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Jennie Baxter, Journalist

by Robert Barr · English · Gutenberg #9300 · 398,891 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Jennie Baxter, Journalist

Author: Robert Barr


        
Release date: November 1, 2005 [eBook #9300]
                Most recently updated: October 31, 2016

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JENNIE BAXTER, JOURNALIST ***




Produced by Juliet Sutherland, David Widger and PG
Distributed Proofreaders from images generously made
available by the Canadian Institute for Historical
Microreproductions






JENNIE BAXTER JOURNALIST


By Robert Barr


Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the
year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine.



CONTENTS

     I. JENNIE MAKES HER TOILETTE AND THE ACQUAINTANCE OF A PORTER

     II. JENNIE HAS IMPORTANT CONFERENCES WITH TWO IMPORTANT EDITORS

     III. JENNIE INTERVIEWS A FRIGHTENED OFFICIAL

     IV. JENNIE LEARNS ABOUT THE DIAMONDS OF THE PRINCESS

     V. JENNIE MEETS A GREAT DETECTIVE

     VI. JENNIE SOLVES THE DIAMOND MYSTERY

     VII. JENNIE ARRANGES A CINDERELLA VISIT

     VIII. JENNIE MIXES WITH THE ELITE OF EARTH

     IX. JENNIE REALIZES THAT GREAT EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEHIND

     X. JENNIE ASSISTS IN SEARCHING FOR HERSELF

     XI. JENNIE ELUDES AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE

     XII. JENNIE TOUCHES THE EDGE OF A GOVERNMENT SECRET

     XIII. JENNIE INDULGES IN TEA AND GOSSIP

     XIV. JENNIE BECOMES A SPECIAL POLICE OFFICER

     XV. JENNIE BESTOWS INFORMATION UPON THE CHIEF OF POLICE

     XVI. JENNIE VISITS A MODERN WIZARD IN HIS MAGIC ATTIC

     XVII. JENNIE ENGAGES A ROOM IN A SLEEPING-CAR

     XVIII. JENNIE ENDURES A TERRIBLE NIGHT JOURNEY

     XIX. JENNIE EXPERIENCES THE SURPRISE OF HER LIFE

     XX. JENNIE CONVERSES WITH A YOUNG MAN SHE THINKS MUCH OF

     XXI. JENNIE KEEPS STEP WITH THE WEDDING MARCH




CHAPTER I. JENNIE MAKES HER TOILETTE AND THE ACQUAINTANCE OF A PORTER.


Miss Jennie Baxter, with several final and dainty touches that put to
rights her hat and dress--a little pull here and a pat there--regarded
herself with some complacency in the large mirror that was set before
her, as indeed she had every right to do, for she was an exceedingly
pretty girl. It is natural that handsome young women should attire
themselves with extra care, and although Jennie would have been
beautiful under any conceivable condition of dress, she nevertheless did
not neglect the arraying of herself becomingly on that account. All that
was remarkable on this occasion consisted in the fact that she took more
than usual pains to make herself presentable, and it must be admitted
that the effect was as attractive as anyone could wish to have it. Her
appearance was enough to send a friend into ecstasies, or drive an enemy
to despair.

Jennie’s voluminous hair, without being exactly golden, was--as the
poets might term it--the colour of ripe corn, and was distractingly
fluffy at the temples. Her eyes were liquidly, bewitchingly black, of
melting tenderness, and yet, upon occasion, they would harden into
piercing orbs that could look right through a man, and seem to fathom
his innermost thoughts. A smooth, creamy complexion, with a touch of red
in the cheeks, helped to give this combination of blonde and brunette an
appearance so charmingly striking that it may be easily understood she
was not a girl to be passed by with a single glance. Being so favoured
by nature, Jennie did not neglect the aid of art, and it must be
admitted that most of her income was expended in seeing that her
wardrobe contained the best that Paris could supply; and the best in
this instance was not necessarily the most expensive--at least not as
expensive as such supplementing might have been to an ordinary woman,
for Jennie wrote those very readable articles on the latest fashionable
gowns which have appeared in some of the ladies’ weeklies, and it was
generally supposed that this fact did not cause her own replenishing
from the _modistes_ she so casually mentioned in her writings to be more
expensive than her purse could afford. Be that as it may, Miss Baxter
was always most becomingly attired, and her whole effect was so
entrancing that men have been known to turn in the street as she passed,
and murmur, “By Jove!” a phrase that, when you take into account the
tone in which it is said, represents the furthermost point of admiration
which the limited vocabulary of a man about town permits him to utter;
and it says something for the honesty of Jennie’s black eyes, and the
straightforwardness of her energetic walk, that none of these momentary
admirers ever turned and followed her.

On this occasion Miss Jennie had paid more than usual attention to her
toilette, for she was about to set out to capture a man, and the man was
no other than Radnor Hardwick, the capable editor of the _Daily Bugle_,
which was considered at that moment to be the most enterprising morning
journal in the great metropolis. Miss Baxter had done work for some
of the evening papers, several of the weeklies, and a number of the
monthlies, and the income she made was reasonably good, but hazardously
fitful. There was an uncertainty about her mode of life which was
displeasing to her, and she resolved, if possible, to capture an editor
on one of the morning papers, and get a salary that was fixed and
secure. That it should be large was a matter of course, and pretty Miss
Jennie had quite enough confidence in herself to believe she would earn
every penny of it. Quite sensibly, she depended upon her skill and her
industry as her ultimate recommendation to a large salary, but she was
woman enough to know that an attractive appearance might be of some
assistance to her in getting a hearing from the editor, even though he
should prove on acquaintance to be a man of iron, which was tolerably
unlikely. She glanced at the dainty little watch attached to her
wristlet, and saw that it lacked a few minutes of five. She knew the
editor came to his office shortly after three, and remained there until
six or half-past, when he went out to dine, returning at ten o’clock, or
earlier, when the serious work of arranging next day’s issue began. She
had not sent a note to him, for she knew if she got a reply it would be
merely a request for particulars as to the proposed interview, and she
had a strong faith in the spoken word, as against that which is written.
At five o’clock the editor would have read his letters, and would
probably have seen most of those who were waiting for him, and
Miss Baxter quite rightly conjectured that this hour would be more
appropriate for a short conversation than when he was busy with his
correspondence, or immersed in the hard work of the day, as he would be
after ten o’clock at night. She had enough experience of the world to
know that great matters often depend for their success on apparent
trivialities, and the young woman had set her mind on becoming a member
of the _Daily Bugle_ staff.

She stepped lightly into the hansom that was waiting for her, and said
to the cabman, “Office of the _Daily Bugle_, please; side entrance.”

The careful toilette made its first impression upon the surly-looking
Irish porter, who, like a gruff and faithful watch-dog, guarded the
entrance to the editorial rooms of the _Bugle_. He was enclosed in a
kind of glass-framed sentry-box, with a door at the side, and a small
arched aperture that was on a level with his face as he sat on a high
stool. He saw to it, not too politely, that no one went up those stairs
unless he had undoubted right to do so. When he caught a glimpse of Miss
Baxter, he slid off the stool and came out of the door to her, which
was an extraordinary concession to a visitor, for Pat Ryan contented
himself, as a usual thing, by saying curtly that the editor was busy,
and could see no one.

“What did you wish, miss? To see the editor? That’s Mr. Hardwick. Have
ye an appointment with him? Ye haven’t; then I very much doubt if ye’ll
see him this day, mum. It’s far better to write to him, thin ye can
state what ye want, an’ if he makes an appointment there’ll be no
throuble at all, at all.”

“But why should there be any trouble now?” asked Miss Baxter. “The
editor is here to transact business, just as you are at the door to do
the same. I have come on business, and I want to see him. Couldn’t you
send up my name to Mr. Hardwick, and tell him I will keep him but a few
moments?”

“Ah, miss, that’s what they all say; they ask for a few moments an’ they
shtay an hour. Not that there’d be any blame to an editor if he kept you
as long as he could. An’ it’s willing I’d be to take up your name, but
I’m afraid that it’s little good it ‘ud be after doin’ ye. There’s more
than a dozen men in the waitin’-room now, an’ they’ve been there for
the last half-hour. Not a single one I’ve sent up has come down again.”

“But surely,” said Miss Jennie, in her most coaxing tone, “there must be
some way to see even such a great man as the editor, and if there is,
you know the way.”

“Indade, miss, an’ I’m not so sure there is a way, unless you met him in
the strate, which is unlikely. As I’ve told ye, there’s twelve men now
waitin’ for him in the big room. Beyont that room there’s another one,
an’ beyont that again is Mr. Hardwick’s office. Now, it’s as much as my
place is worth, mum, to put ye in that room beyont the one where the
men are waitin’; but, to tell you the truth, miss,” said the Irishman,
lowering his voice, as if he were divulging office secrets, “Mr.
Hardwick, who is a difficult man to deal with, sometimes comes through
the shmall room, and out into the passage whin he doesn’t want to see
anyone at all, at all, and goes out into the strate, leavin’ everybody
waitin’ for him. Now I’ll put ye into this room, and if the editor tries
to slip out, then ye can speak with him; but if he asks ye how ye got
there, for the sake of hiven don’t tell him I sint ye, because that’s
not my duty at all, at all.”

“Indeed, I won’t tell him how I got there; or, rather, I’ll say I came
there by myself; so all you need to do is to show me the door, and there
won’t need to be any lies told.

“True for ye, an’ a very good idea. Well, miss, then will ye just come
up the stairs with me? It’s the fourth door down the passage.”

Miss Jennie beamed upon the susceptible Irishman a look of such melting
gratitude that the man, whom bribery had often attempted to corrupt in
vain, was her slave for ever after. They went up the stairs together, at
the head of which the porter stood while Miss Baxter went down the long
passage and stopped at the right door; Ryan nodded and disappeared.

Miss Baxter opened the door softly and entered. She found the room not
too brilliantly lighted, containing a table and several chairs. The door
to the right hand, which doubtless led into the waiting-room, where the
dozen men were patiently sitting, was closed. The opposite door, which
led into Mr. Hardwick’s office, was partly open. Miss Baxter sat down
near the third door, the one by which she had entered from the passage,
ready to intercept the flying editor, should he attempt to escape.

In the editor’s room someone was walking up and down with heavy
footfall, and growling in a deep voice that was plainly audible where
Miss Jennie sat. “You see, Alder, it’s like this,” said the voice. “Any
paper may have a sensation every day, if it wishes; but what I want is
accuracy, otherwise our sheet has no real influence. When an article
appears in the _Bugle_, I want our readers to understand that that
article is true from beginning to end. I want not only sensation, but
definiteness and not only definiteness, but absolute truth.”

“Well, Mr. Hardwick,” interrupted another voice--the owner of which was
either standing still or sitting in a chair, so far as Miss Baxter could
judge by the tone, while the editor uneasily paced to and fro--“what
Hazel is afraid of is that when this blows over he will lose his
situation--”

“But,” interjected the editor, “no one can be sure that he gave the
information. No one knows anything about this but you and I, and we will
certainly keep our mouths shut.”

“What Hazel fears is that the moment we print the account, the Board of
Public Construction will know he gave away the figures, because of their
accuracy. He says that if we permit him to make one or two blunders,
which will not matter in the least in so far as the general account
goes, it will turn suspicion from him. It will be supposed that someone
had access to the books, and in the hurry of transcribing figures
had made the blunders, which they know he would not do, for he has a
reputation for accuracy.”

“Quite so,” said the editor; “and it is just that reputation--for
accuracy--that I want to gain for the _Daily Bugle_. Don’t you think the
truth of it is that the man wants more money?”

“Who? Hazel?”

“Certainly. Does he imagine that he could get more than fifty pounds
elsewhere?”

“Oh, no; I’m sure the money doesn’t come into the matter at all. Of
course he wants the fifty pounds, but he doesn’t want to lose his
situation on the Board of Public Construction in the getting of it.”

“Where do you meet this man, at his own house, or in his office at the
Board?”

“Oh, in his own house, of course.”

“You haven’t seen the books, then?”

“No; but he has the accounts all made out, tabulated beautifully, and
has written a very clear statement of the whole transaction. You
understand, of course, that there has been no defalcation, no
embezzlement, or anything of that sort. The accounts as a whole
balance perfectly, and there isn’t a penny of the public funds wrongly
appropriated. All the Board has done is to juggle with figures so that
each department seems to have come out all right, whereas the truth is
that some departments have been carried on at a great profit, while with
others there has been a loss. The object obviously has been to deceive
the public and make it think that all the departments are economically
conducted.”

“I am sorry money hasn’t been stolen,” said the editor generously, “then
we would have had them on the hip; but, even as it is, the _Bugle_ will
make a great sensation. What I fear is that the opposition press will
seize on those very inaccuracies, and thus try to throw doubt on the
whole affair. Don’t you think that you can persuade this person to let
us have the information intact, without the inclusion of those blunders
he seems to insist on? I wouldn’t mind paying him a little more money,
if that is what he is after.”

“I don’t think that is his object. The truth is, the man is frightened,
and grows more and more so as the day for publication approaches. He is
so anxious about his position that he insisted he was not to be paid by
cheque, but that I should collect the money and hand it over to him in
sovereigns.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what to do, Alder. We mustn’t seem too eager. Let
the matter rest where it is until Monday. I suppose he expects you to
call upon him again to-day?”

“Yes; I told him I should be there at seven.”

“Don’t go, and don’t write any explanation. Let him transfer a little of
his anxiety to the fear of losing his fifty pounds. I want, if possible,
to publish this information with absolute accuracy.”

“Is there any danger, Mr. Hardwick, that some of the other papers may
get on the track of this?”

“No, I don’t think so; not for three days, anyway. If we appear too
eager, this man Hazel may refuse us altogether.”

“Very good, sir.”

Miss Baxter heard the editor stop in his walk, and she heard the
rustling of paper, as if the subordinate were gathering up some
documents on which he had been consulting his chief. She was
panic-stricken to think that either of the men might come out and find
her in the position of an eavesdropper, so with great quietness she
opened the door and slipped out into the hall, going from there to the
entrance of the ordinary waiting-room, in which she found, not the
twelve men that the porter had expatiated upon, but five. Evidently the
other seven had existed only in the porter’s imagination, or had become
tired of waiting and had withdrawn. The five looked up at her as she
entered and sat down on a chair near the door. A moment later the door
communicating with the room she had quitted opened, and a clerk came in.
He held two or three slips of paper in his hand, and calling out a name,
one of the men rose.

“Mr. Hardwick says,” spoke up the clerk, “that this matter is in Mr.
Alder’s department; would you mind seeing him? Room number five.”

So that man was thus got rid of. The clerk mentioned another name, and
again a man rose.

“Mr. Hardwick,” the clerk said, “has the matter under consideration.
Call again to-morrow at this hour, then he will give you his decision.”

That got rid of number two. The third man was asked to leave his name
and address; the editor would write to him. Number four was told that
if he would set down his proposition in writing, and send it in to Mr.
Hardwick, it would have that gentleman’s serious consideration. The
fifth man was not so easily disposed of. He insisted upon seeing the
editor, and presently disappeared inside with the clerk. Miss Baxter
smiled at the rapid dispersion of the group, for it reminded her of the
rhyme about the one little, two little, three little nigger-boys. But
all the time there kept running through her mind the phrase, “Board of
Public Construction,” and the name, “Hazel.”

After a few minutes, the persistent man who had insisted upon seeing the
editor came through the general waiting-room, the secretary, or clerk,
or whoever he was, following him.

“Has your name been sent in, madam?” the young man asked Miss Baxter, as
she rose. “I think not,” answered the girl. “Would you take my card to
Mr. Hardwick, and tell him I will detain him but a few moments?”

In a short time the secretary reappeared, and held the door open for
her.




CHAPTER II. JENNIE HAS IMPORTANT CONFERENCES WITH TWO IMPORTANT EDITORS.


Mr. Hardwick was a determined-looking young man of about thirty-five,
with a bullet head and closely-cropped black hair. He looked like a
stubborn, strong-willed person, and Miss Baxter’s summing up of him was
that he had not the appearance of one who could be coaxed or driven
into doing anything he did not wish to do. He held her card between his
fingers, and glanced from it to her, then down to the card again.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hardwick,” began Miss Baxter. “I don’t know that
you have seen any of my work, but I have written a good deal for some of
the evening papers and for several of the magazines.”

“Yes,” said Hardwick, who was standing up preparatory to leaving his
office, and who had not asked the young woman to sit down; “your name is
familiar to me. You wrote, some months since, an account of a personal
visit to the German Emperor; I forget now where it appeared.”

“Oh, yes,” said Miss Baxter; “that was written for the _Summer
Magazine_, and was illustrated by photographs.”

“It struck me,” continued Hardwick, without looking at her, “that it was
an article written by a person who had never seen the German Emperor,
but who had collected and assimilated material from whatever source
presented itself.”

The young woman, in nowise abashed, laughed; but still the editor did
not look up.

“Yes,” she admitted, “that is precisely how it was written. I never have
had the pleasure of meeting William II. myself.”

“What I have always insisted upon in work submitted to me,” growled the
editor in a deep voice, “is absolute accuracy. I take it that you have
called to see me because you wish to do some work for this paper.”

“You are quite right in that surmise also,” answered Miss Jennie.
“Still, if I may say so, there was nothing inaccurate in my article
about the German Emperor. My compilation was from thoroughly authentic
sources, so I maintain it was as truthfully exact as anything that has
ever appeared in the _Bugle_.”

“Perhaps our definitions of truth might not quite coincide. However, if
you will write your address on this card I will wire you if I have any
work--that is, any outside work--which I think a woman can do. The
woman’s column of the _Bugle_, as you are probably aware, is already in
good hands.”

Miss Jennie seemed annoyed that all her elaborate preparations were
thrown away on this man, who never raised his eyes nor glanced at her,
except once, during their conversation.

“I do not aspire,” she said, rather shortly, “to the position of editor
of a woman’s column. I never read a woman’s column myself, and, unlike
Mr. Grant Allen, I never met a woman who did.”

She succeeded in making the editor lift his eyes towards her for the
second time.

“Neither do I intend to leave you my address so that you may send a wire
to me if you have anything that you think I can do. What I wish is a
salaried position on your staff.”

“My good woman,” said the editor brusquely, “that is utterly impossible.
I may tell you frankly that I don’t believe in women journalists. The
articles we publish by women are sent to this office from their own
homes. Anything that a woman can do for a newspaper I have men who will
do quite as well, if not better; and there are many things that women
can’t do at all which men must do. I am perfectly satisfied with my
staff as it stands, Miss Baxter.”

“I think it is generally admitted,” said the young woman, “that your
staff is an exceptionally good one, and is most capably led. Still, I
should imagine that there are many things happening in London, society
functions, for instance, where a woman would describe more accurately
what she saw than any man you could send. You have no idea how full of
blunders a man’s account of women’s dress is as a general rule, and if
you admire accuracy as much as you say, I should think you would not
care to have your paper made a laughing-stock among society ladies, who
never take the trouble to write you a letter and show you where you are
wrong, as men usually do when some mistake regarding their affairs is
made.”

“There is probably something in what you say,” replied the editor, with
an air of bringing the discussion to a close. “I don’t insist that I am
right, but these are my ideas, and while I am editor of this paper I
shall stand by them, so it is useless for us to discuss the matter
any further, Miss Baxter. I will not have a woman as a member of the
permanent staff of the _Bugle_.”

For the third time he looked up at her, and there was dismissal in his
glance.

Miss Baxter said indignantly to herself, “This brute of a man hasn’t the
slightest idea that I am one of the best dressed women he has ever met.”

But there was no trace of indignation in her voice when she said to him
sweetly, “We will take that as settled. But if upon some other paper,
Mr. Hardwick, I should show evidence of being as good a newspaper
reporter as any member of your staff, may I come up here, and, without
being kept waiting too long, tell you of my triumph?”

“You would not shake my decision,” he said.

“Oh, don’t say that,” she murmured, with a smile. “I am sure you
wouldn’t like it if anyone called you a fool.”

“Called me a fool?” said the editor sharply, drawing down his dark
brows. “I shouldn’t mind it in the least.”

“What, not if it were true? You know it would be true, if I could do
something that all your clever men hadn’t accomplished. An editor may
be a very talented man, but, after all, his mission is to see that his
paper is an interesting one, and that it contains, as often as possible,
something which no other sheet does.”

“Oh, I’ll see to that,” Mr. Hardwick assured her with resolute
confidence.

“I am certain you will,” said Miss Baxter very sweetly; “but now you
won’t refuse to let me in whenever I send up my card? I promise you that
I shall not send it until I have done something which will make the
whole staff of the _Daily Bugle_ feel very doleful indeed.”

For the first time Mr. Hardwick gave utterance to a somewhat harsh and
mirthless laugh.

“Oh, very well,” he said, “I’ll promise that.”

“Thank you! And good afternoon, Mr. Hardwick. I am _so_ much obliged
to you for consenting to see me. I shall call upon you at this hour
to-morrow afternoon.”

There was something of triumph in her smiling bow to him, and as she
left she heard a long whistle of astonishment in Mr. Hardwick’s room.
She hurried down the stairs, threw a bewitching glance at the Irish
porter, who came out of his den and whispered to her,--

“It’s all right, is it, mum?”

“More than all right,” she answered. “Thank you very much indeed for
your kindness.”

The porter preceded her out to the waiting hansom and held his arm so
that her skirt would not touch the wheel.

“Drive quickly to the Cafe Royal,” she said to the cabman.

When the hansom drew up in front of the Cafe Royal, Miss Jennie Baxter
did not step put of it, but waited until the stalwart servitor in gold
lace, who ornamented the entrance, hurried from the door to the vehicle.
“Do you know Mr. Stoneham?” she asked with suppressed excitement, “the
editor of the _Evening Graphite_? He is usually here playing dominoes
with somebody about this hour.”

“Oh yes, I know him,” was the reply. “I think he is inside at this
moment, but I will make certain.”

In a short time Mr. Stoneham himself appeared, looking perhaps a trifle
disconcerted at having his whereabouts so accurately ascertained.

“What a blessing it is,” said Miss Jennie, with a laugh, “that we poor
reporters know where to find our editors in a case of emergency.”

“This is no case of emergency, Miss Baxter,” grumbled Stoneham. “If it’s
news, you ought to know that it is too late to be of any use for us
to-day.”

“Ah, yes,” was the quick reply, “but what excellent time I am in with
news for to-morrow!”

“If a man is to live a long life,” growled the disturbed editor, “he
must allow to-morrow’s news to look after itself. Sufficient for the day
are the worries thereof.”

“As a general rule that is true,” assented the girl, “but I have a most
important piece of information for you that wouldn’t wait, and in half
an hour from now you will be writing your to-morrow’s leader, showing
forth in terse and forcible language the many iniquities of the Board of
Public Construction.”

“Oh,” cried the editor, brightening, “if it is anything to the discredit
of the Board of Public Construction, I am glad you came.”

“Well, that’s not a bit complimentary to me. You should be glad in any
case; but I’ll forgive your bad manners, as I wish you to help me.
Please step into this hansom, because I have most startling intelligence
to impart--news that must not be overheard; and there is no place so
safe for a confidential conference as in a hansom driving through the
streets of London. Drive slowly towards the _Evening Graphite_ office,”
 she said to the cabman, pushing up the trap-door in the roof of the
vehicle. Mr. Stoneham took his place beside her, and the cabman turned
his horse in the direction indicated.

“There is little use in going to the office of the paper,” said
Stoneham; “there won’t be anybody there but the watchman.”

“I know, but we must go in some direction. We can’t talk in front of
the Café Royal, you know. Now, Mr. Stoneham, in the first place, I want
fifty golden sovereigns. How am I to get them within half an hour?”

“Good gracious! I don’t know; the banks are all closed, but there is a
man at Charing Cross who would perhaps change a cheque for me; there is
a cheque-book at the office.”

“Then that’s all right and settled. Mr. Stoneham, there’s been some
juggling with the accounts in the office of the Board of Public
Construction.”

“What! a defalcation?” cried Stoneham eagerly.

“No; merely a shifting round.”

“Ah,” said the editor, in a disappointed tone.

“Oh, you needn’t say ‘Ah.’ It’s very serious; it is indeed. The accounts
are calculated to deceive the dear and confiding public, to whose
interests all the daily papers, morning and evening, pretend to be
devoted. The very fact of such deception being attempted, Mr. Stoneham,
ought to call forth the anger of any virtuous editor.”

“Oh, it does, it does; but then it would be a difficult matter to prove.
If some money were gone, now----”

“My dear sir, the matter is already proved, and quite ripe for your
energetic handling of it; that’s what the fifty pounds are for. This
sum will secure for you--to-night, mind, not to-morrow--a statement
bristling with figures which the Board of Construction cannot deny. You
will be able, in a stirring leading article, to express the horror you
undoubtedly feel at the falsification of the figures, and your stern
delight in doing so will probably not be mitigated by the fact that no
other paper in London will have the news, while the matter will be
so important that next day all your beloved contemporaries will be
compelled to allude to it in some shape or other.”

“I see,” said the editor, his eyes glistening as the magnitude of the
idea began to appeal more strongly to his imagination. “Who makes this
statement, and how are we to know that it is absolutely correct?”

“Well, there is a point on which I wish to inform you before going any
further. The statement is not to be absolutely correct; two or
three errors have been purposely put in, the object being to throw
investigators off the track if they try to discover who gave the news to
the Press; for the man who will sell me this document is a clerk in the
office of the Board of Public Construction. So, you see, you are getting
the facts from the inside.”

“Is he so accustomed to falsifying accounts that he cannot get over the
habit even when preparing an article for the truthful Press?”

“He wants to save his own situation, and quite rightly too, so he has
put a number of errors in the figures of the department over which
he has direct control. He has a reputation for such accuracy that he
imagines the Board will never think he did it, if the figures pertaining
to his department are wrong even in the slightest degree.”

“Quite so. Then we cannot have the pleasure of mentioning his name, and
saying that this honest man has been corrupted by his association with
the scoundrels who form the Board of Public Construction?”

“Oh, dear, no; his name must not be mentioned in any circumstances, and
that is why payment is to be made in sovereigns rather than by bank
cheque or notes.”

“Well, the traitor seems to be covering up his tracks rather
effectually. How did you come to know him?”

“I don’t know him. I’ve never met him in my life; but it came to my
knowledge that one of the morning papers had already made all its plans
for getting this information. The clerk was to receive fifty pounds for
the document, but the editor and he are at present negotiating, because
the editor insists upon absolute accuracy, while, as I said, the man
wishes to protect himself, to cover his tracks, as you remarked.”

“Good gracious!” cried Stoneham, “I didn’t think the editor of any
morning paper in London was so particular about the accuracy of what he
printed. The pages of the morning sheets do not seem to reflect that
anxiety.”

“So, you see,” continued Miss Jennie, unheeding his satirical comment,
“there is no time to be lost; in fact, I should be on my way now to
where this man lives.”

“Here we are at the office, and I shall just run in and write a cheque
for fifty pounds, which we can perhaps get cashed somewhere,” cried the
editor, calling the hansom to a halt and stepping out.

“Tell the watchman to bring me a London Directory,” said the girl, and
presently that useful guardian came out with the huge red volume, which
Miss Baxter placed on her knees, and, with a celerity that comes of long
practice, turned over the leaves rapidly, running her finger quickly
down the H column, in which the name “Hazel” was to be found. At last
she came to one designated as being a clerk in the office of the Board
of Public Construction, and his residence was 17, Rupert Square,
Brixton. She put this address down in her notebook and handed back the
volume to the waiting watchman, as the editor came out with the cheque
in his hand.

The shrewd and energetic dealer in coins, whose little office stands at
the exit from Charing Cross Station, proved quite willing to oblige the
editor of the _Evening Graphite_ with fifty sovereigns in exchange for
the bit of paper, and the editor, handing to Miss Jennie the envelope
containing the gold, saw her drive off for Brixton, while he turned, not
to resume his game of dominoes at the café, but to his office, to write
the leader which would express in good set terms the horror he felt at
the action of the Board of Public Construction.




CHAPTER III. JENNIE INTERVIEWS A FRIGHTENED OFFICIAL.
It was a little past seven o’clock when Miss Baxter’s hansom drove up to
the two-storeyed house in Rupert Square numbered 17. She knocked at the
door, and it was speedily opened by a man with some trace of anxiety on
his clouded face, who proved to be Hazel himself, the clerk at the Board
of Public Construction. “You are Mr. Hazel?” she ventured, on entering.

“Yes,” replied the man, quite evidently surprised at seeing a lady
instead of the man he was expecting at that hour; “but I am afraid I
shall have to ask you to excuse me; I am waiting for a visitor who is a
few minutes late, and who may be here at any moment.”

“You are waiting for Mr. Alder, are you not?”

“Yes,” stammered the man, his expression of surprise giving place to one
of consternation.

“Oh, well, that is all right,” said Miss Jennie, reassuringly. “I have
just driven from the office of the _Daily Bugle_. Mr. Alder cannot come
to-night.”

“Ah,” said Hazel, closing the door. “Then are you here in his place?”

“I am here instead of him. Mr. Alder is on other business that he had to
attend to at the editor’s request. Now, Mr. Hardwick--that’s the editor,
you know----”

“Yes, I know,” answered Hazel.

They were by this time seated in the front parlour.

“Well, Mr. Hardwick is very anxious that the figures should be given
with absolute accuracy.”

“Of course, that would be much better,” cried the man; “but, you see, I
have gone thoroughly into the question with Mr. Alder already. He said
he would mention what I told him to the editor--put my position before
him, in fact.”

“Oh, he has done so,” said Miss Baxter, “and did it very effectively
indeed; in fact, your reasons are quite unanswerable. You fear, of
course, that you will lose your situation, and that is very important,
and no one in the _Bugle_ office wishes you to suffer for what you have
done. Of course, it is all in the public interest.”

“Of course, of course,” murmured Hazel, looking down on the table.

“Well, have you all the documents ready, so that they can be published
at any time?”

“Quite ready,” answered the man.

“Very well,” said the girl, with decision; “here are your fifty pounds.
Just count the money, and see that it is correct. I took the envelope as
it was handed to me, and have not examined the amount myself.”

She poured the sovereigns out on the table, and Hazel, with trembling
fingers, counted them out two by two.

“That is quite right,” he said, rising. He went to a drawer, unlocked
it, and took out a long blue envelope.

“There,” he said, with a sigh that was almost a gasp. “There are the
figures, and a full explanation of them. You will be very careful that
my name does not slip out in any way.”

“Certainly,” said Miss Jennie, coolly drawing forth the papers from
their covering. “No one knows your name except Mr. Alder, Mr. Hardwick,
and myself; and I can assure you that I shall not mention it to anyone.”

She glanced rapidly over the documents.

“I shall just read what you have written,” she said, looking up at him;
“and if there is anything here I do not understand you will, perhaps,
be good enough to explain it now,--and then I won’t need to come here
again.”

“Very well,” said Hazel. The man had no suspicion that his visitor was
not a member of the staff of the paper he had been negotiating with. She
was so thoroughly self-possessed, and showed herself so familiar with
all details which had been discussed by Alder and himself that not the
slightest doubt had entered the clerk’s mind.

Jennie read the documents with great haste, for she knew she was running
a risk in remaining there after seven o’clock. It might be that Alder
would come to Brixton to let the man know the result of his talk with
the editor, or Mr. Hardwick himself might have changed his mind, and
instructed his subordinate to secure the papers. Nevertheless, there was
no sign of hurry in Miss Jennie’s demeanour as she placed the papers
back in their blue envelope and bade the anxious Hazel good-bye.

Once more in the hansom, she ordered the man to drive her to Charing
Cross, and when she was ten minutes away from Rupert Square she changed
her direction and desired him to take her to the office of the _Evening
Graphite_, where she knew Mr. Stoneham would be busy with his leading
article, and probably impatiently awaiting further details of the
conspiracy he was to lay open before the public. A light was burning in
the editorial rooms of the office of the _Evening Graphite_, always a
suspicious thing in such an establishment, and well calculated to cause
the editor of any rival evening paper to tremble, should he catch a
glimpse of burning gas in a spot where the work of the day should be
finished at latest by five o’clock. Light in the room of the evening
journalist usually indicates that something important is on hand.

A glance at the papers Miss Baxter brought to him showed Mr. Stoneham
that he had at least got the worth of his fifty pounds. There would be a
fluttering in high places next day. He made arrangements before he
left to have the paper issued a little earlier than was customary,
calculating his time with exactitude, so that rival sheets could not
have the news in their first edition, cribbed from the _Graphite_,
and yet the paper would be on the street, with the newsboys shouting,
“‘Orrible scandal,” before any other evening journal was visible.
And this was accomplished the following day with a precision truly
admirable.

Mr. Stoneham, with a craft worthy of all commendation, kept back from
the early issue a small fraction of the figures that were in his
possession, so that he might print them in the so-called fourth edition,
and thus put upon the second lot of contents--bills sent out, in huge,
startling black type, “Further Revelations of the Board of Construction
Scandal;” and his scathing leading article, in which he indignantly
demanded a Parliamentary inquiry into the conduct of the Board, was
recognized, even by the friends of that public body, as having seriously
shaken confidence in it. The reception of the news by the other evening
papers was most flattering. One or two ignored it altogether, others
alluded to it as a rumour, that it “alleged” so and so, and threw doubt
on its truth, which was precisely what Mr. Stoneham wished them to do,
as he was in a position to prove the accuracy of his statement.

Promptly, at five o’clock that afternoon a hansom containing Miss Jennie
Baxter drove up to the side entrance of the _Daily Bugle_ office, and
the young woman once more accosted the Irish porter, who again came out
of his den to receive her.

“Miss Baxter?” said the Irishman, half by way of salutation, and half by
way of inquiry. “Yes,” said the girl.

“Well, Mr. Hardwick left strict orders with me that if ye came, or,
rather, that _whin_ ye came, I was to conduct ye right up to his room at
once.”

“Oh, that is very satisfactory,” cried Miss Jennie, “and somewhat
different from the state of things yesterday.”

“Indeed, and that’s very true,” said the porter, his voice sinking.
“To-day is not like yesterday at all, at all. There’s been great
ructions in this office, mum; although what it’s about, fly away with me
if I know. There’s been ruunin’ back and forrad, an’ a plentiful deal of
language used. The proprietor himself has been here, an’ he’s here now,
an’ Mr. Alder came out a minute ago with his face as white as a sheet of
paper. They do be sayin’,” added the porter, still further lowering his
voice, and pausing on the stairway, “that Mr. Hardwick is not goin’ to
be the editor any more, but that Mr. Alder is to take his place. Anyway,
as far as I can tell, Mr. Hardwick an’ Mr. Alder have had a fine fall
out, an’ one or other of them is likely to leave the paper.”

“Oh, dear, oh, dear!” said Miss Jennie, also pausing on the stairs. “Is
it so serious as all that?”

“Indeed it is, mum, an’ we none of us know where we’re standin’, at all,
at all.”

The porter led the way to Mr. Hardwick’s room, and announced the
visitor.

“Ask her to come in,” she heard the editor say, and the next instant the
porter left them alone together.

“Won’t you sit down, Miss Baxter?” said Mr. Hardwick, with no trace of
that anger in his voice which she had expected. “I have been waiting for
you. You said you would be here at five, and I like punctuality. Without
beating round the bush, I suppose I may take it for granted that the
_Evening Graphite_ is indebted to you for what it is pleased to call the
Board of Public Construction scandal?”

“Yes,” said the young woman, seating herself; “I came up to tell you
that I procured for the _Graphite_ that interesting bit of information.”

“So I supposed. My colleague, Henry Alder, saw Hazel this afternoon at
the offices of the Board. The good man Hazel is panic-stricken at the
explosion he has caused, and is in a very nervous state of mind, more
especially when he learned that his documents had gone to an unexpected
quarter. Fortunately for him, the offices of the Board are thronged
with journalists who want to get statements from this man or the other
regarding the exposure, and so the visit of Alder to Hazel was not
likely to be noticed or commented upon. Hazel gave a graphic description
of the handsome young woman who had so cleverly wheedled the documents
from him, and who paid him the exact sum agreed upon in the exact way
that it was to have been paid. Alder had not seen you, and has not the
slightest idea how the important news slipped through his fingers; but
when he told me what had happened, I knew at once you were the goddess
of the machine, therefore I have been waiting for you. May I be
permitted to express the opinion that you didn’t play your cards at all
well, Miss Baxter?”

“No? I think I played my cards very much better than you played yours,
you know.”

“Oh, I am not instituting any comparison, and am not at all setting
myself up as a model of strategy. I admit that, having the right cards
in my hands, I played them exceedingly badly; but then, you understand,
I thought I was sure of an exclusive bit of news.”

“No news is exclusive, Mr. Hardwick, until it is printed, and out in the
streets, and the other papers haven’t got it.”

“That is very true, and has all the conciseness of an adage. I would
like to ask, Miss Baxter, how much the _Graphite_ paid you for that
article over and above the fifty pounds you gave to Hazel?”

“Oh! it wasn’t a question of money with me; the subject hasn’t even been
discussed. Mr. Stoneham is not a generous paymaster, and that is why I
desire to get on a paper which does not count the cost too closely. What
I wished to do was to convince you that I would be a valuable addition
to the _Bugle_ staff; for you seemed to be of opinion that the staff was
already sufficient and complete.”

“Oh, my staff is not to blame in this matter; I alone am to blame in
being too sure of my ground, and not realizing the danger of delay in
such a case. But if you had brought the document to me, you would have
found me by far your best customer. You would have convinced me quite as
effectually as you have done now that you are a very alert young woman,
and I certainly would have been willing to give you four or five times
as much as the _Graphite_ will be able to pay.”

“To tell the truth, I thought of that as I stood here yesterday, but I
saw you were a very difficult man to deal with or to convince, and I
dared not take the risk of letting you know I had the news. You might
very easily have called in Mr. Alder, told him that Hazel had given up
the documents, and sent him flying to Brixton, where very likely the
clerk has a duplicate set. It would have been too late to get the
sensation into any other morning paper, and, even if it were not too
late, you would have had something about the sensation in the _Bugle_,
and so the victory would not have been as complete as it is now. No, I
could not take such a risk. I thought it all out very carefully.”

“You credit us with more energy, Miss Baxter, than we possess. I can
assure you that if you had come here at ten or eleven o’clock with the
documents, I should have been compelled to purchase them from you.
However, that is all past and done with, and there is no use in our
saying anything more about it. I am willing to take all the blame for
our defeat on my shoulders, but there are some other things I am not
willing to do, and perhaps you are in a position to clear up a little
misunderstanding that has arisen in this office. I suppose I may take it
for granted that you overheard the conversation which took place between
Mr. Alder and myself in this room yesterday afternoon?”

“Well,” said Miss Baxter, for the first time in some confusion, “I can
assure you that I did not come here with the intention of listening to
anything. I came into the next room by myself for the purpose of getting
to see you as soon as possible. While not exactly a member of the staff
of the _Evening Graphite_, that paper nevertheless takes about all the
work I am able to do, and so I consider myself bound to keep my eyes and
ears open on its behalf wherever I am.”

“Oh, I don’t want to censure you at all,” said Hardwick; “I merely wish
to be certain how the thing was done. As I said, I am willing to take
the blame entirely on my own shoulders. I don’t think I should have
made use of information obtained in that way myself; still, I am not
venturing to find fault with you for doing so.”

“To find fault with me!” cried Miss Jennie somewhat warmly, “that would
be the pot calling the kettle black indeed. Why, what better were you?
You were bribing a poor man to furnish you with statistics, which he
was very reluctant to let you have; yet you overcame his scruples with
money, quite willing that he should risk his livelihood, so long as you
got the news. If you ask me, I don’t see very much difference in our
positions, and I must say that if two men take the risk of talking aloud
about a secret, with a door open leading to another room, which may be
empty or may be not, then they are two very foolish persons.”

“Oh, quite so, quite so,” answered Hardwick soothingly. “I have already
disclaimed the critical attitude. The point I wish to be sure of is
this--you overheard the conversation between Alder and myself?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Would you be able to repeat it?”

“I don’t know that I could repeat it word for word, but I could
certainly give the gist of it.”

“Would you have any objection to telling a gentleman whom I shall call
in a moment, as nearly as possible what Alder said and what I said?
I may add that the gentleman I speak of is Mr. Hempstead, and he is
practically the proprietor of this paper. There has arisen between Mr.
Alder and myself a slight divergence of memory, if I may call it so, and
it seems that you are the only person who can settle the dispute.”

“I am perfectly willing to tell what I heard to anybody.”

“Thank you.”

Mr. Hardwick pressed an electric button, and his secretary came in from
another room.

“Would you ask Mr. Hempstead to step this way, if he is in his room?”

In a few minutes Mr. Hempstead entered, bowed somewhat stiffly towards
the lady, but froze up instantly when he heard that she was the person
who had given the Board of Public Construction scandal to the _Evening
Graphite_.

“I have just this moment learned, Mr. Hempstead, that Miss Baxter was in
the adjoining room when Alder and I were talking over this matter. She
heard the conversation. I have not asked her to repeat it, but sent for
you at once, and she says she is willing to answer any questions you may
ask.”

“In that case, Mr. Hardwick, wouldn’t it be well to have Henry Alder
here?”

“Certainly, if he is on the premises.” Then, turning to his secretary,
he said, “Would you find out if Mr. Alder is in his room? Tell him Mr.
Hempstead wishes to see him here.”

When Henry Alder came in, and the secretary had disappeared, Miss Baxter
saw at once that she was in an unenviable situation, for it was quite
evident the three men were scarcely on speaking terms with each other.
Nothing causes such a state of tension in a newspaper office as the
missing of a piece of news that is important.

“Perhaps it would be better,” suggested Hardwick, “if Miss Baxter would
repeat the conversation as she heard it.”

“I don’t see the use of that,” said Mr. Hempstead. “There is only one
point at issue. Did Mr. Alder warn Mr. Hardwick that by delay he would
lose the publication of this report?”

“Hardly that,” answered the girl. “As I remember it, he said, ‘Isn’t
there a danger that some other paper may get this?’ Mr. Hardwick
replied, ‘I don’t think so. Not for three days, at least’; and then Mr.
Alder said, ‘Very good,’ or ‘Very well,’ or something like that.”

“That quite tallies with my own remembrance,” assented Hardwick. “I
admit I am to blame, but I decidedly say that I was not definitely
warned by Mr. Alder that the matter would be lost to us.”

“I told you it would be lost if you delayed,” cried Alder, with the
emphasis of an angry man, “and it _has_ been lost. I have been on the
track of this for two weeks, and it is very galling to have missed it at
the last moment through no fault of my own.”

“Still,” said Mr. Hempstead coldly, “your version of the conversation
does not quite agree with what Miss Baxter says.”

“Oh, well,” said Alder, “I never pretended to give the exact words. I
warned him, and he did not heed the warning.”

“You admit, then, that Miss Baxter’s remembrance of the conversation is
correct?”

“It is practically correct. I do not ‘stickle’ about words.”

“But you did stickle about words an hour ago,” said Mr. Hempstead, with
some severity. “There is a difference in positively stating that the
item would be lost and in merely suggesting that it might be lost.”

“Oh, have it as you wish,” said Alder truculently. “It doesn’t matter in
the least to me. It is very provoking to work hard for two weeks, and
then have everything nullified by a foolish decision from the editor.
However, as I have said, it doesn’t matter to me. I have taken service
on the _Daily Trumpet_, and you may consider my place on the _Bugle_
vacant”--saying which, the irate Mr. Alder put his hat on his head and
left the room.

Mr. Hempstead seemed distressed by the discussion, but, for the first
time, Mr. Hardwick smiled grimly.

“I always insist on accuracy,” he said, “and lack of it is one of
Alder’s failings.”

“Nevertheless, Mr. Hardwick, you have lost one of your best men. How are
you going to replace him?” inquired the proprietor anxiously.

“There is little difficulty in replacing even the best man on any staff
in London,” replied Hardwick, with a glance at Miss Baxter. “As this
young lady seems to keep her wits about her when the welfare of her
paper is concerned, I shall, if you have no objection, fill Henry
Alder’s place with Miss Baxter?”

Mr. Hempstead arched his eyebrows a trifle, and looked at the girl in
some doubt.

“I thought you didn’t believe in women journalists, Mr. Hardwick,” he
murmured at last.

“I didn’t up till to-day, but since the evening papers came out I have
had reason to change my mind. I should much rather have Miss Baxter for
me than against me.”

“Do you think you can fill the position, Miss Baxter?” asked the
proprietor, doubtingly.

“Oh, I, am sure of it,” answered the girl. “I have long wanted a place
on a well-edited paper like the _Bugle_.” Again Mr. Hardwick smiled
grimly. The proprietor turned to him, and said, “I don’t quite see,
Mr. Hardwick, what a lady can do on this paper outside of the regular
departments.”

“I hardly think there will be any trouble about that, Mr. Hempstead. For
example, who could be better equipped to attempt the solution of that
knotty question about the Princess von Steinheimer’s diamonds?”

“By Jove!” cried Hempstead, his eyes glittering with excitement. “That
is an inspiration. I imagine that if anyone can unravel the mystery, it
is Miss Baxter.”




CHAPTER IV. JENNIE LEARNS ABOUT THE DIAMONDS OF THE PRINCESS.


“What about the diamonds of the Princess?” asked Miss Baxter, her
curiosity piqued by the remark of the editor.

“That is rather a long story,” replied Mr. Hardwick, “and before I begin
it, I would like to ask you one or two questions. Can you manipulate a
typewriter?”

“That depends on what make it is. The ordinary typewriter I understand
very thoroughly.”

“Good. Have you any knowledge of shorthand?”

“A workable knowledge; I can write about one hundred words a minute.”

“Admirable! admirable! Your coming to this office was indeed an
inspiration, as Mr. Hempstead remarked. You are just the person I have
been looking for.”

“You didn’t seem to think so yesterday, Mr. Hardwick,” said the girl
with a sly glance at him.

“Well, many things have happened since yesterday. We are now dealing
with to-day, and with the Princess von Steinheimer.”

“She is a German princess, of course?”

“An Austrian princess, but an American woman. She was a Miss Briggs of
Chicago; a daughter of Briggs, the railway millionaire, worth somewhere
between twenty and twenty-five millions--dollars, of course. A year or
two ago she married Prince Konrad von Steinheimer; you may remember
having read about it in the papers?”

“Oh, yes; the usual international match--the girl after the title, he
after the money.”

“I suppose so; but be that as it may, she is the only daughter of old
Briggs, and had spent a good deal of her time in Europe, but she spent
more than time; she spent the old man’s money as well, so during her
stay in Europe she accumulated a vast stock of diamonds, some of them
very notable stones. I don’t know what the whole collection is worth,
some say a million dollars, while others say double that amount. However
that may be, Miss Briggs became the Princess von Steinheimer, and
brought to Austria with her a million dollars in gold and the diamonds,
which her father gave as dowry; but, of course, being an only child, she
will come in for the rest of his money when the railway magnate dies.”

“Is he likely to die soon? I don’t suppose the Prince gave himself away
for a mere million.”

“Oh, you forget the diamonds. As to the likelihood of old Briggs’s
death, it didn’t strike me as imminent when I had a conversation with
him yesterday.”

“Yesterday? Is he here in London, then?”

“Yes; he has come over to disentangle the mystery about the diamonds.”

“And what is the mystery? You take a dreadful long time to tell a story,
Mr. Hardwick.”

“The story is important, and it must be told in detail, otherwise you
may go on a long journey for nothing. Are you taking down what I say in
shorthand? That is right, and if you are wise you will not transcribe
your notes so that anyone can read them; they are safer in that form.
The von Steinheimer family have two residences, a house in Vienna and an
ancient castle in the Tyrol, situated on the heights above Meran, a most
picturesque place, I understand; but very shortly you will know more
about it than I do, because the _Bugle_ expects you to go there as its
special correspondent. Here the diamond robbery took place something
like two months ago, and the affair is still as great a mystery as ever.
The Princess was to open the season at Meran, which is a fashionable
resort, by giving a fancy dress ball in Schloss Steinheimer, to which
all the Austrian and foreign notables were invited. It was just before
the ball began that the diamonds were first missed--in fact, the
Princess was about to put them on, she representing some gorgeously
decorated character from the Arabian Nights, when the discovery was made
that the diamonds were gone. She was naturally very much upset over her
loss, and sent at once for the Prince, her husband, insisting that the
police should be notified immediately and detectives called in, as was
perfectly natural. Now here comes a strange feature of the affair, and
this is that the Prince positively forbade any publicity, refusing his
sanction when she demanded that the police should be informed, and yet
the Prince knew better than anyone else the very considerable value of
the stones.”

“What reason did he give for his refusal?” asked Miss Baxter, looking up
from her notes.

“I am not quite certain about that; but I think he said it was _infra
dig._ for the Steinheimers to call in the police. Anyhow, it was an
excuse which did not satisfy the Princess; but as guests were arriving,
and as it was desirable that there should be no commotion to mar the
occasion, the Princess temporarily yielded to the wish of her husband,
and nothing was said publicly about the robbery. The great ball was the
talk of Meran for several days, and no one suspected the private trouble
that was going on underneath this notable event. During these several
days the Princess insisted that the aid of the police should be invoked,
and the Prince was equally strenuous that nothing should be said or done
about the matter. Then, quite unexpectedly, the Prince veered completely
round, and proclaimed that he would engage the best detectives in
Europe. Strange to say, when he announced this decision to his wife, she
had veered round also, and opposed the calling in of the detectives as
strenuously as he had done heretofore.”

“What reason did she give for her change of front?” asked Miss Jennie.

“She said, I believe, that it was now too late; that the thieves,
whoever they were, had had time to make away with their plunder, and
there would merely be a fuss and worry for nothing.”

“Do you know, I am inclined to agree with her,” asserted the girl.

“Are you? Then tell me what you think of the case as far as you have got.”

“What do _you_ think?”

“I sha’n’t tell you at this stage, because I know of further particulars
which I will give you later on. I merely want your opinion now, so that
I may see whether what I have to tell you afterwards modifies it in any
way.”

“Well, to me the case looks decidedly dark against the Prince.”

“That is what Mr. Briggs thinks. He imagines his Highness has the
jewels.”

“Where did you get all these particulars?”

“From Mr. Briggs, who, of course, got them by letter from his daughter.”

“Then we have, as it were, a one-sided statement.”

“Oh, quite so; but still you must remember the Princess does not in the
least suspect her husband of the theft.”

“Well, please go on. What are the further particulars?”

“The further particulars are that the Prince made some quiet
investigations among the servants, and he found that there was a man
who, although he was a friend of his own, was much more the friend of
the Princess, and this man had, on the day the ball was given, the
entire freedom of the castle. He is a young officer and nobleman.
Lieutenant von Schaumberg, and the Prince knew that this young man was
being hard pressed for some debts of honour which he did not appear to
be in a position to liquidate. The young man went unexpectedly to Vienna
the day after the ball, and on his return settled his obligations. The
Princess, from one of her women, got word of her husband’s suspicion.
She went to the Prince at once, and told him she had come to his
own opinion with regard to the lost diamonds. She would, in no
circumstances, have detectives about the place. Then he told her that he
had also changed his mind, and resolved to engage detectives. So here
they were at a deadlock again. She wrote to her father with great
indignation about the Prince’s unjust suspicions, saying von Schaumberg
was a gentleman in every sense of the word. I gather that relations
between herself and her husband are somewhat strained, so I imagine
there is much more in this matter than the lost diamonds.”

“You imagine, then, that she is shielding the Lieutenant?”

“Candidly, I do.”

“And you are of opinion he stole the diamonds?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I don’t agree with you. I still think it was the Prince, and I think
besides this, that he dexterously managed to throw suspicion on the
Lieutenant. Have they called in the detectives yet?”

“No, they are at a deadlock, as I remarked before.”

“Well, what am I expected to do?”

“Mr. Briggs cabled to his daughter--he never writes a letter--that
he would come over and straighten out the tangle in fifteen minutes.
He is certain the Prince stole the diamonds, but he did not
tell his daughter so. He informed her he was bringing her a
present of a new typewriting machine, and also a young woman from
Chicago who could write shorthand and would look after the Princess’s
correspondence--act as secretary, in fact; for it seems the Princess
has a larger correspondence than she can reasonably attend to, and she
appears therefore to yearn for a typewriter. The old man tells me she is
very careless about her letters, never being able to find anything
she wants, and leaving them about a good deal, so he thinks she needs
someone to look after her affairs; and I have a suspicion that her
father fears she may leave some compromising letter about, so he wishes
to ward off a divorce case.”

“No, I fancy you are mistaken there. The father hasn’t the slightest
idea that there can be anything wrong with his daughter. It is probable
the Princess has written some libellous statements about her husband,
and it is quite likely the Prince is a brute and that young von
Schaumberg is a most charming person.”

“Well, as I was saying,” continued Hardwick, “the old man cabled his
daughter that he is bringing her a secretary and a typewriter. He
engaged a female Pinkerton detective to enter the castle as secretary to
the Princess and, if possible, to solve the diamond mystery. She is a
young woman who, when she left Chicago, was very anti-English, but
she became acquainted on the steamer with a young Englishman who was
tremendously taken with her, and so at Liverpool she quite calmly broke
her engagement with the old man and fulfilled a new engagement she had
made with the young man by promptly marrying him--special license, I am
told. Old Briggs has therefore a new typewriting machine on his hands,
and so I was going to propose to you that you take the place of the
Chicago Pinkerton person. Briggs has become so disgusted with all these
detective women that he abandoned the idea of sending a female detective
with the machine, and doesn’t imagine that whoever is sent will be
either a detective or a newspaper woman. I was introduced to him the
other day by one of those lucky chances which sometimes put interesting
items of news in our way, and he told me the whole story, requesting me
to recommend someone who wrote shorthand and understood the typewriter.
I am to dine with him this evening, and I shall cordially recommend you.
I may say that Briggs has gone to that celebrated London detective Mr.
Cadbury Taylor, and has engaged him to solve the diamond mystery. So
you see you will have a clear field. If you can leave for the castle
to-morrow night, you may have the pleasure of Mr. Cadbury Taylor’s
company. He isn’t visiting the castle, but goes straight to Vienna; so
if you work your cards rightly, you can be in the same carriage with
him as far as Munich, and during that time you may find out perhaps what
he thinks about the case. I know only this much about his theory, and
that is he thinks the right place to begin is in Vienna, where some, at
least, of the stones are supposed to have been pawned.”

“Oh, this is a delightful case, and I shall enjoy it. Has there been
anything published yet with reference to the robbery?”

“Not a word; nobody knows anything about it, except the Prince and
Princess, Briggs, myself and yourself, and perhaps one or two of the
servants in the castle--oh, yes, and Cadbury Taylor.”




CHAPTER V. JENNIE MEETS A GREAT DETECTIVE.


Miss Baxter was early at the station before the Continental train left.
She walked up and down the platform, hoping to see Mr. Cadbury Taylor,
with whose face and form she was familiar. She secured a porter who
spoke French, and pretended to him that she knew no English.

“I desire,” she said, “to get into a first-class compartment with
a gentleman whom I shall point out to you. I shall give you five
shillings, so you must let me have your whole attention. My luggage has
been labelled and registered, therefore you will not need to bother
about it, but keep your eye on me and follow me into whatever carriage I
enter, bringing with you the hand-bag and this heavy package.”

The heavy package was a typewriter in its case. Shortly before the train
departed, there sauntered into the station the tall, thin, well-known
form of the celebrated detective. He wore a light ulster that reached
almost to his heels, and his keen, alert face was entirely without beard
or moustache. As he came up the platform, a short, stout man accosted
him.

“I was afraid you were going to be late,” said the detective’s friend,
“but I see you are just in time as usual.”

“A railway station,” said Mr. Cadbury Taylor, “is not the most inspiring
place in London for the spending of a spare half hour; besides, I had
some facts to get together, which are now tabulated in my note-book, and
I’m quite ready to go, if the train is.”

“I have secured a smoking compartment here where we shall be alone.”

“That’s right, Smith,” said Cadbury Taylor. “You are always so
thoughtful,” and the two men entered the compartment together.

Just as the guards were shouting, “Take your seats, please,” Miss Baxter
made a bolt for the compartment in which the detective and his friend
sat together in opposite corners.

“I beg your pardon,” said Smith, “this is a smoking compartment.” The
lady replied to him volubly in French, and next instant the porter
heaved the typewriter and hand-bag on the seat beside her. Smith seemed
to resent the intrusion, and appeared about to blame the porter, but the
man answered rapidly as he banged the door shut, “The lady doesn’t speak
any English,” and the next moment the train moved out of the station.

“There was no need,” said the detective, “my dear Smith, to depend upon
the porter for the information that the lady could not speak English.
She is the secretary to a very rich employer in Chicago, and came from
that city to New York, where she sailed on the _Servia_ alone, coming to
England to transact some special business, of which I could here give
you full particulars, if it were worth while. She came from Liverpool to
London over the Great Western Railway, and is now on her way to Paris.
All this, of course, is obvious to the most casual observer, and so, my
dear Smith, we may discuss our case with as much security as though we
were entirely alone.”

“But, good heavens, Cadbury!” cried Smith in amazement, “how can you
tell all that?”

“My dear fellow,” said the detective wearily, “no one travels with a
typewriting machine unless that person is a typewriter. The girl, if
you will notice, is now engaged in filling the leaves of her book with
shorthand, therefore that proves her occupation. That she is secretary
to a rich man is evidenced by the fact that she crossed in the _Servia_
first cabin, as you may see by glancing at the label on the case; that
she came alone, which is to say her employer was not with her, is
indicated by the typewriter being marked ‘Not Wanted,’ so it was put
down into the hold. If a Chicago business man had been travelling with
his secretary, the typewriter case would have been labelled instead,
‘Cabin, wanted,’ for a Chicago man of business would have to write some
hundreds of letters, even on the ocean, to be ready for posting the
moment he came ashore. The typewriter case is evidently new, and is
stamped with the name and address of its sellers in Chicago. That she
came by the Great Western is shown by the fact that ‘Chester’ appears
on still another label. That she has special business in England we may
well believe, otherwise she would have crossed on the French line direct
from New York to Havre. So you see, my dear boy, these are all matters
of observation, and quite patent to anyone who cares to use his eyes.”

“Yes, it all seems very simple now that you have explained it,” growled
Smith.

“I should be a much more mysterious person than I am,” remarked the
detective complacently, “if I did not explain so much. This explanation
habit is becoming a vice with me, and I fear I must abandon it.”

“I hope for my sake you won’t,” said Smith more good-naturedly, “for if
left to myself I never could find out how you arrive at your wonderful
conclusions. Do you expect the Austrian diamond mystery to prove
difficult?”

“Difficult? Oh, dear no! To tell the truth, I have solved it already,
but in order to give the American a run for his money--and surely he
ought not to object to that, because he is a millionaire who has made his
fortune by giving other people runs for their money, being a railway
man--I am now on my way to Vienna. If I solved the problem off-hand for
him in London, he would have no more appreciation of my talent than you
had a moment ago when I explained why I knew this French girl came from
Chicago.”

“You mustn’t mind that, Cadbury,” said Smith contritely. “I confess I
was irritated for a moment because it all seemed so simple.”

“My dear fellow, every puzzle in this world is simple except one, and
that is to find any problem which is difficult.”

“Then who stole the diamonds? The lieutenant?”

The detective smiled and gazed upwards for a few tantalizing moments at
the roof of the carriage.

“Here we have,” he said at last, “an impecunious prince who marries an
American heiress, as so many of them do. The girl begins life in Austria
on one million dollars, say two hundred thousand pounds, and a case
of diamonds said to be worth another two hundred thousand at
least--probably more. Not much danger of running through that very
speedily, is there, Smith?”

“No, I should think not.”

“So the average man would think,” continued the detective. “However, I
have long since got out of the habit of thinking; therefore I make sure.
The first problem I set to myself is this: How much money have the
Prince and Princess spent since they were married? I find that the
repairs on the Schloss Steinheimer, situated in the Tyrol, cost
something like forty thousand pounds. It is a huge place, and the
Steinheimers have not had an heiress in the family for many centuries.
The Prince owed a good deal of money when he was married, and it took
something like sixty thousand pounds to settle those debts; rather
expensive as Continental princes go, but if one must have luxuries, one
cannot save money. Not to weary you with details, I found that the two
hundred thousand pounds were exhausted somewhat more than two months
ago; in fact, just before the alleged robbery. The Prince is, of course,
without money, otherwise he would not have married a Chicago heiress,
and the Princess being without money, what does she naturally do?”

“Pawns her own diamonds!” cried Smith enthusiastically.

The detective smiled.

“I thought it much more probable she would apply to her father for
money. I asked him if this was the case, giving him the date, roughly
speaking, when such a letter had been sent. The old man opened his eyes
at this, and told me he had received such a letter. ‘But you did not
send the money?’ I ventured, ‘No,’ he said, ‘I did not. The fact is,
money is very tight in Chicago just now, and so I cabled her to run on
her debts for a while.’ This exactly bore out the conclusion at which I
had already arrived. So now, having failed to get money from her father,
the lady turns to her diamonds, the only security she possesses. The
chances are that she did so before her father’s cable message came, and
that was the reason she so confidently wished information to be given to
the police. She expected to have money to redeem her jewels, and being a
bright woman, she knew the traditional stupidity of the official police,
and so thought there was no danger of her little ruse being discovered.
But when the cable message came saying no money would be sent her, a
different complexion was put upon the whole affair, for she did not know
but if the police were given plenty of time they might stumble on the
diamonds.”

“But, my dear Cadbury, why should she not have taken the diamonds openly
and raised money on them?”

“My dear fellow, there are a dozen reasons, any one of which will
suffice where a woman is in the case. In the first place, she might fear
to offend the family pride of the von Steinheimers; in the second place,
we cannot tell what her relations with her husband were. She may not
have wished him to know that she was short of money. But that she has
stolen her own diamonds there is not the slightest question in my mind.
All that is necessary for me to do now is to find out how many persons
there are in Vienna who would lend large sums of money on valuable
jewels. The second is to find with which one of those the Princess
pawned her diamonds.”

“But, my dear Cadbury, the lady is in Meran, and Vienna is some hundreds
of miles away. How could a lady in the Tyrol pawn diamonds in Vienna
without her absence being commented on? or do you think she had an agent
to do it for her?” Again the detective smiled indulgently.

“No, she had no agent. The diamonds never left Vienna. You see, the ball
had been announced, and immediate money was urgently needed. She pawned
the diamonds before she left the capital of Austria, and the chances are
she did not intend anyone to know they were missing; but on the eve of
the ball her husband insisted that she should wear her diamonds, and
therefore, being a quick-witted woman, she announced they had been
stolen. After having made such a statement, she, of course, had to
stick to it; and now, failing to get the money from America, she
is exceedingly anxious that no real detective shall be employed in
investigation.”

At Dover Miss Baxter, having notes of this interesting conversation in
shorthand, witnessed the detective bid good-bye to his friend Smith, who
returned to London by a later train. After that she saw no more of Mr.
Cadbury Taylor, and reached the Schloss Steinheimer at Meran without
further adventure.




CHAPTER VI. JENNIE SOLVES THE DIAMOND MYSTERY.


Miss Baxter found life at the Schloss much different from what she had
expected. The Princess was a young and charming lady, very handsome, but
in a state of constant depression. Once or twice Miss Baxter came upon
her with apparent traces of weeping on her face. The Prince was not
an old man, as she had imagined, but young and of a manly, stalwart
appearance. He evidently possessed a fiendish temper, and moped about
the castle with a constant frown upon his brow.

The correspondence of the Princess was in the utmost disorder. There
were hundreds upon hundreds of letters, and Miss Baxter set to work
tabulating and arranging them. Meanwhile the young newspaper woman kept
her eyes open. She wandered about the castle unmolested, poked into odd
corners, talked with the servants, and, in fact, with everyone, but
never did she come upon a clue which promised to lead to a solution of
the diamond difficulty. Once she penetrated into a turret room, and
came unexpectedly upon the Prince, who was sitting on the window-ledge,
looking absently out on the broad and smiling valley that lay for miles
below the castle. He sprang to his feet and stared so fiercely at the
intruder that the girl’s heart failed her, and she had not even the
presence of mind to turn and run.

“What do you want?” he said to her shortly, for he spoke English
perfectly. “You are the young woman from Chicago, I suppose?”

“No,” answered Miss Baxter, forgetting for the moment the _role_ she was
playing; “I am from London.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter; you are the young woman who is arranging my
wife’s correspondence?”

“Yes.” The Prince strode rapidly forward and grasped her by the wrist,
his brow dark with a forbidding frown. He spoke in a hoarse whisper:

“Listen, my good girl! Do you want to get more money from me than you
will get from the Princess in ten years’ service? Hearken, then, to what
I tell you. If there are any letters from--from--men, will you bring
them to me?”

Miss Baxter was thoroughly frightened, but she said to the Prince
sharply,--

“If you do not let go my wrist, I’ll scream. How dare you lay your hand
on me?”

The Prince released her wrist and stepped back.

“Forgive me,” he said; “I’m a very miserable man. Forget what I have
said.”

“How can I forget it?” cried the girl, gathering courage as she saw him
quail before her blazing eyes. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to bring to me any letters written by--by----”

“Written by von Schaumberg,” cried the girl, noticing his hesitation and
filling in the blank.

A red wave of anger surged up in the Prince’s face.

“Yes,” he cried; “bring me a letter to her from von Schaumberg, and I’ll
pay you what you ask.”

The girl laughed.

“Prince,” she said, “you will excuse me if I call you a fool. There are
no letters from von Schaumberg, and I have gone through the whole of the
correspondence.”

“What, then, suggested the name von Schaumberg to you? Where did you
ever hear it before?”

“I heard that you suspected him of stealing the diamonds.”

“And so he did, the cowardly thief. If it were not for mixing the
Princess’s name with such carrion as he, I would--”

But the Prince in his rage stamped up and down the room without saying
what he would do. Miss Baxter quickly brought him to a standstill.

“It is contrary to my duty to the Princess,” she began, hesitatingly,
when he stopped and turned fiercely upon her.

“What is contrary to your duty?”

“There are letters, tied very daintily with a blue ribbon, and they are
from a man. The Princess did not allow me to read them, but locked them
away in a secret drawer in her dressing-room, but she is so careless
with her keys and everything else, that I am sure I can get them for
you, if you want them.”

“Yes, yes, I want them,” said the Prince, “and will pay you handsomely
for them.”

“Very well,” replied Miss Baxter, “you shall have them. If you will wait
here ten minutes, I shall return with them.”

“But,” hesitated the Prince, “say nothing to the Princess.”

“Oh, no, I shall not need to; the keys are sure to be on her
dressing-table.”

Miss Baxter ran down to the room of the Princess, and had little
difficulty in obtaining the keys. She unlocked the secret drawer into
which she had seen the Princess place the packet of letters, and taking
them out, she drew another sheet of paper along with them, which she
read with wide-opening eyes, then with her pretty lips pursed, she
actually whistled, which unmaidenly performance merely gave sibilant
expression to her astonishment. Taking both the packet of letters and
the sheet of paper with her, she ran swiftly up the stair and along the
corridor to the room where the Prince was impatiently awaiting her.

“Give them to me,” he snapped, rudely snatching the bundle of documents
from her hand. She still clung to the separate piece of paper and said
nothing. The Prince stood by the window and undid the packet with
trembling hands. He examined one and then another of the letters,
turning at last towards the girl with renewed anger in his face.

“You are trifling with me, my girl,” he cried.

“No, I am not,” she said stoutly.

“These are my own letters, written by me to my wife before we were
married!”

“Of course they are. What others did you expect? These are the only
letters, so far as I have learned, that any man has written to her,
and the only letters she cares for of all the thousands she has ever
received. Why, you foolish, blind man, I had not been in this castle a
day before I saw how matters stood. The Princess is breaking her poor
heart because you are unkind to her, and she cares for nobody on earth
but you, great stupid dunce that you are.”

“Is it true? Will you swear it’s true?” cried the Prince, dropping the
packet and going hastily toward the girl. Miss Jennie stood with her
back to the wall, and putting her hands behind her, she said,--

“No, no; you are not going to touch me again. Of course it’s true, and
if you had the sense of a six-year-old child, you would have seen it
long ago; and she paid sixty thousand pounds of your gambling debts,
too.”

“What are you talking about? The Princess has never given me a penny of
her money; I don’t need it. Goodness knows, I have money enough of my
own.”

“Well, Cadbury Taylor said that you--Oh, I’ll warrant you, it is like
all the rest of his statements, pure moonshine.”

“Of whom are you speaking? And why did my wife protect that wretch whom
she knows has stolen her diamonds?”

“You mean von Schaumberg?”

“Yes.”

“I believe the Princess does think he stole them, and the reason the
Princess protects him is to prevent you from challenging him, for she
fears that he, being a military man, will kill you, although I fancy she
would be well rid of you.”

“But he stole the diamonds--there was nobody else.”

“He did nothing of the kind. Read that!”

The Prince, bewildered, took the sheet that she handed to him and read
it, a wrinkle of bewilderment corrugating his brow.

“I don’t understand what this has to do with the case,” he said at last.
“It seems to be an order on the bank at Vienna for the diamonds, written
by the Princess herself.”

“Of course it is. Well, if the diamonds had been delivered, that paper
would now be in the possession of the bank instead of in your hands.”

“Perhaps she mislaid this order and wrote another.”

“Perhaps. Still it might be worth while finding out.”

“Take this, then, to the Princess and ask her.”

“It is not likely she would remember. The better plan is to telegraph at
once to the Vienna bank, asking them to send the diamonds to Meran by
special messenger. No one there knows that the diamonds are missing.”

“I will do so at once,” cried the Prince, with more animation in his
voice than Miss Baxter had previously noticed. His Highness was becoming
interested in the game.

After luncheon the Princess came to Miss Baxter, who was seated at her
desk, and handed her a letter.

“There is an invitation from the Duchess of Chiselhurst for a grand ball
she is shortly to give in her London house. It is to be a very swell
affair, but I don’t care enough for such things to go all the way to
England to enjoy them. Would you therefore send her Grace my regrets?”

“I will do so at once.”

At that moment there came a messenger from the Prince asking Miss Baxter
to meet him in the library. The girl glanced up at the Princess.

“Have I your permission to go?” she said.

The Princess looked at her steadily for a moment, just the faintest
suspicion of a frown on her fair brow.

“I do not suppose you need my permission.” Her Highness spoke with slow
deliberation. “My husband condescends to take considerable interest in
you. Passing along the corridor this morning, I heard your voices in
most animated conversation.”

“Had you sufficient interest in our discussion to stop and listen to
what we said, Princess von Steinheimer?”

“Ah, now you are becoming insolent, and I must ask you to consider your
engagement with me at an end.”

“Surely you will not dismiss me in this heartless way, Princess. I think
I am entitled to a month’s notice, or is it only a week’s?”

“I will pay you a year’s salary, or two years’ if that will content you.
I have no wish to deal harshly with you, but I desire you to leave at
once,” said the Princess, who had little sense of humour, and thus
thought the girl was in earnest when she asked for notice.

Miss Baxter laughed merrily, and replied when she was able to control
her mirth, “I do hate to leave the castle just when things are becoming
interesting. Still, I don’t suppose I shall really need to go away in
spite of your dismissal, for the Prince this morning offered me ten
times the amount of money you are paying.”

“Did he?”

“Be assured he did; if you don’t believe me, ask him. I told him he was
a fool, but, alas, we live in a cynical age, and few men believe all
they hear, so I fear my expression of opinion made little impression on
him.”

“I shall not keep you longer from his Highness,” said the Princess with
freezing dignity.

“Thank you so much. I am just dying to meet him, for I know he has
something most interesting to tell me. Don’t you think yourself,
Princess, that a man acts rather like a fool when he is deeply in love?”

To this there was no reply, and the Princess left the room.

Miss Jennie jumped to her feet and almost ran to the library. She found
the Prince walking up and down the long room with a telegraph message in
his hand. “You are a most wonderful young woman,” he said; “read that.”

“I have been told so by more observing men than you, Prince von
Steinheimer,” said the girl, taking the telegram. It was from the
manager of the bank in Vienna, and it ran: “Special messenger leaves
with package by the Meran express to-night.”

“Just as I thought,” said Miss Jennie; “the diamonds never left the
bank. I suppose those idiots of servants which the Princess has round
her didn’t know what they took away from Vienna and what they left.
Then, when the diamonds were missing, they completely lost their
heads--not that anyone in the castle has much wit to spare. I never saw
such an incompetent lot.”

The Prince laughed.

“You think, perhaps, I have not wit enough to see that my wife cares for
me, is that it? Is that why you gave me my own letters?”

“Oh, you are well mated! The Princess now does me the honour of being
jealous. Think of that! As if it were possible that I should take any
interest in you, for I have seen real men in my time.”

The Prince regarded her with his most severe expression.

“Are you not flattering yourself somewhat, young lady?”

“Oh, dear no! I take it as the reverse of flattering to be supposed that
I have any liking for such a ninny as you are. Flattering, indeed! And
she has haughtily dismissed me, if you please.”

“The Princess has? What have you been saying to her?”

“Oh, I made the most innocent remark, and it was the truth too, which
shows that honesty is not always the best policy. I merely told her that
you had offered me ten times the amount of money she is paying me. You
needn’t jump as if somebody had shot off a gun at your ear. You know you
did make such an offer.”

“You confounded little mischief-maker,” cried the Prince in anger. “Did
you tell her what it was for?”

“No. She did not ask.”

“I will thank you to apply the cleverness you seem to possess to the
undoing of the harm you have so light-heartedly caused.”

“How can I? I am ordered to leave to-night, when I did _so_ wish to stay
and see the diamond _dénouement_.”

“You are not going to-night. I shall speak to the Princess about it if
that should be necessary. Your mention of the diamonds reminds me that
my respected father-in-law, Mr. Briggs, informs me that a celebrated
detective, whom it seems he has engaged--Taylor, I think the name
is--will be here to-morrow to explain the diamond mystery, so you see
you have a competitor.”

“Oh, is Cadbury coming? That is too jolly for anything. I simply _must_
stay and hear his explanation, for he is a very famous detective, and
the conclusions he has arrived at must be most interesting.”

“I think some explanations are due to me as well. My worthy
father-in-law seems to have commissioned this person without thinking it
necessary to consult me in the least; in fact, Mr. Briggs goes about the
castle looking so dark and lowering when he meets me, that I sometimes
doubt whether this is my own house or not.”

“And is it?”

“Is it what?”

“Is it your own house? I was told it was mortgaged up to the tallest
turret. Still, you can’t blame Mr. Briggs for being anxious about the
diamonds; they belong to his daughter.”

“They belong to my wife.”

“True. That complicates matters a bit, and gives both Chicago and Vienna
a right to look black. And now, your Highness, I must take my leave of
you; and if the diamonds come safely in the morning, remember I intend
to claim salvage on them. Meanwhile, I am going to write a nice little
story about them.”

In the morning the diamonds arrived by special messenger, who first
took a formal receipt for them, and then most obsequiously took his
departure. By the same train came Mr. Cadbury Taylor, as modest as ever,
but giving some indication in his bearing of the importance of the
discovery his wonderful system had aided him in making. He blandly
evaded the curiosity of Mr. Briggs, and said it would perhaps be better
to reveal the secret in the presence of the Prince and Princess, as his
investigations had led him to conclusions that might be unpleasant for
one of them to hear, yet were not to be divulged in their absence.

“Just what I suspected,” muttered Mr. Briggs, who had long been
convinced that the Prince was the actual culprit.

The important gathering took place in the library, the Prince, with the
diamonds in his coat pocket, seated at the head of the long table, while
the Princess sat at the foot, as far from her husband as she could
conveniently get without attracting notice. Miss Baxter stood near a
window, reading an important letter from London which had reached her
that morning. The tall, thin detective and the portly Mr. Briggs came in
together, the London man bowing gravely to the Prince and Princess. Mr.
Briggs took a seat at the side of the table, but the detective remained
standing, looking questioningly at Miss Baxter, but evidently not
recognizing her as the lady who had come in upon him and his friend when
they had entered the train.

“I beg the pardon of your Highness, but what I have to say had better be
said with as few hearers as possible. I should be much obliged if this
young person would read her correspondence in another room.”

“The young woman,” said the Prince coldly, “is secretary to her
Highness, and is entirely in her confidence.”

The Princess said nothing, but sat with her eyes upon the table,
apparently taking no note of what was going on. Rich colour came into
her face, and, as the keen detective cast a swift glance at her, he saw
before him a woman conscious of her guilt, fearing exposure, yet not
knowing how to avert it.

“If your Highness will excuse my persistence,” began Mr. Taylor blandly.

“But I will not,” interrupted the Prince gruffly. “Go on with your story
without so much circumlocution.”

The detective, apparently unruffled by the discourtesy he met, bowed
profoundly towards the Prince, cleared his throat, and began.

“May I ask your Highness,” he said, addressing himself to the Princess,
“how much money you possessed just before you left Vienna?”

The lady looked up at him in surprise, but did not answer.

“In Heaven’s name, what has that to do with the loss of the diamonds?”
 rapped out the Prince, his hot temper getting once more the better of
him. Cadbury Taylor spread out his hands and shrugged his shoulders in
protest at the interruption. He spoke with deference, but nevertheless
there was a touch of reproach in his tone.

“I am accustomed to being listened to with patience, and am generally
allowed to tell my story my own way, your Highness.”

“What I complain of is that you are not telling any story at all, but
are asking instead a very impertinent question.”

“Questions which seem to you irrelevant may be to a trained mind most--”

“Bosh! Trained donkeys! Do you know where the diamonds are?”

“Yes, I do,” answered Cadbury Taylor, still imperturbable, in spite of
the provocation he was receiving.

“Well, where are they?”

“They are in the vaults of your bank in Vienna.”

“I don’t believe it. Who stole them then?”

“They were put there by her Highness the Princess von Steinheimer,
doubtless in security for money--”

“What!” roared the Prince, springing to his feet, his stentorian voice
ringing to the ceiling. “Do you mean to insinuate, you villain, that my
wife stole her own diamonds?”

“If your Highness would allow me to proceed in my own--”

“Enough of this fooling. There are the diamonds,” cried the Prince,
jerking the box from his pocket and flinging it on the table.

“There!” shouted old man Briggs, bringing his clenched fist down on the
oak. “What did I tell you? I knew it all along. The Prince stole the
diamonds, and in his excitement yanks them out of his pocket and proves
it. That was _my_ opinion all along!”

“Oh, father, father!” moaned the Princess, speaking for the first time.
“How can you say such a thing? My husband couldn’t do a mean action if
he tried. The idea of him stealing the diamonds! Not if they were worth
a thousand millions and detection impossible.”

The Prince, who had been glaring at Mr. Briggs, and who seemed on the
point of giving that red-faced gentleman a bit of his mind, turned a
softened gaze upon his wife, who rested her arms on the table and buried
her face in them.

“Come, come,” cried Miss Jennie Baxter, stepping energetically forward;
“I imagine everybody has had enough of this. Clear out, Mr. Briggs, and
take Mr. Taylor with you; I am sure he has not had any breakfast yet,
and he certainly looks hungry. If you hire detectives, Mr. Briggs, you
must take care of them. Out you go. The dining-room is ever so much more
inviting just now than the library; and if you don’t see what you want,
ring for it.”

She drove the two speechless men out before her, and, closing the door,
said to the Prince, who was still standing bewildered at having his hand
forced in this manner,--

“There! Two fools from four leaves two. Now, my dears--I’m not going to
Highness either of you--you are simply two lone people who like
each other immensely, yet who are drifting apart through foolish
misunderstandings that a few words would put right if either of you had
sense enough to speak them, which you haven’t, and that’s why I’m here
to speak them for you. Now, madame, I am ready to swear that the Prince
has never said anything to me that did not show his deep love for you,
and if you had overheard us, you would not need me to tell you so. He
thinks that you have a fancy for that idiot von Schaumberg--not that I
ever saw the poor man; but he is bound to be an idiot, or the Prince
wouldn’t be jealous of him. As nobody has stolen the diamonds after all
this fuss, so no one has stolen the affection of either of you from the
other. I can see by the way you look at each other that I won’t need to
apologize for leaving you alone together while I run upstairs to pack.”

“Oh, but you are not going to leave us?” cried the Princess.

“I should be delighted to stay; but there is no rest for the wicked, and
I must get back to London.”

With that the girl ran to her room and there re-read the letter she had
received.

“Dear Miss Baxter (it ran),--We are in a very considerable dilemma here,
so I write asking you to see me in London without delay, going back to
the Tyrol later on if the investigation of the diamond mystery renders
your return necessary. The Duchess of Chiselhurst is giving a great ball
on the 29th. It is to be a very swagger affair, with notables from every
part of Europe, and they seem determined that no one connected with a
newspaper shall be admitted. We have set at work every influence to
obtain an invitation for a reporter, but without success, the reply
invariably given being that an official account will be sent to
the press. Now, I want you to set your ingenuity at work, and gain
admittance if possible, for I am determined to have an account of this
ball written in such a way that everyone who reads it will know that the
writer was present. If you can manage this, I can hardly tell you how
grateful the proprietor and myself will be.--Yours very truly,

“RADNOR HARDWICK.”

Miss Jennie Baxter sat for some moments musing, with the letter in her
hand. She conned over in her mind the names of those who might be able
to assist her in this task, but she dismissed them one by one, well
knowing that if Mr. Hardwick and the proprietor of the _Bugle_ had
petitioned all their influential friends without avail, she could not
hope to succeed with the help of the very few important personages she
was acquainted with. She wondered if the Princess could get her an
invitation; then suddenly her eyes lit up, and she sprang eagerly to her
feet.

“What a fortunate thing it is,” she cried aloud, “that I did not send
on the refusal of the Princess to the Duchess of Chiselhurst. I had
forgotten all about it until this moment.”




CHAPTER VII. JENNIE ARRANGES A CINDERELLA VISIT.


The room which had been allotted to Jennie Baxter in the Schloss
Steinheimer enjoyed a most extended outlook. A door-window gave access
to a stone balcony, which hung against the castle wall like a swallow’s
nest at the eaves of a house. This balcony was just wide enough to give
ample space for one of the easy rocking-chairs which the Princess had
imported from America, and which Jennie thought were the only really
comfortable pieces of furniture the old stronghold possessed, much as
she admired the artistic excellence of the mediæval chairs, tables, and
cabinets which for centuries had served the needs of the ancient line
that had lived in the Schloss. The rocking-chair was as modern as this
morning’s daily paper; its woodwork painted a bright scarlet, its arms
like broad shelves, its rockers as sensitively balanced as a marine
compass; in fact, just such a chair as one would find dotted round
the vast verandah of an American summer hotel. In this chair sat Miss
Jennie, two open letters on her lap, and perplexity in the dainty little
frown that faintly ruffled the smoothness of her fair brow. The scene
from the high balcony was one to be remembered; but, although this was
her last day at the Castle, the girl saw nothing of the pretty town of
Meran so far below; the distant chalk-line down the slope beyond which
marked the turbulent course of the foaming Adege; the lofty mountains
all around, or the further snow-peaks, dazzling white against the deep
blue of the sky.

One of the epistles which lay on her lap was the letter she had received
from the editor recounting the difficulties he had met with while
endeavouring to make arrangements for reporting adequately the Duchess
of Chiselhurst’s ball; the other was the still unanswered invitation
from the Duchess to the Princess. Jennie was flattered to know that
already the editor, who had engaged her with unconcealed reluctance,
expected her to accomplish what the entire staff were powerless to
effect. She knew that, had she but the courage, it was only necessary to
accept the invitation in the name of her present hostess, and attend the
great society function as Princess von Steinheimer. Yet she hesitated,
not so much on account of the manifest danger of discovery, but because
she had grown to like the Princess, and this impersonation, if it came
to the knowledge of the one most intimately concerned, as it was almost
sure to do, would doubtless be regarded as an unpardonable liberty. As
she swayed gently back and forth in the gaudy rocking-chair, she thought
of confessing everything to the Princess and asking her assistance; but
pondering on this, she saw that it was staking everything on one throw
of the dice. If the Princess refused, then the scheme became impossible,
as that lady herself would answer the letter of the Duchess and decline
the invitation. Jennie soothed her accusing conscience by telling
herself that this impersonation would do no harm to Princess von
Steinheimer, or to anyone else for that matter, while it would be of
inestimable assistance to her own journalistic career. From that
she drifted to meditation on the inequalities of this life--the
superabundance which some possess, while others, no less deserving, have
difficulty in obtaining the scant necessities. And this consoling train
of thought having fixed her resolve to take the goods the gods scattered
at her feet, or rather threw into her lap, she drew a long sigh of
determination as there came a gentle tap at the door of her room, and
the voice of the Princess herself said, “May I come in?”

Jennie, a rapid blush flaming her cheeks, sprang to her feet, flung the
letters on a table, and opened the door.

The visitor entered, looking attractive enough to be a princess of
fairyland, and greeted Miss Baxter most cordially.

“I am so sorry you are leaving,” she said. “Cannot you be persuaded to
change your mind and stay with me? Where could you find a more lovely
view than this from your balcony here?”

“Or a more lovely hostess?” said the girl, looking at her visitor with
undisguised admiration and quite ignoring the landscape.

The Princess laughed, and as they now stood together on the balcony she
put out her hands, pushed Jennie gently into the rocking-chair again,
seating herself jauntily on its broad arm, and thus the two looked like
a pair of mischievous schoolgirls, home at vacation time, thoroughly
enjoying their liberty.

“There! You are now my prisoner, about to be punished for flattery,”
 cried the Princess. “I saw by the motion of the chair that you had just
jumped up from it when I disturbed you, so there you are, back in it
again. What were you thinking about? A rocking-chair lends itself
deliciously to meditation, and we always dream of someone very
particular as we rock.”

“I am no exception to the rule,” sighed Jennie; “I was thinking of you,
Princess.”

“How nice of you to say that; and as one good turn deserves another,
here is proof that a certain young lady has been in my thoughts.”

As she spoke, the Princess took from her pocket an embossed case of
Russian leather, opened it and displayed a string of diamonds, lustrous
as drops of liquid light.

“I want you to wear these stones in remembrance of our diamond
mystery--that is why I chose diamonds--and also, I confess, because I
want you to think of me every time you put them on. See how conceited I
am! One does not like to be forgotten.”

Jennie took the string, her own eyes for a moment rivalling in
brilliancy the sparkle of the gems; then the moisture obscured her
vision and she automatically poured the stones from one hand to the
other, as if their scintillating glitter hypnotized her. She tried once
or twice to speak, but could not be sure of her voice, so remained
silent. The Princess, noticing her agitation, gently lifted the necklace
and clasped it round the girl’s white throat, chattering all the while
with nervous haste.

“There! you can wear diamonds, and there are so many to whom they are
unbecoming. I also look well in diamonds--at least, so I’ve been told
over and over again, and I’ve come to believe it at last. I suppose the
young men have not concealed from you the fact that you are a strikingly
good-looking girl, Jennie. Indeed, and this is brag if you like, we two
resemble one another enough to be sisters, nearly the same height, the
same colour of eyes and hair. Come to the mirror, Miss Handsomeness, and
admire yourself.”

She dragged Jennie to her feet and drew her into the room, placing
her triumphantly before the great looking-glass that reflected back a
full-length portrait.

“Now confess that you never saw a prettier girl,” cried the Princess
gleefully.

“I don’t think I ever did,” admitted Jennie, but she was looking at the
image of the Princess and not at her own. The Princess laughed, but Miss
Baxter seemed too much affected by the unexpected present to join in the
merriment. She regarded herself solemnly in the glass for a few moments,
then slowly undid the clasp, and, slipping the string of brilliants from
her neck, handed them back to the Princess. “You are very, very kind,
but I cannot accept so costly a present.”

“Cannot? Why? Have I offended you by anything I have said since you
came?”

“Oh, no, no. It isn’t that.”

“What, then? Don’t you like me, after all?”

“Like you? I _love_ you, Princess!” cried the girl impulsively, throwing
her arms round the other’s neck.

The Princess tried to laugh as she pressed Jennie closely to her, but
there was a tremour of tears in the laughter.

“You must take this little gift as a souvenir of your visit with me. I
was really--very unhappy when you came, and now--well, you smoothed away
some misunderstandings--I’m more than grateful. And it isn’t natural for
a woman to refuse diamonds, Jennie.”

“I know it isn’t; and I won’t quite refuse them. I’ll postpone. It is
possible that something I shall do before long may seriously offend you.
If it does--then good-bye to the necklace! If it doesn’t, when I have
told you all about my misdeed--I shall confess courageously--you will
give me the diamonds.”

“Dear me, Jennie, what terrible crime are you about to commit? Why not
tell me now? You have no idea how you have aroused my curiosity.”

“I dare not tell you, Princess; not until my project proves a success or
a failure. We women--some have our way made for us--others have our own
way to make. I am among the others, and I hope you will remember that,
if you are ever angry with me.”

“Is it a new kind of speculation? A fortune made in a day? Gambling?”

“Something of that sort. I am going to stake a good deal on the turn of
a card; so please pray that luck will not be against me.”

“If pluck will make you win, I am sure you will carry it through, but
if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again; and if you haven’t the
money, I’ll supply the capital. I know I should like to gamble. Anyhow,
you have my best wishes for your success.”

“Thank you, Princess. I can hardly fail after that.”

The time had come when the two friends must part. The carriage was
waiting to take Miss Baxter to the station, and the girl bade good-bye
to her hostess with an uneasy feeling that she was acting disloyally to
one who had befriended her. In her handbag was the invitation to the
ball, and also the letter she had written in the Princess’s name
accepting it, which latter she posted in Meran. In due course she
reached London, and presented herself to the editor of the _Daily
Bugle_.

“Well, Miss Baxter,” he said, “you have been extraordinarily successful
in solving the diamond mystery, and I congratulate you. My letter
reached you, I suppose. Have you given any thought to the problem
that now confronts us? Can you get us a full report of the Duchess of
Chiselhurst’s ball, written so convincingly that all the guests who read
it will know that the writer was present?”

“It is entirely a question of money, Mr. Hardwick.”

“Most things are. Well, we are prepared to spend money to get just what
we want.”

“How much?”

“Whatever is necessary.”

“That’s vague. Put it into figures.”

“Five hundred pounds; seven hundred; a thousand if need be.”

“It will not cost you a thousand, and it may come to more than five
hundred. Place the thousand to my credit, and I shall return what is
left. I must go at once to Paris and carry out my plans from that city.”

“Then you have thought out a scheme. What is it?”

“I have not only thought it out, but most of the arrangements are
already made. I cannot say more about it. You will have to trust wholly
to me.”

“There is a good deal of money at stake, Miss Baxter, and our reputation
as a newspaper as well. I think I should know what you propose to do.”

“Certainly. I propose to obtain for you an accurate description of the
ball, written by one who was present.”

The editor gave utterance to a sort of interjection that always served
him in place of a laugh.

“In other words, you want neither interference nor advice.”

“Exactly, Mr. Hardwick. You know from experience that little good comes
of talking too much of a secret project not yet completed.”

The editor drummed with his fingers on the table for a few moments
thoughtfully.

“Very well, then, it shall be as you say. I should have been very glad
to share the responsibility of failure with you; but if you prefer to
take the whole risk yourself, there is nothing more to be said. The
thousand pounds shall be placed to your credit at once. What next?”

“On the night of the ball I should like you to have three or four expert
shorthand writers here; I don’t know how many will be necessary--you
understand more about that than I do; but it is my intention to dictate
the report right along as fast as I can talk until it is finished, and
I don’t wish to be stopped or interrupted, so I want the best
stenographers you have; they are to relieve one another just as if
they were taking down a parliamentary speech. The men had better be in
readiness at midnight; I shall be here as soon after that as possible.
If you will kindly run over their type-written MS. before it goes to
the compositors, I will glance at the proofs when I have finished
dictating.”

“Then you hope to attend the ball yourself.”

“Perhaps.”

“You have just returned from the Tyrol, and I fear you don’t quite
appreciate the difficulties that are in the way. This is no ordinary
society function, and if you think even a thousand pounds will gain
admittance to an uninvited guest, you will find yourself mistaken.”

“So I understood from your letter.”

Again the editorial interjection did duty for a laugh.

“You are very sanguine, Miss Baxter. I wish I felt as confident;
however, we will hope for the best, and if we cannot command success, we
will at least endeavour to deserve it.”

Jennie, with the thousand pounds at her disposal, went to Paris, took
rooms at the most aristocratic hotel, engaged a maid, and set about the
construction of a ball dress that would be a dream of beauty. Luckily,
she knew exactly the gown-making resources of Paris, and the craftsmen
to whom she gave her orders were not the less anxious to please her when
they knew that the question of cost was not to be considered. From
Paris she telegraphed in the name of the Princess von Steinheimer to
Claridge’s Hotel for an apartment on the night of the ball, and asked
that a suitable equipage be provided to convey her to and from that
festival.

Arriving at Claridge’s, she was well aware her first danger was that
someone who knew the Princess von Steinheimer would call upon her; but
on the valid plea of fatigue from her journey she proclaimed that in no
circumstances could she see any visitor, and thus shipwreck was avoided
at the outset. It was unlikely that the Princess von Steinheimer was
personally known to many who would attend the ball; in fact, the
Princess had given to Jennie as her main reason for refusing the
invitation the excuse that she knew no one in London. She had been
invited merely because of the social position of the Prince in
Vienna, and was unknown by sight even to her hostess, the Duchess of
Chiselhurst. Critically, she compared the chances of success with the
chances of failure, and often it seemed that disaster was inevitable,
unversed as she knew herself to be in the customs of grand society at
one of its high functions, but nevertheless she was undaunted by the
odds against her, and resolved to stake a career on the fortunes of a
night.




CHAPTER VIII. JENNIE MIXES WITH THE ELITE OF EARTH.


It is said that a woman magnificently robed is superior to all earthly
tribulations. Such was the case with Jennie as she left her carriage,
walked along the strip of carpet which lay across the pavement under a
canopy, and entered the great hall of the Duke of Chiselhurst’s town
house, one of the huge palaces of Western London. Nothing so resplendent
had she ever witnessed, or even imagined, as the scene which met her eye
when she found herself about to ascend the broad stairway at the top of
which the hostess stood to receive her distinguished guests. Early as
she was, the stairway and the rooms beyond seemed already thronged.
Splendid menials in gorgeous livery, crimson the predominant colour,
stood on each step at either side of the stair. Uniforms of every
pattern, from the dazzling oriental raiment of Indian princes and
eastern potentates, to the more sober, but scarcely less rich apparel of
the diplomatic corps, ministers of the Empire, and officers, naval
and military, gave the final note of magnificence and picturesque
decoration. Like tropical flowers in this garden of colour were the
ladies, who, with easy grace, moved to and fro, bestowing a smile here
and a whisper there; and yet, despite her agitation, a hurried, furtive
glance around brought to Jennie the conviction that she was, perhaps,
the best-gowned woman in that assemblage of well-dressed people, which
recognition somewhat calmed her palpitating heart. The whole environment
seemed unreal to her, and she walked forward as if in a dream. She
heard someone cry, “The Princess von Steinheimer,” and at first had a
difficulty in realizing that the title, for the moment, pertained
to herself. The next instant her hand was in that of the Duchess of
Chiselhurst, and Jennie heard the lady murmur that it was good of her
to come so far to grace the occasion. The girl made some sort of reply
which she found herself unable afterwards to recall, but the rapid
incoming of other guests led her to hope that, if she had used any
unsuitable phrase, it was either unheard or forgotten in the tension of
the time. She stood aside and formed one of the brilliant group at the
head of the stairs, thankful that this first ordeal was well done with.
Her rapidly beating heart had now opportunity to lessen its pulsations,
and as she soon realized that she was practically unnoticed, her natural
calmness began to return to her. She remembered why she was there,
and her discerning eye enabled her to stamp on a retentive memory
the various particulars of so unaccustomed a spectacle whose very
unfamiliarity made the greater impression upon the girl’s mind. She
moved away from the group, determined to saunter through the numerous
rooms thrown open for the occasion, and thus, as it were, get her
bearings. In a short time all fear of discovery left her, and she began
to feel very much at home in the lofty, crowded salons, pausing even
to enjoy a selection which a military band, partly concealed in the
foliage, was rendering in masterly manner, led by the most famous
_impressario_ of the day. The remote probability of meeting anyone here
who knew the Princess reassured her, and there speedily came over her
a sense of delight in all the kaleidoscopic bewilderment of this great
entertainment. She saw that each one there had interest in someone
else, and, to her great relief, found herself left entirely alone with
reasonable assurance that this remoteness would continue to befriend her
until the final gauntlet of leave-taking had to be run; a trial still to
be encountered, the thought of which she resolutely put away from her,
trusting to the luck that had hitherto not deserted her.

Jennie was in this complaisant frame of mind when she was suddenly
startled by a voice at her side.

“Ah, Princess, I have been searching everywhere for you, catching
glimpses of you now and then, only to lose you, as, alas, has been my
fate on more serious occasion. May I flatter myself with the belief that
you also remember?”

There was no recognition in the large frightened eyes that were turned
upon him. They saw a young man bowing low over the unresisting hand he
had taken. His face was clear-cut and unmistakably English. Jennie saw
his closely-cropped auburn head, and, as it raised until it overtopped
her own, the girl, terrified as she was, could not but admire the
sweeping blonde moustache that overshadowed a smile, half-wistful,
half-humorous, which lighted up his handsome face. The ribbon of some
order was worn athwart his breast; otherwise he wore court dress, which
well became his stalwart frame.

“I am disconsolate to see that I am indeed forgotten, Princess, and so
another cherished delusion fades away from me.”

Her fan concealed the lower part of the girl’s face, and she looked at
him over its fleecy semicircle.

“Put not your trust in princesses,” she murmured, a sparkle of latent
mischief lighting up her eyes.

The young man laughed. “Indeed,” he said, “had I served my country as
faithfully as I have been true to my remembrance of you, Princess, I
would have been an ambassador long ere this, covered with decorations.
Have you then lost all recollection of that winter in Washington five
years ago; that whirlwind of gaiety which ended by wafting you away to a
foreign country, and thus the eventful season clings to my memory as
if it were a disastrous western cyclone? Is it possible that I must
re-introduce myself as Donal Stirling?”

“Not Lord Donal Stirling?” asked Jennie, dimly remembering that she had
heard this name in connection with something diplomatic, and her guess
that he was in that service was strengthened by his previous remark
about being an ambassador.

“Yes, Lord Donal, if you will cruelly insist on calling me so; but this
cannot take from me the consolation that once, in the conservatory
of the White House, under the very shadow of the President, you
condescended to call me Don.”

“You cannot expect one to remember what happened in Washington five
years ago. You know the administration itself changes every four years,
and memories seldom carry back even so far as that.”

“I had hoped that my most outspoken adoration would have left
reminiscence which might outlast an administration. I have not found
forgetting so easy.”

“Are you quite sure of that, Lord Donal?” asked the girl archly, closing
her fan and giving him for the first time a full view of her face.

The young man seemed for a moment perplexed, but she went on, giving him
little time for reflection. “Have your diplomatic duties taken you away
from Washington?”

“Yes, to the other end of the earth. I am now in St. Petersburg, with
ultimate hopes of Vienna, Princess. I happened to be in London this
week, and hearing you were to be here, I moved heaven and earth for an
invitation.”

“Which you obtained, only to find yourself forgotten. How hollow this
world is, isn’t it?”

“Alas, yes. A man in my profession sees a good deal of the seamy side of
life, and I fully believe that my rapidly lessening dependence on human
veracity will be shattered by my superiors sending me to Constantinople.
But let me find you a seat out of this crowd where we may talk of old
times.”

“I don’t care so much about the past as I do about the present. Let
us go up into that gallery, where you shall point out to me the
celebrities. I suppose you know them all, while I am an entire stranger
to London Society.”

“That is a capital idea,” cried the young man enthusiastically. “Yes, I
think I know most of the people here, at least by name. Ah, here comes
the Royal party; we shall just be in time to have a good look at them.”

The band played the National Anthem, and Lord Donal got two chairs,
which he placed at the edge of the gallery, well hidden from the
promenaders by spreading tropical plants.

“Oh, this _is_ jolly,” cried Jennie, quite forgetting the dignity of a
Princess. “You told me why you came to the ball. Do you know why I am
here?”

“On the remote chance of meeting me whom you pretended to have
forgotten,” replied the young man audaciously.

“Of course,” laughed Jennie; “but aside from that, I came to see the
costumes. You know, we women are libellously said to dress for each
other. Away from the world, in the Tyrol, I have little opportunity
of seeing anything fine in the way of dress, and so I accepted the
invitation of the Duchess.”

“Have you the invitation of the Duchess with you?”

“Yes, I am going to make some notes on the back of it. Would you like to
see it?” She handed him the letter and then leaned back in her chair,
regarding him closely. The puzzled expression on his face deepened as
he glanced over the invitation, and saw that it was exactly what it
purported to be. He gave the letter back to her, saying,--

“So you are here to see the fashions. It is a subject I know little
about; but, judging by effect, I should say that the Princess von
Steinheimer has nothing to learn from anyone present. If I may touch on
a topic so personal, your costume is what they call a creation, is it
not, Princess?”

“It isn’t bad,” said the girl, looking down at her gown and then
glancing up at him with merriment dancing in her eyes. The diplomat had
his elbow resting on the balustrade, his head leaning on his hand, and,
quite oblivious to everything else, was gazing at her with such absorbed
intentness that the girl blushed and cast down her eyes. The intense
admiration in his look was undisguised. “Still,” she rattled on somewhat
breathlessly, “one gets many hints from others, and the creation of
to-day is merely the old clothes of to-morrow. Invention has no vacation
so far as ladies’ apparel is concerned. ‘Take no thought of the morrow,
wherewithal ye shall be clothed,’ may have been a good motto for the
court of Solomon, but it has little relation with that of Victoria.”

“Solomon--if the saying is his--was hedging. He had many wives, you
know.”

“Well, as I was about to say, you must now turn your attention to
the other guests, and tell me who’s who. I have already confessed my
ignorance, and you promised to enlighten me.”

The young man, with visible reluctance, directed his thoughts from the
one to the many, and named this person and that, while Jennie, with
the pencil attached to her card, made cabalistic notes in shorthand,
economizing thus both space and time. When at last she had all the
information that could be desired, she leaned back in her chair with a
little sigh of supreme content. Whatever might now betide, her mission
was fulfilled, if she once got quietly away. The complete details of the
most important society event of the season were at her fingers’ ends.
She closed her eyes for a moment to enjoy the satisfaction which success
leaves in its train, and when she opened them again found Lord Donal in
his old posture, absorbed in the contemplation of her undeniable beauty.

“I see you are determined I shall have no difficulty in remembering you
next time we meet,” she said with a smile, at the same time flushing
slightly under his ardent gaze.

“I was just thinking,” he replied, shifting his position a little, “that
the five years which have dealt so hardly with me, have left you five
years younger.”

“Age has many privileges, Lord Donal,” she said to him, laughing
outright; “but I don’t think you can yet lay claim to any of them.
The pose of the prematurely old is not in the least borne out by your
appearance, however hardly the girl you met in Washington dealt with
you.”

“Ah, Princess, it is very easy for you to treat these serious matters
lightly. He laughs at scars who never felt a wound. Time, being above
all things treacherous, often leaves the face untouched the more
effectually to scar the heart. The hurt concealed is ever the more
dangerous.”

“I fancy it has been concealed so effectually that it is not as deep as
you imagined.”

“Princess, I will confess to you that the wound at Washington was as
nothing to the one received at London.”

“Yes; you told me you had been here for a week.”

“The week has nothing to do with it. I have been here for a night--for
two hours--or three; I have lost count of time since I met you.”

What reply the girl might have made to this speech, delivered with all
the fervency of a man in thorough earnest, will never be known, for at
that moment their _tête-à-tête_ was interrupted by a messenger, who
said,--

“His Excellency the Austrian Ambassador begs to be permitted to pay his
regards to the Princess von Steinheimer.”

Lord Donal Stirling never took his eyes from the face of his companion,
and he saw a quick pallor overspread it. He leaned forward and
whispered,--

“I know the Ambassador; if you do not wish to meet him, I will intercept
him.”

Jennie rose slowly to her feet, and, looking at the young man with a
calmness she was far from feeling, said coldly,--

“Why should I not wish to meet the Ambassador of my adopted country?”

“I know of no reason. Quite the contrary, for he must be an old friend
of yours, having been your guest at the Schloss Steinheimer a year ago.”

He stepped back as he said this, and Jennie had difficulty in
suppressing the gasp of dismay with which she received his disquieting
disclosure, but she stood her ground without wincing. She was face to
face with the crisis she had foreseen--the coming of one who knew
the Princess. Next instant the aged diplomat was bending over her
outstretched hand, which in courtly fashion the old man raised to his
lips.

“I am delighted to have the privilege of welcoming you to this gloomy
old city, Princess von Steinheimer, which you illumine with your
presence. Do you stay long in London?”

“The period of illumination is short, your Excellency. I leave for Paris
to-morrow.”

“So soon? Without even visiting the Embassy? I am distressed to hear
of so speedy a desertion, and yet, knowing the charms of the Schloss
Steinheimer, I can hardly wonder at your wish to return there. The
Prince, I suppose, is as devoted as ever to the chase. I must censure
his Highness, next time we meet, for not coming with you to London; then
I am sure you would have stayed longer with us.”

“The Prince is a model husband, your Excellency,” said Jennie, with a
sly glance at Lord Donal, whose expression of uncertainty increased
as this colloquy went on, “and he would have come to London without
a murmur had his wife been selfish enough to tear him away from his
beloved Meran.”

“A model husband!” said the ancient count, with an unctuous chuckle.
“So few of us excel in that respect; but there is this to be
said in our exculpation, few have been matrimonially so fortunate
as the Prince von Steinheimer. I have never ceased to long for a
repetition of the charming visit I paid to your delightful home.”

“If your Excellency but knew how welcome you are, your visits would not
have such long intervals between.”

“It is most kind of you, Princess, to cheer an old man’s heart by such
gracious words. It is our misfortune that affairs of State chain us to
our pillar, and, indeed, diplomacy seems to become more difficult as the
years go on, because we have to contend with the genius of rising young
men like Lord Donal Stirling here, who are more than a match for old
dogs that find it impossible to learn new tricks.”

“Indeed, your Excellency,” said his lordship, speaking for the first
time since the Ambassador began, “the very reverse of that is the case.
We sit humbly at your feet, ambitious to emulate, but without hope of
excelling.”

The old man chuckled again, and, turning to the girl, began to make his
adieux.

“Then my former rooms are waiting for me at the Castle?” he concluded.

“Yes, your Excellency, with the addition of two red rocking-chairs
imported from America, which you will find most comfortable
resting-places when you are free from the cares of State.”

“Ah! The rocking-chairs! I remember now that you were expecting them
when I was there. So they have arrived, safely, I hope; but I think you
had ordered an incredible number, to be certain of having at least one
or two serviceable.”

“No; only a dozen, and they all came through without damage.”

“You young people, you young people!” murmured the Ambassador, bending
again over the hand presented to him, “what unheard-of things you do.”

And so the old man shuffled away, leaving many compliments behind him,
evidently not having the slightest suspicion that he had met anyone but
the person he supposed himself addressing, for his eyesight was not of
the best, and an Ambassador meets many fair and distinguished women.

The girl sat down with calm dignity, while Lord Donal dropped into his
chair, an expression of complete mystification on his clear-cut, honest
face. Jennie slowly fanned herself, for the heat made itself felt at
that elevated situation, and for a few moments nothing was said by
either. The young man was the first to break silence.

“Should I be so fortunate as to get an invitation to the Schloss
Steinheimer, may I hope that a red rocking-chair will be allotted to me?
I have not sat in one since I was in the States.”

“Yes, one for you; two for the Ambassador,” said Jennie, with a laugh.

“I should like further to flatter myself that your double generosity to
the Ambassador arises solely from the dignity of his office, and is not
in any way personal.”

“I am very fond of ambassadors; they are courteous gentlemen who seem to
have less distrust than is exhibited by some not so exalted.”

“Distrust! You surely cannot mean that I have distrusted you, Princess?”

“Oh, I was speaking generally,” replied Jennie airily. “You seem to seek
a personal application in what I say.”

“I admit, Princess, that several times this evening I have been
completely at sea.”

“And what is worse, Lord Donal, you have shown it, which is the one
unforgivable fault in diplomacy.”

“You are quite right. If I had you to teach me, I would be an ambassador
within the next five years, or at least a minister.”

The girl looked at him over the top of her fan, covert merriment lurking
in her eyes.

“When you visit Schloss Steinheimer you might ask the Prince if he
objects to my giving you lessons.”

Here there was another interruption, and the announcement was made that
the United States Ambassador desired to renew his acquaintance with
the Princess von Steinheimer. Lord Donal made use of an impatient
exclamation more emphatic than he intended to give utterance to, but on
looking at his companion in alarm, he saw in her glance a quick flash of
gratitude as unmistakable as if she had spoken her thanks. It was quite
evident that the girl had no desire to meet his Excellency, which is not
to be wondered at, as she had already encountered him three times in her
capacity of journalist. He not only knew the Princess von Steinheimer,
but he knew Jennie Baxter as well.

She leaned back in her chair and said wearily,--

“I seem to be having rather an abundance of diplomatic society this
evening. Are you acquainted with the American Ambassador also, Lord
Donal?”

“Yes,” cried the young man, eagerly springing to his feet. “He was a
prominent politician in Washington while I was there. He is an excellent
man, and I shall have no difficulty in making your excuses to him if you
don’t wish to meet him.”

“Thank you so much. You have now an opportunity of retrieving your
diplomatic reputation, if you can postpone the interview without
offending him.”

Lord Donal departed with alacrity, and the moment he was gone all
appearance of languor vanished from Miss Jennie Baxter.

“Now is my chance,” she whispered to herself. “I must be in my carriage
before he returns.”

Eager as she was to be gone, she knew that she should betray no haste.
Expecting to find a stair at the other end of the gallery, she sought
for it, but there was none. Filled with apprehension that she would meet
Lord Donal coming up, she had difficulty in timing her footsteps to the
slow measure that was necessary. She reached the bottom of the stair in
safety and unimpeded, but once on the main floor a new problem presented
itself. Nothing would attract more attention than a young and beautiful
lady walking the long distance between the gallery end of the room and
the entrance stairway entirely alone and unattended. She stood there
hesitating, wondering whether she could venture on finding a quiet
side-exit, which she was sure must exist in this large house, when, to
her dismay, she found Lord Donal again at her side, rather breathless,
as if he had been hurrying in search of her. His brows were knit and
there was an anxious expression on his face.

“I must have a word with you alone,” he whispered. “Let me conduct you
to this alcove under the gallery.”

“No; I am tired. I am going home.”

“I quite understand that, but you must come with me for a moment.”

“Must?” she said, with a suggestion of defiance in her tone.

“Yes,” he answered gravely. “I wish to be of assistance to you. I think
you will need it.”

For a moment she met his unflinching gaze steadily, then her glance
fell, and she said in a low voice, “Very well.”

When they reached the alcove, she inquired rather quaveringly--for she
saw something had happened which had finally settled all the young man’s
doubts--“Is it the American Ambassador?”

“No; there was little trouble there. He expects to meet you later in the
evening. But a telegraphic message has come from Meran, signed by the
Princess von Steinheimer, which expresses a hope that the ball will be a
success, and reiterates the regret of her Highness that she could not be
present. Luckily this communication has not been shown to the Duchess.
I told the Duke, who read it to me, knowing I had been with you all the
evening, that it was likely a practical joke on the part of the Prince;
but the Duke, who is rather a serious person, does not take kindly
to that theory, and if he knew the Prince he would dismiss it as
absurd--which it is. I have asked him not to show the telegram to
anyone, so there is a little time for considering what had best be
done.”

“There is nothing for me to do but to take my leave as quickly and
as quietly as possible,” said the girl, with a nervous little laugh
bordering closely on the hysterical. “I was about to make my way out by
some private exit if I could find one.”

“That would be impossible, and the attempt might lead to unexpected
complications. I suggest that you take my arm, and that you bid farewell
to her Grace, pleading fatigue as the reason for your early departure.
Then I will see you to your carriage, and when I return I shall
endeavour to get that unlucky telegram from the Duke by telling him
I should like to find out whether it is a hoax or not. He will have
forgotten about it most likely in the morning. Therefore, all you have
to do is to keep up your courage for a few moments longer until you are
safe in your carriage.”

“You are very kind,” she murmured, with downcast eyes.

“You are very clever, my Princess, but the odds against you were
tremendous. Some time you must tell me why you risked it.”

She made no reply, but took his arm, and together they sauntered through
the rooms until they found the Duchess, when Jennie took her leave of
the hostess with a demure dignity that left nothing to be desired. All
went well until they reached the head of the stair, when the Duke, an
ominous frown on his brow, hurried after them and said,--

“My lord, excuse me.”

Lord Donal turned with an ill-concealed expression of impatience, but he
was helpless, for he feared his host might not have the good sense to
avoid a scene even in his own hall. Had it been the Duchess, all would
have been well, for she was a lady of infinite tact, but the Duke, as he
had said, was a stupid man, who needed the constant eye of his wife upon
him to restrain him from blundering. The young man whispered, “Keep
right on until you are in your carriage. I shall ask my man here to call
it for you, but please don’t drive away until I come.”

A sign brought a serving man up the stairs.

“Call the carriage of the Princess von Steinheimer,” said his master;
then, as the lady descended the stair, Lord Donal turned, with no very
thankful feeling in his heart, to hear what his host had to say.

“Lord Donal, the American Ambassador says that woman is not the Princess
von Steinheimer, but is someone of no importance whom he has met several
times in London. He cannot remember her name. Now, who is she, and how
did you come to meet her?”

“My Lord Duke, it never occurred to me to question the identity of
guests I met under your hospitable roof. I knew the Princess five years
ago in Washington, before she was married. I have not seen her in the
interval, but until you showed me the telegraphic message there was no
question in my mind regarding her.”

“But the American Ambassador is positive.”

“Then he has more confidence in his eyesight than I have. If such a
question, like international difficulties, is to be settled by the
Embassies, let us refer it to Austria, who held a long conversation with
the lady in my presence. Your Excellency,” he continued to the Austrian
Ambassador, who was hovering near, waiting to speak to his host, “The
Duke of Chiselhurst has some doubt that the lady who has just departed
is the Princess von Steinheimer. You spoke with her, and can therefore
decide with authority, for his Grace seems disinclined to accept my
testimony.”

“Not the Princess? Nonsense. I know her very well indeed, and a most
charming lady she is. I hope to be her guest again before many months
are past.”

“There, my Lord Duke, you see everything is as it should be. If you will
give me that stupid telegram, I will make some quiet inquiries about it.
Meanwhile, the less said the better. I will see the American Ambassador
and convince him of his error. And now I must make what excuses I can to
the Princess for my desertion of her.”

Placing the telegram in his pocket, he hurried down the stair and out to
the street. There had been some delay about the coming of the carriage,
and he saw the lady he sought, at that moment entering it.

“Home at once as fast as you can,” he heard her say to the coachman. She
had evidently no intention of waiting for him. He sprang forward, thrust
his arm through the carriage window, and grasped her hand.

“Princess,” he cried, “you will not leave me like this. I must see you
to-morrow.”

“No, no,” she gasped, shrinking into the corner of the carriage.

“You cannot be so cruel. Tell me at least where a letter will reach you.
I shall not release your hand until you promise.”

With a quick movement the girl turned back the gauntlet of her long
glove; the next instant the carriage was rattling down the street, while
a chagrined young man stood alone on the kerb with a long, slender white
glove in his hand.

“By Jove!” he said at last, as he folded it carefully and placed it
in the pocket of his coat. “It is the glove this time, instead of the
slipper!”




CHAPTER IX. JENNIE REALIZES THAT GREAT EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEHIND.


Jennie Baxter reached her hotel as quickly as a fast pair of horses
could take her. She had succeeded; yet a few rebellious tears of
disappointment trickled down her cheeks now that she was alone in the
semi-darkness of the carriage. She thought of the eager young man left
standing disconsolately on the kerb, with her glove dangling in his
hand, and she bitterly regretted that unkind fortune had made it
possible for her to meet him only under false pretences. One consolation
was that he had no clue to her identity, and she was resolved never,
never to see him again; yet, such is the contrariness of human nature,
no sooner was she refreshed by this determination than her tears flowed
more freely than ever.

She knew that she was as capable of enjoying scenes like the function
she had just left as any who were there; as fitted for them by
education, by personal appearance, or by natural gifts of the mind, as
the most welcome of the Duchess’s guests; yet she was barred out from
them as effectually as was the lost Peri at the closed gate. Why had
capricious fate selected two girls of probably equal merit, and made one
a princess, while the other had to work hard night and day for the mere
right to live? Nothing is so ineffectual as the little word “why”; it
asks, but never answers.

With a deep sigh Jennie dried her tears as the carriage pulled up at
the portal of the hotel. The sigh dismissed all frivolities, all futile
“whys”; the girl was now face to face with the realities of life, and
the events she had so recently taken part in would soon blend themselves
into a dream.

Dismissing the carriage, and walking briskly through the hall, she said
to the night porter,--

“Have a hansom at the door for me in fifteen minutes.”

“A hansom, my lady?” gasped the astonished man.

“Yes.” She slipped a sovereign into his hand and ran lightly up the
stairs. The porter was well accustomed to the vagaries of great ladies,
although a hansom at midnight was rather beyond his experience. But if
all womankind tipped so generously, they might order an omnibus, and
welcome; so the hansom was speedily at the door.

Jennie roused the drowsy maid who was sitting up for her.

“Come,” she said, “you must get everything packed at once. Lay out my
ordinary dress and help me off with this.”

“Where is your other glove, my lady?” asked the maid, busily unhooking,
and untying.

“Lost. Don’t trouble about it. When everything is packed, get some
sleep, and leave word to be called in time for the eight o’clock express
for Paris. Here is money to pay the bill and your fare. It is likely I
shall join you at the station; but if I do not, go to our hotel in Paris
and wait for me there. Say nothing of our destination to anyone, and
answer no questions regarding me, should inquiries be made. Are you sure
you understand?”

“Yes, my lady.” A few moments later Jennie was in the cab, driving
through the nearly deserted streets. She dismissed her vehicle at
Charing Cross, walked down the Strand until she got another, then
proceeded direct to the office of the _Daily Bugle_, whose upper windows
formed a row of lights, all the more brilliant because of the intense
darkness below.

She found the shorthand writers waiting for her. The editor met her at
the door of the room reserved for her, and said, with visible anxiety on
his brow, “Well, what success?”

“Complete success,” she answered shortly.

“Good!” he replied emphatically. “Now I propose to read the typewritten
sheets as they come from the machine, correct them for obvious clerical
errors, and send them right away to the compositors. You can, perhaps,
glance over the final proofs, which will be ready almost as soon as you
have finished.”

“Very well. Look closely to the spelling of proper names and verify
titles. There won’t be much time for me to go carefully over the last
proofs.”

“All right. You furnish the material, and I’ll see that it’s used to the
best advantage.”

Jennie entered the room, and there at a desk sat the waiting
stenographer; over his head hung the bulb of an electric light, its
green circular shade throwing the white rays directly down on his open
notebook. The girl was once more in the working world, and its bracing
air acted as a tonic to her overwrought nerves. All longings and regrets
had been put off with the Paris-made gown which the maid at that moment
was carefully packing away. The order of nature seemed reversed; the
butterfly had abandoned its gorgeous wings of gauze, and was habited in
the sombre working garb of the grub. With her hands clasped behind her,
the girl paced up and down the room, pouring forth words, two hundred to
the minute, and sometimes more. Silently one stenographer, tiptoeing in,
replaced another, who as silently departed; and from the adjoining room,
the subdued, nervous, rapid click, click, click of the typewriting
machine invaded, without disturbing, her consciousness. Towards three
o’clock the low drone of the rotaries in the cellar made itself felt
rather than heard; the early edition for the country was being run off.
Time was flying--danced away by nimble feet in the West End, worked away
by nimble fingers in Fleet Street (well-named thoroughfare); play and
work, work and play, each supplementing the other; the acts of the
frivolous recorded by the industrious.

When a little more than three hours’ dictating was finished, the voice
of the girl, now as hoarse as formerly it had been musical, ceased; she
dropped into a chair and rested her tired head on the deserted desk,
closing her wearied eyes. She knew she had spoken between 15,000 and
20,000 words, a number almost equal in quantity to that contained in
many a book which had made an author’s fame and fortune. And all for the
ephemeral reading of a day--of a forenoon, more likely--to be forgotten
when the evening journals came out!

Shortly after the typewriter gave its final click the editor came in.

“I didn’t like to disturb you while you were at work, and so I kept at
my own task, which was no light one, and thus I appreciate the enormous
strain that has rested on you. Your account is magnificent, Miss Baxter;
just what I wanted, and never hoped to get.”

“I am glad you liked it,” said the girl, laughing somewhat dismally at
the croaking sound of her own voice.

“I need not ask you if you were there, for no person but one who was
present, and one who knew how to describe, could have produced such a
vivid account of it all. How did you get in?”

“In where?” murmured Jennie drowsily. She found difficulty in keeping
her mind on what he was saying.

“To the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball.”

“Oh, getting in was easy enough; it was the getting out that was the
trouble.”

“Like prison, eh?” suggested the editor. “Now, will you have a little
wine, or something stronger?”

“No, no. All I need is rest.”

“Then let me call a cab; I will see you home, if you will permit me.”

“I am too tired to go home; I shall remain here until morning.”

“Nonsense. You must go home and sleep for a week if you want to. Rouse
up; I believe you are talking in your sleep now.”

“I understand perfectly what you are saying and what I am doing. I have
work that must be attended to at eight. Please leave orders that someone
is to call me at seven and bring a cup of coffee and biscuits, or rolls,
or anything that is to be had at that hour. And please don’t trouble
further. I am very thankful to you, but will express myself better later
on.”

With this the editor had to be content, and was shortly on his way to
his own well-earned rest. To Jennie it seemed but a moment after he had
gone, that the porter placed coffee and rolls on the desk beside her
saying, “Seven o’clock, miss!”

The coffee refreshed the girl, and as she passed through the editorial
rooms she noted their forlorn, dishevelled appearance, which all places
show when seen at an unaccustomed hour, their time of activity and
bustle past. The rooms were littered with torn papers; waste-baskets
overflowing; looking silent, scrappy, and abandoned in the grey morning
light which seemed intrusive, usurping the place of the usual artificial
illumination, and betraying a bareness which the other concealed. Jennie
recognized a relationship between her own up-all-night feeling and the
spirit of the deserted rooms.

At the railway station she found her maid waiting for her, surrounded by
luggage.

“Have you got your ticket?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I have changed my mind, and will not go to Paris just now. Ask a porter
to put those trunks in the left-luggage office, and bring me the keys
and the receipt.”

When this was done and money matters had been adjusted between them,
Jennie gave the girl five pounds more than was due to her, and saw
her into the railway carriage, well pleased with the reward. A hansom
brought Jennie to her flat, and so ended the exhausting episode of the
Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball.

Yet an event, like a malady, leaves numerous consequences in its train,
extending, who shall say, how far into the future? The first symptom of
these consequences was a correspondence, and, as there is no reading
more dreary than a series of letters, merely their substance is given
here. When Jennie was herself again, she wrote a long letter to
the Princess von Steinheimer, detailing the particulars of her
impersonation, and begging pardon for what she had done, while giving
her reasons for doing it; but, perhaps because it did not occur to her,
she made not the slightest reference to Lord Donal Stirling. Two answers
came to this--one a registered packet containing the diamonds which the
Princess had previously offered to her; the other a letter from the
Princess’s own hand. The glitter of the diamonds showed Jennie that she
had been speedily forgiven, and the letter corroborated this. In fact,
the Princess upbraided her for not letting her into the secret earlier.
“It is just the jolly kind of thing I should have delighted in,” wrote
her Highness. “And then, if I had known, I should not have sent that
unlucky telegram. It serves you right for not taking me into your
confidence, and I am glad you had a fright. Think of it coming in at
that inopportune moment, just as telegrams do at a play! But, Jennie,
are you sure you told me everything? A letter came from London the day
before yours arrived, and it bewildered me dreadfully at first. Don
Stirling, whom I used to know at Washington (a conceited young fellow he
was then--I hope he has improved since), wrote to say that he had met a
girl at the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball who had a letter inviting the
Princess von Steinheimer to the festivity. He thought at first she was
the Princess (which is very complimentary to each of us), but found
later that she wasn’t. Now he wants to know, you know, and thinks, quite
reasonably, that I must have some inkling who that girl was, and he begs
me, by our old friendship, etc., etc., etc. He is a nice young man, if a
trifle confident (these young diplomatists think they hold the reins of
the universe in their hands), and I should like to oblige him, but I
thought first I would hear what you had to say about it. I am to address
him care of the Embassy at St. Petersburg; so I suppose he’s stationed
there now. By the way, how did he get your glove, or is that merely brag
on his part? He says that it is the only clue he has, and he is going to
trace you from that, it seems, if I do not tell him who you are and
send him your address. Now, what am _I_ to say when I write to St.
Petersburg?”

In reply to this, Jennie sent a somewhat incoherent letter, very
different from her usual style of writing. She had not mentioned the
young man in her former communication, she said, because she had been
trying to forget the incident in which he was the central figure. In no
circumstances could she meet him again, and she implored the Princess
not to disclose her identity to him even by a hint. She explained the
glove episode exactly as it happened; she was compelled to sacrifice
the glove to release her hand. He had been very kind in helping her to
escape from a false position, but it would be too humiliating for her
ever to see him or speak with him again.

When this letter reached the Schloss at Meran, the Princess telegraphed
to London, “Send me the other glove,” and Jennie sent it. A few days
later came a further communication from the Princess.

“I have puzzled our young man quite effectually, I think, clever as
he imagines himself to be. I wrote him a semi-indignant letter to St.
Petersburg, and said I thought all along he had not really recognized
me at the ball, in spite of his protestations at first. Then I saw how
easily he was deluded into the belief that I was some other woman, and
so the temptation to cozen him further was irresistible. Am I not a good
actress? I asked him. I went on to say, with some show of anger, that a
quiet flirtation in the gallery was all very well in its way, but when
it came to a young man rushing in a frenzy bare-headed into the street
after a respectable married woman who had just got into her carriage and
was about to drive away, it was too much altogether, and thus he came
into possession of the glove. As the remaining glove was of no use to
me, I had great pleasure in sending it to him, but warned him that if
the story of the gloves ever came to the ears of my husband, I should
deny having either owned or worn them. I should like to see Don’s amazed
look when the other glove drops out of my letter, which was a bulky
package and cost ever so much in postage. I think the sending of the
glove was an inspiration. I fancy his lordship will be now completely
deluded, and that you need have no further fear of his finding you.”

Jennie read this letter over once or twice, and in spite of her friendly
feeling for the Princess, there was something in the epistle that jarred
on her. Nevertheless she wrote and thanked the Princess for what she had
done, and then she tried to forget all about everything pertaining to
the ball. However, she was not allowed to erase all thought of Lord
Donal from her mind, even if she could have accomplished this task
unimpeded. There shortly arrived a brief note from the Princess
enclosing a letter the young diplomatist at St. Petersburg had written.

“DEAR PRINCESS” (it ran),--“I am very much obliged to you for the
companion glove, as I am thus enabled to keep one and use the other as a
clue. I see you not only know who the mysterious young lady is, but that
you have since met her, or at least have been in correspondence with
her. If the glove does not lead me to the hand, I shall pay a visit to
you in the hope that you will atone for your present cruelty by telling
me where to find the owner of both glove and hand.”

With regard to this note the Princess had written, “Don is not such a
fool as I took him to be. He must have improved during the last few
years. I wish you would write and tell me exactly what he said to you
that evening.”

But with this wish Jennie did not comply. She merely again urged the
Princess never to divulge the secret.

For many days Jennie heard nothing more from any of the actors in the
little comedy, and the episode began to take on in her thoughts that air
of unreality which remote events seem to gather round them. She went
on with her daily work to the satisfaction of her employers and the
augmentation of her own banking account, although no experience worthy
of record occurred in her routine for several weeks. But a lull in a
newspaper office is seldom of long duration.

One afternoon Mr. Hardwick came to the desk at which Jennie was at work,
and said to her,--

“Cadbury Taylor called here yesterday, and was very anxious to see you.
Has he been in again this afternoon?”

“You mean the detective? No, I haven’t seen him since that day at the
Schloss Steinheimer. What did he want with me?”

“As far as I was able to understand, he has a very important case
on hand--a sort of romance in high life; and I think he wants your
assistance to unravel it; it seems to be baffling him.”

“It is not very difficult to baffle Mr. Cadbury Taylor,” said the girl,
looking up at her employer with a merry twinkle in her eye.

“Well, he appears to be in a fog now, and he expressed himself to me
as being very much taken with the neat way in which you unravelled the
diamond mystery at Meran, so he thinks you may be of great assistance
to him in his present difficulty, and is willing to pay in cash or in
kind.”

“Cash payment I understand,” said the girl, “but what does he mean by
payment in kind?”

“Oh, he is willing that you should make a sensational article out of the
episode. It deals entirely, he says, with persons in high life--titled
persons--and so it might make an interesting column or two for the
paper.”

“I see--providing, of course, that the tangled skein was unravelled by
the transcendent genius of Mr. Cadbury Taylor,” said the girl cynically.

“I don’t think he wants his name mentioned,” continued the editor; “in
fact, he said that it wouldn’t do to refer to him at all, for if people
discovered that he made public any of the cases intrusted to him, he
would lose his business. He has been working on this problem for several
weeks, and I believe has made little progress towards its solution. His
client is growing impatient, so it occurred to the detective that you
might consent to help him. He said, with a good deal of complacency,
that he did not know you were connected with the _Bugle_, but he put his
wits at work and has traced you to this office.”

“How clever he is!” said Jennie, laughing; “I am sure I made no secret
of the fact that I work for the _Daily Bugle_.”

“I think Mr. Taylor will have no hesitation in agreeing with you that
he is clever; nevertheless, it might be worth while to see him and to
assist him if you can, because nothing so takes the public as a romance
in high life. Here is his address; would you mind calling on him?”

“Not at all,” replied the young woman, copying the street and number in
her note-book.




CHAPTER X. JENNIE ASSISTS IN SEARCHING FOR HERSELF.


Next day Jennie Baxter drove to the address the editor had given her,
and she found Mr. Cadbury Taylor at home, in somewhat sumptuous offices
on the first floor. Fastened to his door was a brass plate, which
exposed to public view the carven words--

  CADBURY TAYLOR,
  Private Enquiry Agent.

The detective was quite evidently very glad to see her.

“I intended calling to-day at the office of the _Bugle_ on the chance of
finding you,” he said; “but I am delighted to meet you here, because we
can talk without fear of interruption. Has the editor told you anything
of this case?”

“Very little; he didn’t seem to know much about it himself.”

“It was impossible for me to go into full particulars with him. I could
only give him a hint or two in order to convey to him some idea of the
interest which the mystery, when solved, might have from a newspaper
standpoint. Of course I wished to gain his assistance so that he might,
perhaps, persuade you to help me in this matter.”

“He seems to be quite willing that I should lend what aid I can,” said
Jennie; “but I must have full details before I promise. I have a good
deal of work on hand, and, unless this case is interesting from a
newspaper point of view, as you have just said, I don’t think that I
should care to touch it.”

“Oh, you will find it of great interest,” the detective assured her with
much eagerness. “It relates to the sudden and hitherto unexplained
disappearance of a woman. That of itself is absorbing, for I may tell
you, as one having a large experience, that there is nothing more
difficult in this world than for any person, and more especially for a
woman, to disappear entirely and leave no trace behind.”

“I should have thought it quite easy,” said Jennie, “especially in a
large city like London.”

“You have given expression to the universal opinion, but I pledge you my
word that a completely successful disappearance is one of the most
rare events that we detectives have to meet with in our line of
investigation.”

“Please tell me the story,” said the girl; “then we can speak more
understandingly about it.”

The detective selected a packet of papers, one of many which occupied
the end of his table. He slipped from it a rubber band which held the
documents together.

“The first act of the drama, if we may call it so, began at the Duchess
of Chiselhurst’s ball.”

“The Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball!” echoed Jennie, with a shudder. “Oh,
dear!”

The detective looked up at her.

“Why do you say ‘Oh, dear’?” he asked.

“Because,” said the girl wearily, “I am tired hearing of the Duchess of
Chiselhurst’s ball; there seems to have been nothing else in the papers
for weeks past.”

“It has excited a great deal of comment,” assented the detective; “and,
by the way, the _Daily Bugle_ had one of the best accounts of it that
was printed in any newspaper.”

“So I have heard,” said Jennie carelessly, “but I most confess that I
didn’t read that copy of the _Bugle_.”

“You amaze me! I should have thought that would have been the first part
of the paper to which any lady would turn. However, the report of the
ball has nothing to do with what we have in hand. Now, you remember the
Princess von Steinheimer, at whose castle I first had the pleasure of
meeting you?”

“You had the pleasure of meeting me before that,” said Jennie, speaking
without giving thought to what she said.

“Really!” cried the detective, dropping his papers on the table; “and
where was that?”

“Oh, well, as you have just said--it has nothing to do with this
case. Perhaps I was wrong in saying you saw me; it would be more
correct to say that I saw you. You must remember that you are a
public character, Mr. Taylor.”

“Ah, quite so,” said the detective complacently, turning to his
documents again. “Now, the Princess von Steinheimer was invited to the
Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball, but she did not attend it.”

“Are you sure of that?” said the girl. “I thought her name was among the
list of those present.”

“It was in the list, and that is just where our mystery begins. Someone
else attended the ball as the Princess von Steinheimer; it is this
person that I wish to find.”

“Ah, then you are employed by the Duke of Chiselhurst?”

“No, I am not, for, strangely enough, I believe the Duke thinks it was
actually the Princess who attended the ball. Only one man knows that the
Princess was not present, one man and two women. Of the latter, one is
the Princess von Steinheimer, and the other, the lady who impersonated
her. The one man is Lord Donal Stirling, of the Diplomatic Service,
whose name is no doubt familiar to you. Lord Donal has done me the
honour to place the case in my hands.”

“Why does his lordship wish to find this--this--fraudulent person?”
 asked Jennie, speaking slowly and with difficulty.

“Because,” said the detective, with the air of a man who knows whereof
he speaks, “he is in love with her.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I don’t think it, I know it. Listen to his description of her.”

The detective chose a paper from among his pile of documents, folded,
labelled, and docketed for reference.

“‘The girl is of average height, or perhaps a trifle taller than the
average; carries herself superbly, like a born duchess. Her eyes are of
a deep, velvety black--’”

“Dear me!” cried the girl, “he describes her as if she were a cat!”

“Wait a moment,” said the detective.

“I don’t see much trace of love in that,” continued Jennie breathlessly.

“Wait a moment,” repeated the detective. “‘They light up and sparkle
with merriment, and they melt into the most entrancing tenderness.’”

“Good gracious!” cried Jennie, rising, “the conceit of the man is
illimitable. Does he mean to intimate that he saw tenderness for himself
in the eyes of a woman he had met for an hour or two?”

“That’s just it,” said the detective, laughing. “You see the man is head
over ears in love. Please sit down again, Miss Baxter, and listen. I
know this sentimental kind of writing must be irksome to a practical
woman like yourself, but in our business we cannot neglect even the
slightest detail. Let’s see, where was I?--‘tenderness,’ oh, yes. ‘Her
hair is of midnight darkness, inclined to ripple, with little whiffs of
curls imperiously defying restraint about her temples. Her complexion is
as pure as the dawn, touched now and then with a blush as delicate as
the petal of a rose.’”

“Absurd!” cried Jennie impatiently. “The complexion of a woman at a
ball! Of course, she put it on for the occasion.”

“Of course,” agreed the detective. “But that merely shows you how deeply
in love he is. Lord Donal is quite a young man. He came up to this room
to consult with me, and certainly he doesn’t know the difference between
a complexion developed in a Surrey lane and one purchased in New Bond
Street.”

“Still, the blushing would seem to indicate that the complexion was
genuine,” retorted Jennie, apparently quite unflattered by Mr. Taylor’s
agreement with the theory she herself had put forward.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I believe modern science enables an
enamelled woman to blush at will; I wouldn’t be sure of it, because it
is outside of my own line of investigation, but I have understood such
is the case.”

“Very likely,” assented Jennie. “What is that you have at the bottom of
your packet?”

“That,” said the detective, drawing it forth and handing it to the girl,
“is her glove.”

Jennie picked up the glove--which, alas! she had paid for and only
worn on one occasion--and smoothed it out between her fingers. It was
docketed “G; made by Gaunt et Cie, Boulevard Hausmann; purchased in
Paris by one alleging herself to be the Princess von Steinheimer.”

“You have found out all about it,” said Jennie, as she finished reading
the label.

“Yes, it is our business to do so; but the glove has not been of much
assistance to us.”

“How did he say he became possessed of the glove?” asked the girl
innocently. “Did she give it to him?”

“No; he tore it from her hand as she was leaving him in the carriage. It
seemed to me a most ungentlemanly thing to do, but of course it was not
my business to tell Lord Donal that.”

“So the glove has not been of much assistance to you. Tell me, then,
what you have done, and perhaps I shall be the better able to advise
you.”

“We have done everything that suggested itself. We traced the alleged
Princess from the Hotel Bristol in Pans to Claridge’s in London. I have
a very clever woman in Paris who assisted me, and she found where the
gloves were bought and where the dress was made. Did I read you Lord
Donal’s description of the lady’s costume?”

“No, never mind that; go on with your story.”

“Well, Claridge’s provided carriage, coachman and footman to take her to
the ball, and this returned with her sometime about midnight. Now, here
a curious thing happened. The lady ordered a hansom as she passed the
night-porter and shortly after packed off her maid in the cab.”

“Her maid!” echoed Jennie.

“Yes. The maid came down in ordinary street dress shortly after, deeply
veiled, and drove away in the hansom; the lady paid her bill next
morning and went to the eight o’clock Paris express, with carriage and
pair, coachman and footman. Of course it struck me that it might be the
lady herself who had gone off in the cab, but a moment’s reflection
showed me that she was not likely to leave the hotel in a cab at
midnight, and allow her maid to take the carriage in state next
morning.”

“That doesn’t appear reasonable,” murmured Jennie. “You made no attempt,
then, to trace the maid?”

“Oh yes, we did. We found the cabman who took her from Claridge’s,
and he left her at Charing Cross Station, but there all trace of her
vanishes. She probably left on one of the late trains--there are only a
few after midnight--to some place out in the country. The lady took a
first-class ticket to Paris, and departed alone next morning by the
eight o’clock Continental express. My assistant discovered her and took
a snapshot of her as she was walking down the boulevard; here is the
picture.”

The detective handed Miss Baxter an instantaneous view of one of the
boulevards taken in bright sunshine. The principal figure in the
foreground Jennie had no difficulty in recognizing as her own maid,
dressed in that _chic_ fashion which Parisian women affect.

“She seems to answer the description,” said Jennie.

“So I thought,” admitted the detective, “and I sent the portrait to Lord
Donal. See what he has written on the back.”

Jennie turned the picture over, and there under the inscription, “H.
Supposed photo of the missing woman,” was written in a bold hand, “Bosh!
Read my description of the girl; this is evidently some Paris lady’s
maid.”

“Well, what did you do when you got this picture back?” asked Jennie.

“I remembered you, and went to the office of the _Daily Bugle_. This
brings us to the present moment. You have now the whole story, and I
shall be very pleased to listen to any suggestions you are good enough
to offer.”

The girl sat where she was for a few moments and pondered over the
situation. The detective, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in
his hand, regarded her with eager anticipation. The more Jennie thought
over the matter, the more she was amazed at the man before her, who
seemed unable to place two and two together. He had already spoken of
the account of the ball which had appeared in the _Daily Bugle_; of
its accuracy and its excellence; he knew that she was a member of the
_Bugle_ staff, yet it had never occurred to him to inquire who wrote
that description; he knew also that she had been a guest at the Schloss
Steinheimer when the invitation to the ball must have reached the
Princess. These facts were so plainly in evidence that the girl was
afraid to speak lest some chance word would form the connecting link
between the detective’s mind and the seemingly palpable facts. At last
she looked up, the colour coming and going in her cheeks, as Lord Donal
had so accurately described it.

“I don’t think I can be of any assistance to you in this crisis, Mr.
Taylor. You have already done everything that human ingenuity can
suggest.”

“Yes, I have--everything that _my_ human ingenuity can suggest. But does
nothing occur to you? have you no theory to put forward?”

“None that would be of any practical advantage. Is Lord Donal certain
that it was not the Princess herself whom he met? Are you thoroughly
convinced that there was really an impersonation?”

“What do you mean, Miss Baxter?”

“Well, you met Prince von Steinheimer; what do you think of him?”

“I thought him an overbearing bully, if you ask me. I can’t imagine
what English or American girls see in those foreigners to cause them
to marry. It is the titles, I suppose. The Prince was very
violent--practically ordered me out of the Castle, spoke to his
father-in-law in the most peremptory manner, and I could easily see the
Princess was frightened out of her wits.”

“A very accurate characterization of his Highness, Mr. Taylor. Now, of
course, the Princess being a woman--and a young woman--would naturally
be very anxious to attend the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball, wouldn’t
she?”

“One would think so.”

“And, as you have just said, she has a bear of a husband, a good deal
older than herself, who does not in the least care for such functions as
that to which the Princess was invited. Is it not quite possible that
the Princess actually attended the ball, but, for reasons of her own,
desired to keep the fact of her presence there a secret; and you must
remember that Lord Donal Stirling had not seen the Princess for five
years.”

“For five years?” said the detective sharply. “How did you learn that,
Miss Baxter?”

“Well, you know,” murmured the girl, with a gasp, “he met her last in
Washington, and the Princess has not been in America for five years; so
you see--”

“Oh, I was not aware that he had met her in America at all; in fact,
Lord Donal said nothing much about the Princess--all his talk had
reference to this lady who impersonated her.”

Jennie leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes for a moment, and
breathed quickly.

“I am afraid,” she said at last, “that I do not remember with sufficient
minuteness the details you have given me, to be able to advise. I can
only suggest that Lord Donal met the Princess herself at the Duchess of
Chiselhurst’s ball. The Princess, naturally, would wish to mislead
him regarding her identity; and so, if he had not met her for some
time--say two years, or three years, or five years, or whatever the
period may be--it is quite possible that the Princess has changed
greatly in the interval, and perhaps she was not reluctant to carry on
a flirtation with the young man--your client. Of course, she could not
allow it to go further than the outside of the door of the Duke of
Chiselhurst’s town house, for you must remember there was her husband
in the background--a violent man, as you have said; and Lord Donal must
have thoroughly angered the Princess by what you term his rudeness in
tearing off her glove; and now the Princess will never admit that she
was at the ball, so it seems to me that you are wasting your time in a
wild goose chase. Why, it is absurd to think, if there had been a real
disappearing woman, that you, with all your experience and all your
facilities, should not have unearthed her long ago. You said at the
beginning that nothing was more difficult than to disappear. Very well,
then--why have you been baffled? Simply because the Princess herself
attended the ball, and there has been no disappearing lady at all.”

The detective, with great vehemence, brought down his fist on the table.

“By Jove!” he cried, “I believe you are right. I have been completely
blinded, the more so that I have the clue to the mystery right here
under my own eyes.”

He fumbled for a moment and brought forth a letter from his pile of
documents.

“Here is a note from St. Petersburg, written by Lord Donal himself,
saying the Princess had sent him the companion glove to the one you
now have in your hand. He says he is sure the Princess knows who her
impersonator was, but that she won’t tell; and, although I had read this
note, it never struck me that the Princess herself was the woman. Miss
Baxter, you have solved the puzzle!”

“I should be glad to think so,” replied the girl, rising, “and I am very
happy if I have enabled you to give up a futile chase.”

“It is as plain as daylight,” replied the detective. “Lord Donal’s
description fits the Princess exactly, and yet I never thought of her
before.”

Jennie hurried away from the detective’s office, happy in the belief
that she had not betrayed herself, although she was not blind to the
fact that her escape was due more to good luck than to any presence of
mind of her own, which had nearly deserted her at one or two points in
the conversation. When Mr. Hardwick saw her, he asked how much space he
should have to reserve for the romance in high life; but she told him
there was nothing in the case, so far as she could see, to interest any
sane reader.

Here matters rested for a fortnight; then the girl received an urgent
note from Cadbury Taylor, asking her to call at his office next day
promptly at four o’clock. It was very important, he said, and he hoped
she would on no account disappoint him. Jennie’s first impulse was not
to go, but she was so anxious to learn what progress the detective had
made in the case, fearing that at last he might have got on the right
track, that she felt it would be unwise to take the risk of not seeing
him. If his suspicions were really aroused, her absence might possibly
serve to confirm them. Exactly at four o’clock next afternoon she
entered his office and found him, to her relief, alone. He sprang up
from his table on seeing her, and said in a whisper, “I am so glad you
have come. I am in rather a quandary. Lord Donal Stirling is in London
on a flying visit. He called here yesterday.”

The girl caught her breath, but said nothing.

“I explained to him the reasons I have for believing that it was
actually the Princess von Steinheimer whom he met at the Duchess of
Chiselhurst’s ball. He laughed at me; there was no convincing him. He
said that theory was more absurd than the sending him a picture of
a housemaid as that of the lady he met at the ball. I used all the
arguments which you had used, but he brushed them aside as of no
consequence, and somehow the case did not appear to be as clear as when
you propounded your theory.”

“Well, what then?” asked the girl.

“Why, then I asked him to come up here at four o’clock and hear what an
assistant of mine would say about the case.”

“At four o’clock!” cried the girl in terror; “then he may be here at any
moment.”

“He is here now; he is in the next room. Come in, and I will introduce
you, and then I want you to tell him all the circumstances which lead
you to believe that it was the Princess herself whom he met. I am sure
you can place all the points before him so tersely that you will succeed
in bringing him round to your own way of thinking. You will try, won’t
you, Miss Baxter? It will be a very great obligement to me.”

“Oh, no, no, no!” cried the girl; “I am not going to admit to anyone
that I have been acting as a detective’s assistant. You had no right to
bring me here. I must go at once. If I had known this I would not have
come.”

“It won’t take you five minutes,” pleaded Cadbury Taylor. “He is at this
moment waiting for you; I told him you would be here at four.”

“I can’t help that; you had no right to make an appointment for me
without my knowledge and consent.”

Taylor was about to speak when the door-handle of the inner room turned.

“I say, detective,” remarked Lord Donal, in a voice of some irritation,
“you should have assistants who are more punctual. I am a very busy man,
and must leave for St. Petersburg to-night, so I can’t spend all my time
in your office, you know.”

“I am sure I beg your pardon, my lord,” said the detective with great
obsequiousness. “This young lady has some objections to giving her
views, but I am sure you will be able to persuade her--”

He turned, but the place at his side was vacant. The door to the hall
was open, and the girl had escaped as she saw the handle of the inner
door turn. Taylor looked blankly at his client with dropped jaw. Lord
Donal laughed.

“Your assistant seems to have disappeared as completely as did the lady
at the ball. Why not set your detectives on _her_ track? Perhaps she
will prove to be the person I am in search of.”

“I am very sorry, my lord,” stammered the detective.

“Oh, don’t mention it. I am sure you have done all that could be done
with the very ineffective clues which unfortunately are our only
possession, but you are quite wrong in thinking it was the Princess
herself who attended the ball, and I don’t blame your assistant for
refusing to bolster up an impossible case. We will consider the search
ended, and if you will kindly let me have your bill at the Diplomatic
Club before six o’clock to-night, I will send you a cheque. Good
afternoon, Mr. Taylor.”




CHAPTER XI. JENNIE ELUDES AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE.


As Jennie rapidly hurried away from the office of Mr. Cadbury Taylor,
there arose in her mind some agitation as to what the detective would
think of her sudden flight. She was convinced that, up to the moment of
leaving him so abruptly, he had not the slightest suspicion she herself,
to whom he was then talking, was the person he had been searching for up
and down Europe. What must he think of one who, while speaking with him,
suddenly, without a word of leave-taking, disappeared as if the earth
had opened and swallowed her, and all because the handle of the door to
the inner room had turned? Then the excuse she had given for not wishing
to meet Lord Donal must have struck him as ridiculously inadequate.
When she reached her desk and reflected with more calmness over
the situation, she found no cause to censure herself for her hasty
departure; although she had acted on impulse, she saw there had been
nothing else to do; another moment and she would have been face to face
with Lord Donal himself.

Next day brought a note from the detective which went far to reassure
her. He apologized for having made the appointment without her
permission, and explained that Lord Donal’s unexpected arrival in
London, and his stubborn unbelief that it had been the Princess herself
whom he met at the ball, seemingly left the detective no alternative out
to call on the person who had so persistently advanced the theory, to
explain it to the one most intimately concerned. It had not occurred
to him at the time to think that Miss Baxter might object to meet Lord
Donal, who was an entire stranger to her; but now he saw that he was
wrong, etc., etc., etc. This note did much to convince Jennie that,
after all, the detective had not seen the clues which appeared to be
spread so plainly before his eyes. Cadbury Taylor, however, said nothing
about the search being ended, and a few days later Jennie received a
disquieting letter from the Princess von Steinheimer.

“My dear Jennie,” her Highness wrote, “I am sure the detectives are
after you, and so I thought it best to send you a word of warning. Of
course it is only surmise on my part, but for days there has been a
woman hovering about the castle, trying to get information from my
servants. My maid came directly to me and told me what she knew. The
woman detective had spoken to her. This inquisitive person, who had come
from Paris, wished particularly to know whether I had been seen about
the castle during the week in which the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball
took place; and so this leads me to suppose that some one is making
inquiries for you. It must be either Lord Donal Stirling or the Duke
of Chiselhurst, but I rather think it is the former. I have written an
indignant letter to Lord Donal, accusing him of having caused detectives
to haunt the castle. I have not yet received a reply, but Lord Donal is
a truthful person, and in a day or two I expect to find out whether or
not he has a hand in this business. Meanwhile, Jennie, be on your guard,
and I will write you again as soon as I have something further to tell.”

The reading of this letter greatly increased Jennie’s fears, for she
felt assured that, stupid as the men undoubtedly were, they verged so
closely on the brink of discovery, they were almost certain to stumble
upon the truth if the investigation was continued. She wrote a
hurried note to the Princess, imploring her to be cautious, and not
inadvertently give any clue that would lead to her discovery. Her
letter evidently crossed one from the Princess herself. Lord Donal had
confessed, said the letter, and promised never, never to do it again.
“He says that before my letter was received he had stopped the
detectives, who were doing no good and apparently only annoying innocent
people. He says the search is ended, as far as the detective is
concerned, and that I need fear no more intrusions from inquiry agents,
male or female. He apologized very handsomely, but says he has not given
up hopes of finding the lady who disappeared. And now, Jennie, I trust
that you will admit my cleverness. You see that I had only a word or
two from my maid as a clue, but I unravelled the whole plot and at once
discovered who was the instigator of it, so I think I wouldn’t make a
bad detective myself. I am tremendously interested in episodes like
this. I believe if I had known nothing of the impersonation, and if the
case had been put in my hands, I should have discovered you long ago.
Can’t you think of some way in which my undoubted talent for research
may be made use of? You don’t know how much I envy you in your newspaper
office, always with an absorbing mystery on hand to solve. It must be
like being the editor of a puzzle department. I wish you would let me
help you next time you have anything important to do. Will you promise?

“When you write again, please send your letter to Vienna, as we are
going into residence there, my husband having been unexpectedly called
to the capital. He holds an important position in the Government, as
perhaps you remember.”

Jennie was delighted to know that all inquiry had ceased, and she wrote
a long letter of gratitude to the Princess. She concluded her epistle by
saying: “It is perfectly absurd of you to envy one who has to work as
hard as I. You are the person to be envied. It is not all beer and
skittles in a newspaper office, which is a good thing, for I don’t like
beer, and I don’t know what skittles is or are. But I promise you that
the next time I have an interesting case on hand I shall write and
give you full particulars, and I am sure that together we shall be
invincible.”

But one trouble leaves merely to give place to another in this life.
Jennie was disturbed to notice that Mr. Hardwick was becoming more and
more confidential with her. He sat down by her desk whenever there was
a reasonable excuse for doing so, and he consulted her on matters
important and on matters trivial. An advance of salary came to her,
and she knew it was through his influence with the board of directors.
Although Mr. Hardwick was sharp and decisive in business matters, he
proved an awkward man where his affections were concerned, and he often
came and sat by the girl’s desk, evidently wishing to say something, and
yet quite as evidently having nothing to say; and thus the situation
became embarrassing. Jennie was a practical girl and had no desire to
complicate the situation by allowing her employer to fall in love with
her, yet it was impossible to go to him and ask that his attentions
might be limited strictly to a business basis. The crisis, however,
was brought on by Mr. Hardwick himself. One day, when they were alone
together, he said abruptly,--

“That romance in high life which you were investigating with Mr. Cadbury
Taylor did not come to anything?”

“No, Mr. Hardwick.”

“Then don’t you think we might enact a romance in high life in this very
room; it is high enough from the street to entitle it to be called a
romance in high life,” and the editor grinned uneasily, like an unready
man who hopes to relieve a dilemma by a poor joke.

Jennie, however, did not laugh and did not look up at him, but continued
to scribble shorthand notes on the paper before her.

“Ah, Mr. Hardwick!” she said with a sigh, “I see you have discovered my
secret, although I had hoped to conceal it even from your alert eyes.
I am, indeed, in the situation of _Ralph Rackstraw_ in ‘Pinafore,’ ‘I
love, and love, alas! above my station,’ and now that you know half, you
may as well know all. It arose out of that unfortunate ball given by the
Duchess of Chiselhurst which will haunt me all the rest of my life, I
fear,” said Jennie, still without looking up. Mr. Hardwick smothered an
ejaculation and was glad that the girl’s eyes were not upon him. There
was a pause of a few moments’ duration between them. He took the path
which was left open to him, fondly flattering himself that, while he
had stumbled inadvertently upon her romance, he had kept his own secret
safe.

“I--I have no right to intrude on your confidences, Miss Baxter,”
 he said finally with an effort, “and I hope you will excuse me
for--for------”

“Oh! I have been sure for some days you knew it,” interrupted the girl,
looking up, but not at him. “I have been neglecting my work, I fear, and
so you were quite right in speaking.”

“No, your work is all right; it wasn’t that exactly--but never mind, we
won’t speak of this any more, for I see it embarrasses you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hardwick,” said Jennie, again bending her eyes on the
desk before her.

The man saw the colour come and go in her cheeks, and thought he had
never beheld anyone so entrancing. He rose quickly, without making
further attempt at explanation, and left the room. One or two tear drops
stained the paper on which the girl was scribbling. She didn’t like
giving pain to anyone, but could not hold herself to blame for what
had happened. She made up her mind to leave the _Daily Bugle_ and seek
employment elsewhere, but next day Mr. Hardwick showed no trace of
disappointment, and spoke to her with that curt imperiousness which had
heretofore been his custom.

“Miss Baxter,” he said, “have you been reading the newspapers with any
degree of attention lately?”

“Yes, Mr. Hardwick.”

“Have you been watching the drift of foreign politics?”

“Do you refer to that speech by the Prime Minister of Austria a week or
two ago?”

“Yes, that is what I have in my mind. As you know, then, it amounted
almost to a declaration of war against England--almost, but not quite.
It was a case of saying too much or of not saying enough; however, it
was not followed up, and the Premier has been as dumb as a graven image
ever since. England has many enemies in different parts of the world,
but I must confess that this speech by the Austrian Premier came as a
surprise. There must have been something hidden, which is not visible
from the outside. The Premier is too astute a man not to know exactly
what his words meant, and he was under no delusion as to the manner in
which England would take them. It is a case, then, of, ‘When I was so
quickly done for, I wonder what I was begun for’--that is what all
Europe is asking.”

“Is it not generally supposed, Mr. Hardwick, that his object was to
consolidate Austria and Hungary? I understood that local politics were
at the bottom of his fiery speech.”

“Quite so, but the rousing of the war spirit in Austria and Hungary was
useless unless that spirit is given something to do. It needs a war, not
a threat of war, to consolidate Austria and Hungary. If the speech had
been followed up by hostile action, or by another outburst that would
make war inevitable, I could understand it. The tone of the speech
indicates that the Prime Minister meant business at the time he gave
utterance to it. Something has occurred meanwhile to change the
situation, and what that something is, all the newspapers in Europe have
been trying to find out. We have had our regular Vienna representative
at work ever since the words were uttered, and for the past two weeks
he has been assisted by one of the cleverest men I could send him from
London; but up to date, both have failed. Now I propose that you go
quietly to Vienna; I shall not let either of the men know you are
investigating the affair at which they have laboured with such little
success; for both are good men, and I do not want to discourage either
of them; still, above all things, I wish to have the solution of this
mystery. So it occurred to me last night that you might succeed where
others had failed. What do you think of it?”

“I am willing to try,” said Miss Baxter, as there flashed across her
mind an idea that here was a case in which the Princess von Steinheimer
could be of the greatest assistance to her.

“It has been thought,” went on the editor, “that the Emperor is
extremely adverse to having trouble with England or any other country.
Still, if that were the case, a new Cabinet would undoubtedly have been
formed after this intemperate address of the Premier; but this man still
holds his office, and there has been neither explanation nor apology
from Court or Cabinet. I am convinced that there is something behind all
this, a wheel within a wheel of some sort, because, the day after the
speech, there came a rumour from Vienna that an attempt had been made on
the life of the Emperor or of the Premier; it was exceedingly vague, but
it was alleged that a dynamite explosion had taken place in the
palace. This was promptly contradicted, but we all know what official
contradictions amount to. There is internal trouble of some kind at
the Court of Vienna, and if we could publish the full details, such an
article would give us a European reputation. When could you be ready to
begin your journey, Miss Baxter?”

“I am ready now.”

“Well, in an affair like this it is best to lose no time; you can go
to-morrow morning, then?”

“Oh, certainly, but I must leave the office at once, and you should get
someone to finish the work I am on.”

“I will attend to that,” said the editor.

Thus relieved, Jennie betook herself to a telegraph office. She knew
that if she wrote a letter to the Princess, who was now in Vienna, she
would probably herself reach that city as soon as her note, so she
telegraphed that something important was on hand which would take her to
Vienna by next day’s Orient express, and intimated that it was a matter
in which she might need the assistance of the Princess. Then she
hastened to her rooms to pack up. That evening there came an answering
telegram from Vienna. The Princess asked her to bring her ball dress and
all the rest of her finery. The lady added that she herself would be at
the railway station, and asked Jennie to telegraph to her, _en route_,
the time of her arrival. It was evident that her Highness was quite
prepared to engage in whatever scheme there was on hand, and this fact
encouraged Jennie to hope that success perhaps awaited her.




CHAPTER XII. JENNIE TOUCHES THE EDGE OF A GOVERNMENT SECRET.


True to her promise, the Princess von Steinheimer was waiting at the
immense railway station of Vienna, and she received her friend with
gushing effusion. Jennie left the train as neat as when she had entered
it, for many women have the faculty of taking long journeys without
showing the dishevelled effect which protracted railway travelling seems
to have upon the masculine, and probably more careless, portion of
humanity.

“Oh, you dear girl!” cried the Princess; “you cannot tell how glad I am
to see you. I was just yearning for someone to talk English to. I am so
tired of French and German, although they flatter me by saying that I
speak those two languages extremely well; yet English is my own tongue,
and it is so delightful to talk with one who can understand every
blessed word you say, which you can easily see those who pretend to
speak English in Vienna do not. What long chats we shall have! And now
come this way to the carriage. There is a man here to look after your
luggage. You are coming right home with me and are going to stay with me
as long as you are in Vienna. Don’t say, ‘No,’ nor make any excuse, nor
talk of going to an hotel, for a suite of rooms is all ready for you,
and your luggage will be there before we are. Now let us enter the
carriage, for I am just pining to hear what it is you have on hand. Some
delicious scandal, I hope.”

“No,” answered Jennie; “it pertains to Government matters.”

“Oh, dear!” cried the Princess; “how tiresome! Politics are so dull.”

“I don’t think this case is dull,” said Jennie; “because it has brought
Austria and England to the verge of war.”

“What a dreadful idea! I hadn’t heard anything of it. When did this
happen?”

“Less than a month ago,” and Jennie related the whole circumstance,
giving a synopsis of the Premier’s speech.

“But I see nothing in that speech to cause war,” protested the Princess.
“It is as mild as new milk.”

“I don’t pretend to understand diplomacy,” continued Jennie, blushing
slightly as she remembered Lord Donal; and it seemed that the same
thought struck the Princess at the same moment, for she looked
quizzically at Jennie and burst out into a laugh.

“You may laugh,” cried the girl; “but I tell you that this is a serious
business. They say it only needed a second ‘new milk’ speech from the
Premier to have England answer most politely in words of honey, and next
instant the two countries would have been at each other’s throats.”

“Suppose we write to Lord Donal in St. Petersburg,” suggested the
Princess, still laughing, “and ask him to come to Vienna and help us? He
understands all about diplomacy. By the way, Jennie, did Lord Donal ever
find out whom he met at the ball that night?”

“No, he didn’t,” answered Miss Baxter shortly.

“Don’t you ever intend to let him know? Are you going to leave the
romance unfinished, like one of Henry James’s novels?”

“It isn’t a romance; it is simply a very distressing incident which I
have been trying to forget ever since. It is all very well for you to
laugh, but if you ever mention the subject again I’ll leave you and go
to an hotel.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” chirruped the Princess brightly; “you daren’t. You
know I hold all the trump cards; at any time I can send a letter to
Lord Donal and set the poor young man’s mind at rest. So you see, Miss
Jennie, you will have to talk very sweetly and politely to me and not
make any threats, because I am like those dreadful persons in the
sensational plays who possess the guilty secrets of other people and
blackmail them. But you are a nice girl, and I won’t say anything you
don’t want to hear said. Now, what is it you wish to find out about this
political crisis?”

“I want to discover why the Premier did not follow up his speech with
another. He must have known when he spoke how his words would be taken
in England; therefore it is thought that he had some plans which
unforeseen circumstances intervening have nullified. I want to know what
those unforeseen circumstances were, and what these plans were. For the
past fortnight the _Daily Bugle_ has had two men here in Vienna trying
to throw some light on the dark recesses of diplomacy. Up to date they
have failed, but at any moment they may succeed; it was because they
failed that I am sent here. Now, have you anything to suggest, Madame la
Princesse?”

“I suggest, Jennie, that we put our heads together and learn all that
those diplomatists wish to hide. Have you no plans yourself?”

“I have no very definite plan, but I have a general scheme. These men
I spoke of are trying to discover what other men are endeavouring to
conceal. All the officials are on their guard; they are highly placed,
and are not likely to be got at by bribery. They are clever, alert men
of the world, so hoodwinking them is out of the question; therefore I
think my two fellow journalists have a difficult task before them.”

“But it is the same task that you have before you; why is it not as
difficult for you, Jennie, as for them?”

“Because I propose to work with people who are not on their guard, and
there is where you can help me, if you are not shocked at my proposal.
Each official has a wife, or at least most of them have. Some of these
wives, in all probability, possess the information that we would like to
get. Women will talk more freely with women than men will with men. Now,
I propose to leave the officials severely alone and to interview their
wives.”

The Princess clapped her hands.

“Excellent!” she cried. “The women of Vienna are the greatest gossips
you ever heard chattering together. I have never taken any interest in
politics, otherwise I suppose I might have become possessed of some
important Government secrets. Now, Jennie, I’ll tell you what I propose
doing. I shall give a formal tea next Thursday afternoon. I shall invite
to that tea a dozen, or two dozen, or three dozen wives of influential
officials about the Court. My husband will like that, because he is
always complaining that I do not pay enough attention to the ladies of
the political circle of Vienna. He takes a great interest in politics,
you know. If we discover nothing at the first tea-meeting, we will have
another, and another, and another, until we do. We are sure to invite
the right woman on one of those occasions, and when we find her I’ll
warrant the secret will soon belong to us. Ah, here we are at home, and
we will postpone the discussion of our delightful conspiracy until you
have had something to eat and are rested a bit.”

The carriage drew up at the magnificent palace, well known in Vienna,
which belongs to the Prince von Steinheimer; and shortly afterwards
Jennie Baxter found herself in possession of the finest suite of rooms
she had ever beheld in her life. Jennie laughed as she looked round her
apartment and noted its luxuriant appointments.

“These are not exactly what we should call ‘diggings’ in London, are
they?” she said to the Princess, who stood by her side, delighted at the
pleasure of her friend. “We often read of poor penny-a-liners in their
garrets; but I don’t think any penny-a-liner ever had such a garret as
this place

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