The Count's Chauffeur. Le Queux William
dainty figure as she sat there pouring out tea, and chatting with the infatuated Captain of Cuirassiers.
I saw quickly that I was not wanted; therefore I excused myself, and went for a stroll along to the Café Métropole, afterwards taking a turn up the Montagne de la Cour. All day I had been on the look-out to see either Bindo or his companions, but they were evidently in hiding.
When I returned, just in time to dress for dinner, I asked Valentine what progress her lover was making, but she merely replied —
“Slow – very slow. But in things of this magnitude one must have patience. We are invited to the Embassy ball in honour of the Crown Prince of Saxony to-morrow night. It will be amusing.”
Next night she dressed in a gown of pale rose chiffon, and we went to the Embassy, where one of the most brilliant balls of the season was in progress, King Leopold himself being present to honour the Crown Prince. Captain Stolberg soon discovered the woman who held him beneath her spell, and I found myself dancing attendance upon the snub-nosed little daughter of a Burgomaster, with whom I waltzed the greater part of the evening.
On our return my “wife” told me with a laugh that matters were progressing well. “Otto,” she added, “is such a fool. Men in love will believe any fiction a woman tells them. Isn’t it really extraordinary?”
“Perhaps I’m one of those men, mademoiselle,” I said, looking straight into her beautiful eyes; for I own she had in a measure fascinated me, even though I knew her to be an adventuress.
She burst out laughing in my face.
“Don’t be absurd, M’sieur Ewart,” she cried. “Fancy you! But you certainly wouldn’t fall in love with me. We are only friends – in the same swim, as I believe you term it in English.”
I was a fool. I admit it. But when one is thrown into the society of a pretty woman even a chauffeur may make speeches he regrets.
So the subject dropped, and with a mock curtsey and a saucy wave of the hand, she went to her room.
On the following day she went out alone at eleven, not returning until six. She offered no explanation of where she had been, and of course it was not for me to question her. As we sat at dinner in our private salle-à-manger an hour later she laughed at me across the table, and declared that I was sitting as soberly as though I really were her dutiful husband. And next day she was absent again the whole day, while I amused myself in visiting the Law Courts, the picture galleries, and the general sights of the little capital of which Messieurs the brave Belgians are so proud. On her return she seemed thoughtful, even triste. She had been on an excursion somewhere with Otto, but she did not enlighten me regarding its details. I wondered that I had had no word from Bindo. Yet he had told me to obey Valentine’s instructions, and I was now doing so. At dinner she once clenched her little hand involuntarily, and drew a deep breath, showing me that she was indignant at something.
The following morning, as she mentioned that she should be absent all day, I took a run on the car as far as the quaint little town of Dinant, up the Meuse, getting back to dinner.
In the salon she met me, already in her dinner-gown, and told me that she had invited Otto to dine.
“To-night you must show your jealousy. You must leave us together here, in the salon, after dinner, and then a quarter of an hour later return suddenly. I will compromise him. Then you will quarrel violently, order him to leave the hotel, and thus part bad friends.”
I hardly liked to be a party to such a trick, yet the whole plot interested me. I could not see to what material end all this tended.
Well, the gay Captain duly arrived, and we dined together merrily. His eyes were fixed admiringly upon Valentine the whole time, and his conversation was mainly reminiscent of the days at Vichy. The meal over, we passed into the salon, and there I left them. But on re-entering shortly afterwards I found him standing behind the couch, bending over and kissing her. She had her arms clasped around his neck so tightly that he could not disengage himself.
In pretended fury I dashed across to the pair with my fists clenched in jealous anger. What I said I scarce remember. All I know is that I let forth a torrent of reproaches and condemnations, and ended by practically kicking the fellow out of the room, while my “wife” sank upon her knees and implored my forgiveness, which I flatly refused.
The Captain took his kicking in silence, but in his glance was murder, as he turned once and faced me ere he left the room.
“Well, Valentine,” I asked, when he was safely out of hearing, and when she had raised herself from her knees laughing. “And what now?”
“The whole affair is now plain sailing. To-morrow you will take the car to Liège, and there await me outside the Cathedral at midnight on the following night. You will easily find the place. Wait until two o’clock, and if I am not there go on to Cologne, and put up at the Hôtel du Nord.”
“Without baggage?”
“Without baggage. Don’t trouble about anything. Simply go there and wait.”
At midday on the following day the pretty Valentine dressed herself carefully, and went out. Then, an hour later, pretending that I was only going for a short run, I mounted into the car and set out for Liège, wondering what was now to happen.
Next day I idled away, and at a quarter to twelve that night, after a run around the town, I pulled up in the shadow before the Cathedral and stopped the engines. The old square was quite quiet, for the good Liègois retire early, and the only sound was the musical carillon of the bells.
In impatience I waited. The silent night was clear, bright, and frosty, with a myriad shining stars above. Time after time the great clock above me chimed the quarters, until just before two o’clock there came a dark female figure round the corner, walking quickly. In an instant I recognised Valentine, who was dressed in a long travelling coat with fur collar, and a sealskin toque. She was carrying something beneath her coat.
“Quick!” she said breathlessly. “Let us get away. Get ready. Count Bindo is following me!” And ere I could start the engines, my employer, in a long dark overcoat and felt hat, hurriedly approached us, saying —
“Come, let’s be off, Ewart. We’ve a long journey to-night to Cassel. We must go through Aix, and pick up Blythe, and then on by way of Cologne, Arnsburg, and the Hoppeke-Tal.”
Quickly they both put on the extra wraps from the car, entered, and wrapped the rugs about them, while two minutes later, with our big head-lamps shedding a broad white light before us, we turned out upon the wide high road to Verviers.
“It’s all right,” cried Bindo, leaning over to me when we had covered about five miles or so. “Everything went off perfectly.”
“And M’sieur made a most model ‘husband,’ I assure you,” declared the pretty Valentine, with a musical laugh.
“But what have you done?” I inquired, half turning, but afraid to take my eyes from the road.
“Be patient. We’ll explain everything when we get to Cassel,” responded Valentine. And with that I had to be content.
At the station at Aix we found Blythe awaiting us, and when he had taken the seat beside me we set out by way of Duren to Cologne, and on to Cassel, a long and bitterly cold journey.
It was not until we were dining together late the following night in the comfortable old König von Preussen, at Cassel, that Valentine revealed the truth to me.
“When I met the German at Vichy I was passing as Countess de Bourbriac, and pretending that my husband was in Scotland. At first I avoided him,” she said. “But later on I was told, in confidence, that he was a spy in the service of the War Office in Berlin. Then I wrote to Count Bindo, and he advised me to pretend to reciprocate the fellow’s affections, and to keep a watchful eye for the main chance. I have done so – that’s all.”
“But what was this ‘main chance’?” I asked.
“Why, don’t you see, Ewart,” exclaimed the Count, who was standing by, smoking a cigarette. “The fact that