Home > Authors Index > E. Phillips Oppenheim > Pawns Count > This page
The Pawns Count, a fiction by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
||
CHAPTER XXXII |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ Lutchester breathed the air of Washington and felt almost homesick. The stateliness of the city, its sedate and quiescent air after the turmoil of New York, impressed him profoundly. Everywhere its diplomatic associations made themselves felt. Congress was in session, and the faces of the men whom he met continually in the hotels and restaurants seemed to him some index of the world power which flung its far-reaching arms from beneath the Capitol dome. One afternoon a few days after his arrival he called at the Hastings' house, a great Colonial mansion within a stone's throw of his own headquarters. The mention of his name, however, seemed to chill all the hospitality out of the smiling face of the southern butler who answered his ring. Miss Van Teyl was out, and from the man's manner it was obvious that Miss Van Teyl would continue to be out for a very long time. Lutchester retraced his steps to the British Embassy, where he had spent most of the morning, and made his way to the sitting-room of one of the secretaries. The Honourable Philip Downing, who was eagerly waiting for a cable recalling him to take up a promised commission, welcomed him heartily. "Things are slack here to-day, old fellow. Let's go out to the Country Club and have a few sets of tennis or a game of golf, whichever you prefer," he suggested. "I've done my little lot till the evening." "Show on to-night, isn't there?" Lutchester inquired. "Just a reception. You're going to put in an appearance?" "I fancy so. Have you got your list of guests handy?" The young man dived into a drawer and produced a few typewritten sheets. "Alphabetical list of acceptances, with here and there a few personal notes," he pointed out, with an air of self-satisfaction. "I go through this list with the chief while he's changing for dinner." Lutchester ran his forefinger down the list. "Senator Theodore and Mrs. Hastings," he quoted. "By the bye, they have a niece staying with them." "Want a card for her?" the Honourable Philip inquired with a grin. "I should like it sent off this moment," Lutchester replied. The young man took a square, gilt-edged card from a drawer by his side, filled it out at Lutchester's dictation, rang the bell, and dispatched it by special messenger. "I've got my little buzzer outside," he observed. "We'll make tracks for the club, if you're ready." The two men played several sets of tennis and afterwards lounged in two wicker chairs, underneath a gigantic plane tree in a corner of the lawn. The place was crowded, and Philip Downing was an excellent showman. "Washington," he explained, "has never been so divided into opposite camps, and this is almost the only common meeting ground. Every one has to come here, of course. The German Staff play tennis and the Austrians all go in for polo. Here comes Ziduski. He's most fearfully popular with the ladies here--does us a lot of harm, they say. He's a great sticker for etiquette. He used to nod and call me Phil. Now you watch. He'll bow from his waist, as though he had corsets on. As a matter of fact, he's a good sportsman." Count Ziduski's bow was stiff enough but his intention was obvious. He stopped before the two men, exchanged a somewhat stilted greeting with Philip Downing, and turned to Lutchester. "I believe," he said, "that I have the honour of addressing Mr. Lutchester?" Lutchester rose to his feet. "That is my name," he admitted. "We have met in Rome, I think, and in Paris," the Count reminded him. "If I might beg for the favour of a few moments' conversation with you." The two men strolled away together. The Count plunged at once into the middle of things. "It is you, sir, I believe, whom I have to thank for the abrupt departure of Mademoiselle Sonia from New York?" "Quite true," Lutchester admitted. "Under different circumstances," the Count proceeded, "I might regard such interference in my affairs in a different manner. Here, of course, that is impossible. I speak to you out of regard for the lady in question. You appear in some mysterious manner to have discovered the fact that she was in the habit of bringing entirely unimportant and non-political messages from dear friends in France." "Mademoiselle Sonia," Lutchester said calmly, "had for a brief space of time forgotten herself. She was engaged in carrying out espionage work on your behalf. I believe I may say that she will do so no more." The Count was a man of medium height, thin, with complexion absolutely colourless, and deep-set, tired eyes. At this moment, however, he seemed endowed with the spirit of a new virility. The cane which he grasped might have been a dagger. His smooth tones nursed a threat. "Mr. Lutchester," he declared, "if harm should come to her through your information, I swear to God that you shall pay!" Lutchester's manner was mild and unprovocative. "Count," he replied, "we make no war upon women. Sonia has repented, and the knowledge which I have of her misdeeds will be shared by no one. She has gone back to her country to work for the Red Cross there. So far as I am concerned, that is the end." The two men walked a few steps further in unbroken silence. Then the Count raised his hat. "Mr. Lutchester," he said, "yours is the reply of an honourable enemy. I might have trusted you, but Sonia is half of my life. I offer you my thanks." He strolled away, and Lutchester rejoined his young friend. "The lion and the lamb seem to have parted safely!" the latter exclaimed. "Now sit by my side and I will show you interesting things. Those four irreproachable young men over there in tennis flannels are all from the German Embassy. The two elder ones behind are Austrians. All those women are the wives of Senators who sympathise with Germany. Their husbands look like it, don't they? To-day they have an addition to their ranks--the thin, elderly man there, whose clothes were evidently made in London. That's Senator Hastings. He is a personal friend of the President. Jove, what a beautiful girl with Mrs. Hastings!" "That," Lutchester told him, "is the young lady to whom you have just sent a card of invitation for to-night." "Then here's hoping that she comes," Philip Downing observed, finishing his glass of mint julep. "Is she a pal of yours?" "Yes, I know her," Lutchester admitted. "Let's go and butt in, then," Downing suggested. "I love breaking up these little gatherings. You'll see them all stiffen when we come near. I hope they haven't got hold of Hastings, though." The two men rose to their feet and crossed the lawn. Fischer, who had suddenly appeared in the background, whispered something in Mrs. Hastings' ear. She swung around to Pamela, a second too late. Pamela, with a word of excuse to the young man with whom she was talking, stepped away from the circle and held out her hand to Lutchester. "So you have really come to Washington!" she exclaimed. "As a rescuer," Lutchester replied. "I feel that I have a mission. We cannot afford to lose your sympathies. May I introduce Philip Downing?" Pamela shook hands with the young man and took her place between them. "I've been envying you your seat under the tree," she said. "Couldn't we go there for a few moments?" Mrs. Hastings detached herself and approached them. She received Philip Downing's bow cordially, and she was almost civil to Lutchester. "I can't have my niece taken away," she protested. "We are just going in to tea, Pamela." Pamela shook her head. "I am going to sit under that tree with Mr. Lutchester and Mr. Downing," she declared. "Tea doesn't attract me in the least, and that tree does." Mrs. Hastings accepted defeat with a somewhat cynical gracefulness. She closed her lorgnette with a little snap. "You leave us all desolated, my dear Pamela," she said. "You remind me of what your poor dear father used to say--'Almost any one could live with Pamela if she always had her own way.'" Pamela laughed as she strolled across the lawn. "Aren't one's relatives trying!" she murmured. _ |
||