anything by underhanded means, but it never occurred to him to attempt to back out; he would go through with his job to the bitter end no matter what it cost him personally. As a Secret Service man he had no right to personal feelings, and perhaps he comforted himself with the thought that nothing can be underhand that is performed in the service of country.
He arrived at Lady Ashington’s stately home to find himself in the midst of some very famous people. His host and hostess greeted him charmingly, saying a few words to him before turning to welcome other guests, and leaving him free to wander about at will. He found several acquaintances, and entered into conversation with them, but all the time his eyes were searching, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman with whom he was to become infatuated. He saw no one quite resembling the description he had been given, and he did not mention her to any of his friends. Sooner or later, he knew, Mrs Manvers-Buller would arrive and pilot him to the baroness. She had appeared once from out of the throng, had smiled and nodded, but had passed on, which suggested that the baroness had not yet come or the time was not ripe for the introduction. Foster was a little intrigued by the position occupied by Mrs Manvers-Buller in the affair. He knew that she was a great friend of Sir Leonard and Lady Wallace, but he did not know that she had more than once been of much assistance to the Chief of the Secret Service; that she was, in fact, a kind of honorary member of the department. A great traveller, with an intimate knowledge of and acquaintance with some of the greatest diplomats in the world, she had, on occasion, passed on most valuable information to Wallace acquired during her peregrinations abroad. She possessed a tremendous, almost fanatical devotion to Great Britain and the Crown. If she had not occupied her very important position in society, and was not more useful to him as she was, it is likely that Sir Leonard would have offered her permanent employment in the Secret Service. He had known her since she was a girl at school with his sister. She had married the Honourable James Manvers-Buller, a man considerably older than herself, and it was through him that she had obtained her flair for diplomacy and international intrigue. He had been the first secretary of the embassy in Paris when he had died, just as he was about to be appointed to a higher post.
Foster saw Lady Wallace sitting with an elderly peer, and approached to pay his respects, not of course as one of her husband’s young men, but as a friend of the family. She kept him in conversation for some time, her beauty sending a thrill through his receptive heart. He had known her for many years, but time made no difference. Whenever he saw her, the same feeling of worship possessed him. He was not unique in that respect. The charm and beauty of Lady Wallace makes slaves of all who know her. It is a tribute to her sterling character that women worship her with the same sincerity as do men. Sir Leonard is wont to declare that the greatest puzzle of his life is, and always will be, what she saw in him to cause her to love and marry him, but then the man who thinks least of Sir Leonard Wallace is notably Sir Leonard Wallace himself. Foster stayed talking to her as long as he dared, only tearing himself away when the baleful looks of the elderly peer told him that the latter considered him de trop. He departed in search of refreshment with some cronies of his, and it was while at the buffet that Mrs Manvers-Buller came to him. She chose the moment well. Surrounding him were nearly a dozen young men and girls, most of them engaged in twitting him about the air of boredom he had thought fit to adopt. Into the circle stepped Mrs Manvers-Buller, a small, bright-eyed, vivacious woman, leaning on the arm of an attendant cavalier.
‘Did I hear someone say that our Bernard is bored?’ she demanded.
A regular chorus gave an answer in the affirmative, and Foster grinned sheepishly.
‘I never feel very happy at these affairs,’ he confessed.
‘Well, shall I show you how?’ she asked. She turned to the man at her side, one of the under-secretaries of the government, spoken of as a cabinet minister of the near future. ‘It would only be a kindness on our part to bring happiness into his young life. Don’t you agree, Bunny?’
Several of the girls standing by laughed. The fact that Mrs Manvers-Buller addressed an important Member of Parliament as ‘Bunny’ struck them as amusing. The under-secretary did not view it in the same light. There was no doubt but that he felt his importance, and considered it undignified to be called by such a name, particularly before a crowd of young, irresponsible people.
‘Why did you call Mr Erskine “Bunny”?’ asked one smiling girl.
‘He used to twitch his ears delightfully when he was a schoolboy,’ explained Mrs Manvers-Buller. ‘The performance thrilled my young heart, and I christened him Bunny. Won’t you give a demonstration, Michael?’ She turned to the frowning MP.
‘Were you not talking of – er – bringing happiness into the life of Foster?’ he asked hastily, amid further laughter.
‘Oh, so I was,’ cried the little woman. She slipped her disengaged arm into that of Foster. ‘Come along, Bernard,’ she commanded, ‘we’ll introduce you to Sophie von Reudath. She’ll be a change from these bright, unsophisticated young things.’
‘He’ll fall in love with her,’ jeered one of Foster’s companions.
‘So much the better,’ pronounced Mrs Manvers Buller. ‘Sophie likes to be loved – I think it’s time she found another husband.’
‘Oh, I say,’ protested Foster. ‘Isn’t this rather like leading a lamb to the slaughter?’
‘You won’t consider it slaughter when you see her,’ was the response.
As they crossed the crowded room, the under-secretary leant down until his lips were very close to Mrs Manvers-Buller’s ear.
‘Do you think this is – er – judicious?’ he whispered. ‘Foster is rather impressionable, and the baroness is known to be a very warm friend of the—’
‘Bunny,’ interrupted the little woman, ‘you have an evil mind.’
They found the Baroness von Reudath holding a little court in an alcove. Sitting on either side of her were two cabinet ministers, another stood close by; various other important people, men and women, stood or sat in the vicinity. Foster started to draw back, but Mrs Manvers-Buller had no intention of letting him go. She was a privileged person, and into the circle she stepped, to be greeted by the baroness with a little cry of delight.
‘My friend,’ exclaimed the latter in perfect English which had hardly any trace of a foreign accent, ‘I thought you had deserted me.’
‘Why this relief to see me, Sophie?’ demanded the outspoken little woman. ‘Have these intriguing statesmen, knowing you are persona grata with the powers that be in Germany, been attempting to pump you?’
‘Pump me! What is that?’ asked the baroness.
Laughing protests came from the ministers. They felt no sense of resentment against Mrs Manvers-Buller. Everybody liked her; apart from which it was generally recognised that she was a very valuable little lady. In addition, they felt that perhaps it had been a trifle unsporting to get the baroness to talk about conditions in Germany, especially when she was visiting England on a holiday. Foster studied the Baroness von Reudath with a great deal of interest. At first sight of her he had had difficulty in suppressing a gasp of sheer admiration. She was certainly beautiful; more beautiful that he had imagined. Her corn-coloured hair was brushed back from a high, flawless forehead, and caught up artistically at the nape of her neck. She was no stranger to the use of cosmetics, but obviously applied them sparingly. Delicately pencilled eyebrows surmounted a pair of frank blue eyes framed by long, dark lashes. Her nose was small and well-shaped, her mouth could not have been better conceived by an artist, her ears, from each of which hung a valuable pearl, were shell-like in their daintiness. She possessed a pure, creamy complexion. Altogether a woman any man might be proud to—Foster pulled himself up abruptly. There he was – thinking of her already as something to be loved, forgetting that she was the confidante of perhaps the most dangerous man in Europe, a woman who was probably the holder of secrets that might at any time mean war. There was something else besides beauty in her face. The broad forehead, the determined little chin, the almost arrogant tilt of her head proclaimed intelligence, strength, character. Altogether a glamorous personality. Foster began to fear that he was already more than half in love with her. He felt that he liked best about her the frankness of her eyes. She was as straight as a die, he thought, the last person in the world to betray any secret that had been confided to her care. He reflected that his task had suddenly assumed gigantic proportions, and for more reasons than one.
Mrs Manvers-Buller shooed away the statesmen as though they were so many sheep, declaring that Baroness von Reudath did not want to be bothered by a lot of hoary-headed old sinners, when young men were longing to enter the realms of beauty and romance with her. They went meekly, one or two chuckling, one or two sighing, perhaps regretting their lost youth.
‘Really, Elsa, you are too terrible,’ declared the baroness, her eyes twinkling merrily, ‘you make one feel hot and cold all over.’
‘I am glad you feel something,’ retorted her friend with mock severity. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself casting your spell on the venerable seigneurs who fondly imagine they are ruling England.’
‘But if they do not rule,’ laughed the baroness, ‘who does?’
‘The newspapers, my dear. But let me present to you a very bored young man who declared that he is never happy at an affair like this.’
The Baroness von Reudath had already cast approving eyes on the tall, well-set-up figure of Bernard Foster, whose faultless evening attire showed off his lean, athletic form to perfection. The introductions were effected.
‘If you are not happy why do you come?’ queried the baroness.
‘God knows,’ remarked Mrs Manvers-Buller, answering for him. ‘The young men, far more than the girls, obey the dictates of society like a litter of puppies running after their mother. If you ask them why, they will make some fatuous remark about its being the thing to do. They turn up in top hats, stiff collars, and morning coats to attend the Eton and Harrow cricket match even in the hottest weather. I say attend, because nobody goes there to see the play – they’d be fools, if they did, for there isn’t any worth talking about. If it were the fashion to bathe naked in the Serpentine in the middle of winter, they would do it, simply because it would be the thing to do.’
Sophie von Reudath’s laughter rang out in a silvery peal, while Erskine and Foster eyed each other with somewhat embarrassed looks.
‘Really, Elsa,’ began the former, ‘you do—’
‘Now don’t you pretend to be a prude, Bunny,’ interrupted the little lady. ‘I heard that you joined a nudist colony last summer.’
‘’Pon my soul! This is too much,’ cried the scandalised under-secretary. ‘Who libelled me so grossly?’
‘Nobody, my Bunny. Really, you’re too serious to live. Take me somewhere where there is champagne with ice tinkling musically in the glass.’
They wandered away together and, before long, Foster found himself alone with Sophie von Reudath. She made room for him on the lounge by her side.
‘Tell me about yourself, Mr Foster,’ she begged. ‘Are you also a Member of the Parliament?’
‘Good Lord, no,’ he returned with more force than politeness ‘I beg your pardon,’ he added hastily. ‘I did not mean to be so vehement, but I can imagine few things more futile than being a Member of Parliament.’
‘Oh, but why?’ she asked. ‘Surely an ambitious man would have his hopes centred on a position in the Cabinet, and what could be greater than to be one of those governing your country?’
‘Few can attain to such heights,’ he told her, ‘and fewer still succeed in arriving before their best days are over, and they are half-senile, doddering old men.’
She laughed.
‘Your sentiments,’ she declared, ‘are very much like those of Elsa.’
‘Well, it’s the truth,’ he persisted. ‘Young, energetic, enterprising men are kept back to a ludicrous extent in this country. The old hang on to their jobs like grim death, and are terrified lest a younger man gets a foot into the nest they have made so comfortable for themselves. It is not only the case in Parliament. The same thing applies in the big firms, even in sport.’
‘You sound as though you are bitter about these gentlemen.’
‘It is because old men who are long past their best hold the reins in this country,’ he went on, ‘that we have become such an unenterprising nation.’
‘I wonder if Britain is really so unenterprising,’ she mused.
‘Of course it is. You belong to a nation that is far more enterprising and go-ahead. I sometimes think you Germans must smile at our futility.’
‘I am not a German, my friend!’
He turned and looked at her, surprise showing in his face. She noticed that, for once in a way, his eyes had lost their customary sleepy look; decided that he was far more alert that she had supposed, and liked him the better for it.
‘Not a German!’ he repeated. ‘Why I thought—’
‘My husband was a German,’ she told him. ‘I am an Austrian – a Viennese. But you have not told me yet what profession is yours.’
‘I am a gentleman of leisure,’ he replied with a half-ashamed grin. ‘I was in the Guards, but resigned my commission. There is not much fun in soldiering in peacetime.’
‘You would like a war?’ she asked quietly.
‘Heaven forbid!’ he cried earnestly. ‘I hope there will never be another war.’
‘My feelings are exactly as yours in that matter,’ she declared. ‘Another war would be too terrible to contemplate.’
For some minutes she spoke lightly with several people who had strolled up, while Foster rose and stood impatiently waiting for them to go. His impatience was not assumed. He wanted to have her to himself in order that he could gradually allow her to see that he was becoming infatuated with her. His desire to be alone with her was not altogether from a sense of his duty. She fascinated him; he found her a very charming companion. It seemed, however, that his wishes were doomed to disappointment. No sooner did one person or party wander away than another approached. At last, when they were again alone for a few seconds, very daringly he suggested that they should seek a place free from interruption.
‘I have never met anyone quite like you, Baroness,’ he explained hastily, ‘and I should very much like to be able to talk to you without others constantly butting in. It’s horribly selfish of me, I know, and please tell me if you think I have stopped with you long enough.’
While he was speaking her eyebrows rose slightly, and he feared for a horrible moment that he had offended her. Then she smiled gloriously, and rose.
‘You shall find a quiet spot,’ she agreed, ‘but I cannot give up too much time to you, Mr Foster. I have a duty to my host and hostess which I must not neglect. Where shall we go?’
Rather surprised that she had acquiesced but decidedly elated, he led her out into the gardens, which had been decorated with innumerable little coloured electric lights and in which cane chairs and tables had been placed. Many of the guests had sought relief out there from the heat of the crowded rooms, but Foster found two chairs and a little table in a secluded position in the midst of a clump of rhododendrons. The early June moon looked placidly down from a clear sky, like a benevolent deity keeping watch and ward over puny mankind. The baroness sank into her chair, with a little sigh of pleasure; accepted a cigarette from her companion.
‘It is delightful out here,’ she decided; then, after a short pause; ‘So you have no profession. That is a great pity, Mr Foster.’
‘I suppose you think I am a waster,’ he murmured ruefully.
‘No; I do not think that. It would be foolish of me if I did. It does not require great perception to know that you have much character and many good qualities. But like many of the young men of these times you regard life from a wrong angle. You are too quiescent – I think that is the word I need. A little while ago you spoke of the men who continue to hold the power in their hands, and keep younger and more energetic men out. You like others, resent it. Yet you take no steps to alter these things.’
‘What steps could we take short of staging something like a revolution?’
‘It would need no revolution to force the men in power to recognise you and your rights. Supposing that all the men in this country below the age of fifty, no matter what profession is theirs, united together and demanded recognition, what would the result be? Why, my friend, the government would no longer remain in the hands of those who have grown old and weary, the army and navy would not be controlled by officers who lack energy and enterprise because age had taken its toll of them; the courts would not be presided over by judges and magistrates whose minds were no longer alert. The same thing would apply to all other professions and trades. The young would hold all predominant posts. I do not mean the too young. A man is at his best from the age of thirty until fifty – perhaps to fifty-five. After that he should be content to retire, and make way for a younger personality. After all, when one has worked hard for thirty years, one deserves to enjoy leisure. It is in my mind that there would be little unemployment if fifty-five were universally considered the retiring age. There would be no necessity for what you call the dole. The money put aside for that would be paid out in pensions to those who had worked hard and deserved it. I feel that you young men who grumble are to be blamed. You would only have to assert yourselves in unity to obtain your rights. It is not fair to scoff at the lack of enterprise in those who hold the power, when you yourselves are so much unenterprising as to permit them to do so.’
‘I suppose you are right, Baroness,’ agreed Foster, thinking at the same time that he, at least, was a member of a service – perhaps the most enterprising and successful in the world – which was entirely controlled and in the hands of comparatively young men. The oldest member of the staff was Maddison, then about forty-six. Sir Leonard Wallace himself, he knew, had recently only reached his thirty-eighth birthday. Perhaps, however, it was unfair to think of the Secret Service as a shining example of youthful enterprise, when it was a profession in which only youngish men could be expected to succeed. The hazardous nature of its demands, the strain, the difficulties could only be faced and endured by men physically and mentally in perfect condition. Foster felt a little bit ashamed at having given the baroness the impression that he had no profession. The more he learnt to know her, the more he hated deceiving her. He wondered what she would think if she discovered the truth. ‘But in your own country,’ he went on, ‘there are many men holding important positions who are well over the age of fifty-five.’
‘If you are referring to Germany,’ she returned a trifle coldly, ‘I wish you to remember that it is not my country.’
‘But—’ he commenced, and paused for a moment abashed. He wondered why she persisted in her assertion that she was not a German. ‘You do not consider,’ he queried presently, ‘that your marriage to a gentleman of German nationality made you of that race?’
She shrugged her dainty shoulders.
‘According to law – yes, but not otherwise. I am an Austrian, and very proud of it, Mr Foster, even though my poor country has been divided up and impoverished until it is almost obliterated. The heart of Austria still beats fervently and firmly, and you must not think, like so many people, that Austria and Germany are names very nearly synonymous. But to resume our discussion, you say there are many men holding important positions in Germany who are over fifty-five years of age. You are incorrect to say many. It is certain that there are fewer than in this country. Those who govern are nearly all young men.’
‘What about the President?’ he asked.
‘Ah!’ she exclaimed, and he could see the gleam of her little white teeth, as she smiled. ‘He is little but a figurehead. A great man – that was. He is content now to leave all to a younger and more virile man.’
‘The Chancellor is a great friend of yours, is he not?’ asked Foster greatly daring.
She was silent for a while.
‘Yes,’ she murmured at length ‘he and I are very good friends. He is an Austrian also,’ she added, as though in explanation.
‘But not, I think,’ he remarked quietly, ‘as fervent an Austrian as Baroness von Reudath.’
‘Perhaps not,’ she agreed. ‘He could hardly be expected to be under the circumstances.’
They were silent for some moments.
‘I wonder,’ ventured Foster at length, ‘why you have been so kind to a dull nonentity, as to sit out here with him, when there are so many interesting men and women present only too anxious to claim your attention.’
‘I do not consider you a nonentity at all Mr Foster,’ she replied, adding frankly: ‘I like you, otherwise I would not have come here with you. Perhaps also I am a little tired of talking politics and entering into the tortuous paths of diplomatic conversation. You see I am not trying to hide from you the fact, which is well known, that I have been concerned in political affairs in Germany. It would be a useless evasion, would it not? I am well aware that at the reception tonight are many who would like me to talk of Germany in the hope of learning something from me. Out here with you I am free from that, at peace, and in very pleasant company.’
‘It is nice of you to say that,’ he murmured.
‘It is nice of you,’ she corrected gently, ‘to spend your time with me when, I am sure, there are many charming girls anxious for your society.’
‘There are none here half as charming or as beautiful as you, Baroness,’ he whispered.
She laughed softly.
‘S’sh! Do not pay me such compliments – I like sincerity in my friends. Compliments without sincerity are very cheap, Mr Foster.’
‘What I said was sincere – nothing could be more so, Baroness,’ he assured her earnestly. ‘I meant every word.’
‘So …’ She was silent for a moment, and he thought to hear a little sigh. ‘I believe you,’ she murmured presently. ‘Thank you, my friend. Now we must return to the house. I am afraid we have already stayed away from the others too long.’ They rose, and she took his arm. ‘I had almost forgotten I am young also,’ she confided. ‘You have made me remember.’
‘I am glad,’ he told her with simple sincerity. ‘Presently I shall be separated from you by more important people. Before I am forced to take leave of you, may I make a request, Baroness?’
‘Of course. What is it?’
‘I badly want to call on you. May I?’
She turned her face towards him and, in the moonlight and the illumination cast by the little lamps, he saw that she was smiling gloriously.
‘I shall not forgive you, if you do not,’ she vowed. ‘As perhaps you know, I am staying at the Carlton. I shall expect you tomorrow at four, Mr Foster.’