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For the Queen - ebook
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For the Queen - ebook
A novel written in 1912. These are good Victorian or Edward tales about representatives of the English upper class who are engaged in uncovering crimes, espionage, good deeds and shrouded by secrets. Some of these stories Oppenheim continued to develop in full novels. Others are short master classes with sketches, character and description. Unlike many of his stories, the ending for a couple of them is more acute or sad than usual.
| Kategoria: | Classic Literature |
| Język: | Angielski |
| Zabezpieczenie: |
Watermark
|
| ISBN: | 978-83-8148-251-6 |
| Rozmiar pliku: | 2,5 MB |
FRAGMENT KSIĄŻKI
I. FOR THE QUEEN
“YOU are–Milord Cravon?”
I admitted the fact meekly, but with a lamentable absence of dignity, being, indeed, too utterly amazed for coherency. Whereupon my visitor raised her veil, flashed a brilliant smile upon me and sat down.
"I was sure of it,” she remarked, speaking with great fluency, but with a strong foreign accent. “Milord’s likeness to his brother is remarkable. I am very fortunate to discover you so early. It is but half an hour since I reached London.”
That she had discovered me was obvious, but how or why was more than I could imagine. She was a complete stranger to me, she had entered my rooms unannounced, and the little French clock upon my mantelpiece had just struck midnight. However, she had mentioned my brother! I spoke of him at once.
"You know Reggie, then?” I inquired.
"I have met Mr. Reginald Lessingham once or twice,” she admitted.
"At Marianburg?”
"At Marianburg–and elsewhere!”
"You have come from there?” I asked.
She nodded, and loosened her travelling cloak.
"I left Marianburg,” she said, “exactly forty hours ago. It is rapid travelling, is it not? I am very tired and very hungry. If your servants have not all gone to bed, may I have some supper, please, and a glass of wine? Anything will do!”
I secretly pinched myself and then rang the bell. I had not fallen to sleep over my pipe and final whisky and Apollinaris. This remarkable and mysterious invasion of my solitude was an undoubted fact. By the time Groves appeared my visitor had removed her hat and was contemplating the arrangement of her hair in the mirror. Groves, who was a model servant, gave a momentary start of surprise and then looked steadily into vacancy. He received my confused orders in eloquent but respectful silence.
"Some supper, Groves–for one. Anything cold, and some wine!”
He disappeared. My companion succeeded in the replacement of a refractory curl, and with a parting glance at the mirror resumed her seat. I rose to my feet and began to collect my scattered wits.
"Do I understand,” I began, “that you bring me a message from my brother?”
She shook her head.
"I have met your brother,” she said, “but I have never yet spoken with him. He certainly does not know me or who I am.”
I opened my lips to ask her bluntly what had brought her to my rooms at such an hour, but the words remained unspoken. Now that her hat was removed I was suddenly conscious that she was an exceedingly pretty woman. She lounged in my most comfortable chair perfectly at her ease, a charming smile upon her lips, her dark eyes meeting mine frankly and lit with a distinct gleam of humour. She was becomingly dressed, and although the dust of travel was upon her shoes and clothes, the details and finish of her toilette were sufficiently piquant to indicate her nationality. She was distinctly a very attractive woman. I felt my annoyance at her unexpected appearance decrease as my curiosity concerning her grew.
"Did I understand,” I began, after a few moments’ silence,” that you had come from Marianburg to see me?”
She laughed outright, and showed a set of perfectly white teeth. It was a dazzling smile, and the teeth were magnificent.
"Not altogether, Milord Cravon. I have come on a matter of very great importance, though, and you are concerned in it.”
I signified my interest and my desire to hear more. She seemed in no hurry, however, to complete her explanation.
"I am so hungry!” she remarked, with pathetic irrelevance.
I moved to the bell, but at that moment Groves re-entered, bearing a small table. He silently but deftly arranged some cold things upon the sideboard and produced wine and a corkscrew. “You need not wait, Groves,” I said, avoiding his eyes. “Bring in some coffee when I ring.” He left the room and I proceeded to the sideboard.
"What may I give you?” I asked. “There is some collared stuff, cold salmon, and galantine.”
"I will see,” she answered, rising and coming to my side, “which looks the nicest!”
She made a selection, and was kind enough to express her approval of the result.
"Champagne or claret?” I asked.
"Champagne, if you please–one glass! Thank you. Now sit down and go on smoking, and I will talk to you.”
I obeyed her. She was obviously a young woman who was used to having her own way, and it seemed to be the easiest thing to do.
"In the first place,” she remarked, with something which sounded like a sigh, “who am I? It is what you want to know, eh? I would very much rather not tell you, Milord Cravon; for when you know, perhaps you will be sorry that you have been kind to me! Hélas!”
I moved in my chair uncomfortably, and murmured an insane desire that she would not needlessly distress herself by unnecessary revelations. She brushed my words aside. She was forced to declare herself.
"I am,” she said, “a spy!”
"A what?” I cried.
"A spy! You understand–a creature of the police. It is you English, is it not, who detest so much the detective, who do not recognize the art of espionage?”
"By no means,” I answered. “On the contrary, undertaken for the right motives and by the right class of man or woman, it is a magnificent profession, or, rather, I should call it a science!”
"You are right,” she cried fervently, “Milord Cravon! You are charming! You are the most intelligent Englishman I have ever met!”
I bowed and waved my hand.
"It is a profession,” I continued, “which as yet is “only in its infancy. It demands ingenuity, invention and originality. To succeed in it one must be an artist. The lights and shadows of human nature must become a close and constant study.”
"Milord Cravon,” she cried, lifting a glass of champagne in her hand, “you are adorable!”
"The prejudices you spoke of,” I continued, “are natural! As yet it is a profession which has been adopted only by persons of inferior calibre! It should be lifted to a place amongst the fine arts. I drink, Mademoiselle, to your calling with all respect and much enthusiasm!”
She leaned over and clinked the edge of her glass against my tumbler. Her eyes were very bright and her smile was bewitching. She was, I decided, the prettiest woman I had ever seen in my life!
"Milord Cravon,” she murmured softly, “you are the most delightful man in the world!”
"And now,” I remarked, “suppose you tell me in what I am to have the honour of serving you.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
"You have not heard, “she asked, “from your brother Reginald?”
"Not for more than a week,” I answered. “Is anything wrong with him?”
She glanced at the clock.
"In a few minutes,” she said, “he will be here!” I looked up, startled.
"What, here in England!” I exclaimed; “ Reggie?”
She nodded.
"Yes. He is in trouble!”
"In trouble! Of what sort?”
"He will tell you himself. It will be better so.”
I rose to my feet, worried and anxious.
"You say that Reggie is in trouble, is coming here!” I said. “You are in the service of the police of Marianburg. Does that mean that you have followed him?”
She shook her head.
"No. The police of Marianburg are on his side. I am here as an ally, I am here to help him. You too, Milord Cravon, must help, for it is great trouble into which Mr. Reginald has fallen!”
A smothered groan from behind her startled us both. The cigarette which I had just lit dropped from my fingers and lay smoking upon the floor. A minute before I could have sworn that we were alone in the room, but at some time or other during our conversation the man who stood before us must have made his noiseless entrance. No wonder that we were taken by surprise! Only two of the electric lights were burning, and the room was full of shadows. Standing amongst them, with his fiercely bright eyes fixed upon us, was a young man whose features, in those first few moments of half-alarmed surprise, were only vaguely familiar to me. His face was the face of a boy, smooth and beardless, but its intense pallor and the black lines underneath his bloodshot eyes had transfigured him. His evening clothes were all awry, his white tie had slipped up behind his ear, the flower in his coat was crushed into a shapeless pulp, his shirt was crumpled and his clothes were splashed with mud. He stood a grim, dramatic figure, only a few yards away from our touch, glaring at us like a wild animal face to face with its captors.
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked for thirty seconds or more, and still my lips were sealed. For years people had told that my brother, Reggie Lessingham, was one of the smartest and most debonair young men in Europe. Was it any wonder that recognition dawned but slowly upon me?
My companion was naturally the first to recover herself. Indeed, after her little exclamation of dismay at his sudden appearance, she seemed to treat Reggie’s presence as a matter of course. But for my part it was a terrible shock to me.
"Reggie!” I cried. “What–what in the name of all that’s horrible is the matter, boy? Are you ill?”
He tottered rather than walked towards us, and stood still, with shaking hands resting upon the little table where my mysterious guest had been supping. He looked first at her and then at me, but when he opened his mouth to speak no words came–only a harsh, dry rattle from the back of his throat. He was like a man whom torture had driven to the furthermost bounds of insanity.
I caught up a tumbler, and filling it with champagne, forced some between his lips. He drank it with a little gasp. I helped him into a chair, and drew it up to the fire. He was still shaking all over, but his appearance was more natural.
"Come! You look a different man now,” I said quietly. “What’s wrong? Tell me all about it. I thought that you were in Marianburg. Are you home on leave?”
He did not answer. He looked from the girl to me, and then into the fire. It seemed as though he had lost the power of speech. I gripped him by the shoulder.
"Have you been drinking, Reggie?” I cried. “Come, pull yourself together. Remember, I have heard nothing as yet.”
Still there was no answer. The burning light faded out from his bloodshot eyes. He sank back wearily in his chair–he was utterly exhausted by excitement and intense nervous strain. My visitor came softly over to my side.
"Make him tell you,” she whispered. “There is no time to be lost. He can tell you what has happened better than I can.”
I rested my hand upon his shoulder and spoke firmly.
"Reggie, old chap, “I said, “make a clean breast of it. Let me know the worst. Is anything wrong at headquarters–a row with the chief, eh? I shall stand by you; you can rely upon that. Come! out with it!”
Reggie looked up at us with white face and trembling lips. He was in a terrible state.
"Close the door, Maurice,” he faltered.
I obeyed him. He followed me with his eyes, and then looked searchingly round the room. I began to fear that the boy’s brain had given way.
"You are Marie Lichenstein?” he said suddenly, addressing my guest.
She nodded.
"Yes. I know all about it. You can speak before me.”
"You were at Cologne?”
She nodded.
This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
“YOU are–Milord Cravon?”
I admitted the fact meekly, but with a lamentable absence of dignity, being, indeed, too utterly amazed for coherency. Whereupon my visitor raised her veil, flashed a brilliant smile upon me and sat down.
"I was sure of it,” she remarked, speaking with great fluency, but with a strong foreign accent. “Milord’s likeness to his brother is remarkable. I am very fortunate to discover you so early. It is but half an hour since I reached London.”
That she had discovered me was obvious, but how or why was more than I could imagine. She was a complete stranger to me, she had entered my rooms unannounced, and the little French clock upon my mantelpiece had just struck midnight. However, she had mentioned my brother! I spoke of him at once.
"You know Reggie, then?” I inquired.
"I have met Mr. Reginald Lessingham once or twice,” she admitted.
"At Marianburg?”
"At Marianburg–and elsewhere!”
"You have come from there?” I asked.
She nodded, and loosened her travelling cloak.
"I left Marianburg,” she said, “exactly forty hours ago. It is rapid travelling, is it not? I am very tired and very hungry. If your servants have not all gone to bed, may I have some supper, please, and a glass of wine? Anything will do!”
I secretly pinched myself and then rang the bell. I had not fallen to sleep over my pipe and final whisky and Apollinaris. This remarkable and mysterious invasion of my solitude was an undoubted fact. By the time Groves appeared my visitor had removed her hat and was contemplating the arrangement of her hair in the mirror. Groves, who was a model servant, gave a momentary start of surprise and then looked steadily into vacancy. He received my confused orders in eloquent but respectful silence.
"Some supper, Groves–for one. Anything cold, and some wine!”
He disappeared. My companion succeeded in the replacement of a refractory curl, and with a parting glance at the mirror resumed her seat. I rose to my feet and began to collect my scattered wits.
"Do I understand,” I began, “that you bring me a message from my brother?”
She shook her head.
"I have met your brother,” she said, “but I have never yet spoken with him. He certainly does not know me or who I am.”
I opened my lips to ask her bluntly what had brought her to my rooms at such an hour, but the words remained unspoken. Now that her hat was removed I was suddenly conscious that she was an exceedingly pretty woman. She lounged in my most comfortable chair perfectly at her ease, a charming smile upon her lips, her dark eyes meeting mine frankly and lit with a distinct gleam of humour. She was becomingly dressed, and although the dust of travel was upon her shoes and clothes, the details and finish of her toilette were sufficiently piquant to indicate her nationality. She was distinctly a very attractive woman. I felt my annoyance at her unexpected appearance decrease as my curiosity concerning her grew.
"Did I understand,” I began, after a few moments’ silence,” that you had come from Marianburg to see me?”
She laughed outright, and showed a set of perfectly white teeth. It was a dazzling smile, and the teeth were magnificent.
"Not altogether, Milord Cravon. I have come on a matter of very great importance, though, and you are concerned in it.”
I signified my interest and my desire to hear more. She seemed in no hurry, however, to complete her explanation.
"I am so hungry!” she remarked, with pathetic irrelevance.
I moved to the bell, but at that moment Groves re-entered, bearing a small table. He silently but deftly arranged some cold things upon the sideboard and produced wine and a corkscrew. “You need not wait, Groves,” I said, avoiding his eyes. “Bring in some coffee when I ring.” He left the room and I proceeded to the sideboard.
"What may I give you?” I asked. “There is some collared stuff, cold salmon, and galantine.”
"I will see,” she answered, rising and coming to my side, “which looks the nicest!”
She made a selection, and was kind enough to express her approval of the result.
"Champagne or claret?” I asked.
"Champagne, if you please–one glass! Thank you. Now sit down and go on smoking, and I will talk to you.”
I obeyed her. She was obviously a young woman who was used to having her own way, and it seemed to be the easiest thing to do.
"In the first place,” she remarked, with something which sounded like a sigh, “who am I? It is what you want to know, eh? I would very much rather not tell you, Milord Cravon; for when you know, perhaps you will be sorry that you have been kind to me! Hélas!”
I moved in my chair uncomfortably, and murmured an insane desire that she would not needlessly distress herself by unnecessary revelations. She brushed my words aside. She was forced to declare herself.
"I am,” she said, “a spy!”
"A what?” I cried.
"A spy! You understand–a creature of the police. It is you English, is it not, who detest so much the detective, who do not recognize the art of espionage?”
"By no means,” I answered. “On the contrary, undertaken for the right motives and by the right class of man or woman, it is a magnificent profession, or, rather, I should call it a science!”
"You are right,” she cried fervently, “Milord Cravon! You are charming! You are the most intelligent Englishman I have ever met!”
I bowed and waved my hand.
"It is a profession,” I continued, “which as yet is “only in its infancy. It demands ingenuity, invention and originality. To succeed in it one must be an artist. The lights and shadows of human nature must become a close and constant study.”
"Milord Cravon,” she cried, lifting a glass of champagne in her hand, “you are adorable!”
"The prejudices you spoke of,” I continued, “are natural! As yet it is a profession which has been adopted only by persons of inferior calibre! It should be lifted to a place amongst the fine arts. I drink, Mademoiselle, to your calling with all respect and much enthusiasm!”
She leaned over and clinked the edge of her glass against my tumbler. Her eyes were very bright and her smile was bewitching. She was, I decided, the prettiest woman I had ever seen in my life!
"Milord Cravon,” she murmured softly, “you are the most delightful man in the world!”
"And now,” I remarked, “suppose you tell me in what I am to have the honour of serving you.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
"You have not heard, “she asked, “from your brother Reginald?”
"Not for more than a week,” I answered. “Is anything wrong with him?”
She glanced at the clock.
"In a few minutes,” she said, “he will be here!” I looked up, startled.
"What, here in England!” I exclaimed; “ Reggie?”
She nodded.
"Yes. He is in trouble!”
"In trouble! Of what sort?”
"He will tell you himself. It will be better so.”
I rose to my feet, worried and anxious.
"You say that Reggie is in trouble, is coming here!” I said. “You are in the service of the police of Marianburg. Does that mean that you have followed him?”
She shook her head.
"No. The police of Marianburg are on his side. I am here as an ally, I am here to help him. You too, Milord Cravon, must help, for it is great trouble into which Mr. Reginald has fallen!”
A smothered groan from behind her startled us both. The cigarette which I had just lit dropped from my fingers and lay smoking upon the floor. A minute before I could have sworn that we were alone in the room, but at some time or other during our conversation the man who stood before us must have made his noiseless entrance. No wonder that we were taken by surprise! Only two of the electric lights were burning, and the room was full of shadows. Standing amongst them, with his fiercely bright eyes fixed upon us, was a young man whose features, in those first few moments of half-alarmed surprise, were only vaguely familiar to me. His face was the face of a boy, smooth and beardless, but its intense pallor and the black lines underneath his bloodshot eyes had transfigured him. His evening clothes were all awry, his white tie had slipped up behind his ear, the flower in his coat was crushed into a shapeless pulp, his shirt was crumpled and his clothes were splashed with mud. He stood a grim, dramatic figure, only a few yards away from our touch, glaring at us like a wild animal face to face with its captors.
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked for thirty seconds or more, and still my lips were sealed. For years people had told that my brother, Reggie Lessingham, was one of the smartest and most debonair young men in Europe. Was it any wonder that recognition dawned but slowly upon me?
My companion was naturally the first to recover herself. Indeed, after her little exclamation of dismay at his sudden appearance, she seemed to treat Reggie’s presence as a matter of course. But for my part it was a terrible shock to me.
"Reggie!” I cried. “What–what in the name of all that’s horrible is the matter, boy? Are you ill?”
He tottered rather than walked towards us, and stood still, with shaking hands resting upon the little table where my mysterious guest had been supping. He looked first at her and then at me, but when he opened his mouth to speak no words came–only a harsh, dry rattle from the back of his throat. He was like a man whom torture had driven to the furthermost bounds of insanity.
I caught up a tumbler, and filling it with champagne, forced some between his lips. He drank it with a little gasp. I helped him into a chair, and drew it up to the fire. He was still shaking all over, but his appearance was more natural.
"Come! You look a different man now,” I said quietly. “What’s wrong? Tell me all about it. I thought that you were in Marianburg. Are you home on leave?”
He did not answer. He looked from the girl to me, and then into the fire. It seemed as though he had lost the power of speech. I gripped him by the shoulder.
"Have you been drinking, Reggie?” I cried. “Come, pull yourself together. Remember, I have heard nothing as yet.”
Still there was no answer. The burning light faded out from his bloodshot eyes. He sank back wearily in his chair–he was utterly exhausted by excitement and intense nervous strain. My visitor came softly over to my side.
"Make him tell you,” she whispered. “There is no time to be lost. He can tell you what has happened better than I can.”
I rested my hand upon his shoulder and spoke firmly.
"Reggie, old chap, “I said, “make a clean breast of it. Let me know the worst. Is anything wrong at headquarters–a row with the chief, eh? I shall stand by you; you can rely upon that. Come! out with it!”
Reggie looked up at us with white face and trembling lips. He was in a terrible state.
"Close the door, Maurice,” he faltered.
I obeyed him. He followed me with his eyes, and then looked searchingly round the room. I began to fear that the boy’s brain had given way.
"You are Marie Lichenstein?” he said suddenly, addressing my guest.
She nodded.
"Yes. I know all about it. You can speak before me.”
"You were at Cologne?”
She nodded.
This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
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