CHAPTER V. AN AFFAIR OF STATE
Miss Penelope Morse was perfectly well aware that the taxicab in whichshe left the Carlton Hotel was closely followed by two others. Throughthe tube which she found by her side, she altered her first instructionsto the driver, and told him to proceed as fast as possible to Harrod'sStores. Then, raising the flap at the rear of the cab, she watched theprogress of the chase. Along Pall Mall the taxi in which she was seatedgained considerably, but in the Park and along the Bird Cage Walk boththe other taxies, risking the police regulations, drew almost alongside.Once past Hyde Park Corner, however, her cab again drew ahead, and whenshe was deposited in front of Harrod's Stores, her pursuers were out ofsight. She paid the driver quickly, a little over double his fare.
"If any one asks you questions," she said, "say that you hadinstructions to wait here for me. Go on to the rank for a quarter of anhour. Then you can drive away."
"You won't be coming back, then, miss?" the man asked.
"I shall not," she answered, "but I want those men who are followingme to think that I am. They may as well lose a little time for theirrudeness."
The chauffeur touched his hat and obeyed his instructions. Miss PenelopeMorse plunged into the mazes of the Stores with the air of one towhom the place is familiar. She did not pause, however, at any of thecounters. In something less than two minutes she had left it again by aback entrance, stepped into another taxicab which was just setting downa passenger, and was well on her way back towards Pall Mall. Her ruseappeared to have been perfectly successful. At any rate, she saw nothingmore of the occupants of the two taxicabs.
She stopped in front of one of the big clubs and, scribbling a line onher card, gave it to the door keeper.
"Will you find out if this gentleman is in?" she said. "If he is, willyou kindly ask him to step out and speak to me?"
She returned to the cab and waited. In less than five minutes a tall,broad-shouldered young man, clean-shaven, and moving like an athlete,came briskly down the steps. He carried a soft hat in his hand, anddirectly he spoke his transatlantic origin was apparent.
"Penelope!" he exclaimed. "Why, what on earth--"
"My dear Dicky," she interrupted, laughing at his expression, "you neednot look so displeased with me. Of course, I know that I ought not tohave come and sent a message into your club. I will admit at once thatit was very forward of me. Perhaps when I have told you why I did so,you won't look so shocked."
"I'm glad to see you, anyway," he declared. "There's no bad news, Ihope?"
"Nothing that concerns us particularly," she answered. "I simply want tohave a little talk with you. Come in here with me, please, at once. Wecan ride for a short distance anywhere."
"But I am just in the middle of a rubber of bridge," he objected.
"It can't be helped," she declared. "To tell you the truth, the matter Iwant to talk to you about is of more importance than any game of cards.Don't be foolish, Dicky. You have your hat in your hand. Step in here bymy side at once."
He looked a little bewildered, but he obeyed her, as most people didwhen she was in earnest. She gave the driver an address somewhere in thecity. As soon as they were off, she turned towards him.
"Dicky," she said, "do you read the newspapers?"
"Well, I can't say that I do regularly," he answered. "I read the NewYork Herald, but these London journals are a bit difficult, aren't they?One has to dig the news out,--sort of treasure-hunt all the time."
"You have read this murder case, at any rate," she asked, "about the manwho was killed in a special train between Liverpool and London?"
"Of course," he answered, with a sudden awakening of interest. "Whatabout it?"
"A good deal," she answered slowly. "In the first place, the man who wasmurdered--Mr. Hamilton Fynes--comes from the village where I was broughtup in Massachusetts, and I know more about him, I dare say, than anyone else in this country. What I know isn't very much, perhaps, but it'sinteresting. I was to have lunched with him at the Carlton today; infact, I went there expecting to do so, for I am like you--I scarcelyever look inside these English newspapers. Well, I went to the Carltonand waited and he did not come. At last I went into the office and askedwhether he had arrived. Directly I mentioned his name, it was as thoughI had thrown a bomb shell into the place. The clerk called me on oneside, took me into a private office, and showed me a newspaper. Assoon as I had read the account, I was interviewed by an inspector fromScotland Yard. Ever since then I have been followed about by reporters."
The young man whistled softly.
"Say, Penelope!" he exclaimed. "Who was this fellow, anyhow, and whatwere you doing lunching with him?"
"That doesn't matter," she answered. "You don't tell me all yoursecrets, Mr. Dicky Vanderpole, and it isn't necessary for me to tell youall mine, even if we are both foreigners in a strange country. The poorfellow isn't going to lunch with any one else in this world. I supposeyou are thinking what an indiscreet person I am, as usual?"
The young man considered the matter for a moment.
"No," he said; "I didn't understand that he was the sort of personyou would have been likely to have taken lunch with. But that isn't myaffair. Have you seen the second edition?"
The girl shook her head.
"Haven't I told you that I never read the papers? I only saw what theyshowed me in at the Carlton."
"The Press Association have cabled to America, but no one seems to beable to make out exactly who the fellow is. His letter to the captain ofthe steamer was from the chairman of the company, and his introductionto the manager of the London and North Western Railway Company was fromthe greatest railway man in the world. Mr. Hamilton Fynes must havebeen a person who had a pretty considerable pull over there. Curiouslyenough, though, only the name of the man was mentioned in them; nothingabout his business, or what he was doing over on this side. He wassimply alluded to as 'Mr. Hamilton Fynes--the gentleman bearing thiscommunication.' I expect, after all, that you know more about him thanany one."
She shook her head.
"What I know," she said, "or at least most of it, I am going totell you. A few years ago he was a clerk in a Government office inWashington. He was steady in those days, and was supposed to have ahead. He used to write me occasionally. One day he turned up in Londonquite unexpectedly. He said that he had come on business, and whateverhis business was, it took him to St. Petersburg and Berlin, and thenback to Berlin again. I saw quite a good deal of him that trip."
"The dickens you did!" he muttered.
Miss Penelope Morse laughed softly.
"Come, Dicky," she said, "don't pretend to be jealous. You're anoutrageous flirt, I know, but you and I are never likely to getsentimental about one another."
"Why not?" he grumbled. "We've always been pretty good pals, haven'twe?"
"Naturally," she answered, "or I shouldn't be here. Do you want to hearanything more about Mr. Hamilton Fynes?"
"Of course I do," he declared.
"Well, be quiet, then, and don't interrupt," she said. "I knew Londonwell and he didn't. That is why, as I told you before, we saw quitea great deal of one another. He was always very reticent about hisaffairs, and especially about the business which had taken him on theContinent. Just before he left, however, he gave me--well, a hint."
"What was it?" the young man asked eagerly.
She hesitated.
"He didn't put it into so many words," she said, "and I am not sure,even now, that I ought to tell you, Dicky. Still, you are a fellowcountryman and a budding diplomatist. I suppose if I can give you a liftI ought to."
The taxi was on the Embankment now, and they sped along for some time insilence. Mr. Richard Vanderpole was more than a little puzzled.
"Of course, Penelope," he said, "I don't expect you to tell me anythingwhich you feel that you oughtn't to. There is one thing, however, whichI must ask you."
She nodded.
"Well?"
"I should like to know what the mischief my be
ing in the diplomaticservice has to do with it?"
"If I explained that," she answered, "I should be telling you everythingI haven't quite made up my mind to do that yet."
"Tell me this?" he asked. "Would that hint which he dropped when he washere last help you to solve the mystery of his murder?"
"It might," she admitted.
"Then I think," he said, "apart from any other reason, you ought to tellsomebody. The police at present don't seem to have the ghost of a clue."
"They are not likely to find one," she answered, "unless I help them."
"Say, Penelope," he exclaimed, "you are not in earnest?"
"I am," she assured him. "It is exactly as I say. I believe I am one ofthe few people who could put the police upon the right track."
"Is there any reason why you shouldn't?" he asked.
"That's just what I can't make up my mind about," she told him."However, I have brought you out with me expecting to hear something,and I am going to tell you this. That last time he came to England--thetime he went to St. Petersburg and twice to Berlin--he came ongovernment business."
The young man looked, for a moment, incredulous.
"Are you sure of that, Pen?" he asked. "It doesn't sound like ourpeople, you know, does it?"
"I am quite sure," she declared confidently. "You are a very youthfuldiplomat, Dicky, but even you have probably heard of governments whoemploy private messengers to carry despatches which for various reasonsthey don't care to put through their embassies."
"Why, that's so, of course, over on this side," he agreed. "TheseEuropean nations are up to all manner of tricks. But I tell you frankly,Pen, I never heard of anything of the sort being done from Washington."
"Perhaps not," she answered composedly. "You see, things have developedwith us during the last twenty-five years. The old America had onlyone foreign policy, and that was to hold inviolate the Monroe doctrine.European or Asiatic complications scarcely even interested her. Thosetimes have passed, Dicky. Cuba and the Philippines were the start ofother things. We are being drawn into the maelstrom. In another tenyears we shall be there, whether we want to be or not."
The young man was deeply interested.
"Well," he admitted, "there's a good deal in what you say, Penelope. Youtalk about it all as though you were a diplomat yourself."
"Perhaps I am," she answered calmly. "A stray young woman like myselfmust have something to occupy her thoughts, you know."
He laughed.
"That's not bad," he asserted, "for a girl whom the New York Heralddeclared, a few weeks ago, to be one of the most brilliant young womenin English society."
She shrugged her shoulders scornfully.
"That's just the sort of thing the New York Herald would say," sheremarked. "You see, I have to get a reputation for being smart andsaying bright things, or nobody would ask me anywhere. PennilessAmerican young women are not too popular over here."
"Marry me, then," he suggested amiably. "I shall have plenty of moneysome day."
"I'll see about it when you're grown up," she answered. "Just atpresent, I think we'd better return to the subject of Hamilton Fynes."
Mr. Richard Vanderpole sighed, but seemed not disinclined to follow hersuggestion.
"Harvey is a silent man, as you know," he said thoughtfully, "and hekeeps everything of importance to himself. At the same time these littlematters get about in the shop, of course, and I have never heard of anydespatches being brought across from Washington except in the usual way.Presuming that you are right," he added after a moment's pause, "andthat this fellow Hamilton Fynes really had something for us, that wouldaccount for his being able to get off the boat and securing his specialtrain so easily. No one can imagine where he got the pull."
"It accounts, also," Penelope remarked, "for his murder!"
Her companion started.
"You haven't any idea--" he began.
"Nothing so definite as an idea," she interrupted. "I am not going sofar as to say that. I simply know that when a man is practically thesecret agent of his government, and is probably carrying despatchesof an important nature, that an accident such as he has met with, in acountry which is greatly interested in the contents of those despatches,is a somewhat serious thing."
The young man nodded.
"Say," he admitted "you're dead right. The Pacific cruise, and ourrelations with Japan, seem to have rubbed our friends over herealtogether the wrong way. We have irritations enough already to smoothover, without anything of this sort on the carpet."
"I am going to tell you now," she continued, leaning a little towardshim, "the real reason why I fetched you out of the club this afternoonand have brought you for this little expedition. The last time I lunchedwith Mr. Hamilton Fynes was just after his return from Berlin. Heintrusted me then with a very important mission. He gave me a letter todeliver to Mr. Blaine Harvey."
"But I don't understand!" he protested. "Why should he give you theletter when he was in London himself?"
"I asked him that question myself, naturally," she answered. "He told methat it was an understood thing that when he was over here on businesshe was not even to cross the threshold of the Embassy, or hold anydirect communication with any person connected with it. Everything hadto be done through a third party, and generally in duplicate. Therewas another man, for instance, who had a copy of the same letter, but Inever came across him or even knew his name."
"Gee whiz!" the young man exclaimed. "You're telling me things, and nomistake! Why this fellow Fynes made a secret service messenger of you!"
Penelope nodded.
"It was all very simple," she said. "The first Mrs. Harvey, who wasalive then, was my greatest friend, and I was in and out of the placeall the time. Now, perhaps, you can understand the significance ofthat marconigram from Hamilton Fynes asking me to lunch with him at theCarlton today."
Mr. Richard Vanderpole was sitting bolt upright, gazing steadily ahead.
"I wonder," he said slowly, "what has become of the letter which he wasgoing to give you!"
"One thing is certain," she declared. "It is in the hands of those whoseinterests would have been affected by its delivery."
"How much of this am I to tell the chief?" the young man asked.
"Every word," Penelope answered. "You see, I am trying to give youa start in your career. What bothers me is an entirely differentquestion."
"What is it?" he asked.
She laid her hand upon his arm.
"How much of it I shall tell to a certain gentleman who calls himselfInspector Jacks!"