The Lost Ambassador written by E. Phillips Oppenheim

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"Tapilow!" I said.

He turned sharply towards me. I saw him suddenly stiffen, and I saw
his right hand dart as though by instinct to his trousers pocket. But
I was too quick for him. The blood was surging into my ears. Nothing
in the whole room was visible to me but that pale, handsome face with
the thin lips and dark, full eyes. I saw those eyes contract as though
my hand upon his throat were indeed the touch of Death. I shook him
until his collar broke away and his shirt-front flew open, shook him
until from his limp body there seemed no longer any shadow of
resistance. Then I flung him a little away from me, watching all the
time, though, to see that his hand did not move towards that pocket.

"Tapilow," I cried, "defend yourself, you coward! Do you want me to
strangle you where you stand?"

He came for me then with the frenzy of a man who is in a desperate
strait. He was as strong as I, and he had the advantage in height. For
a moment I was borne back. He struck me heavily upon the face, and I
made no attempt to defend myself. I waited my time. When it came, I
dealt him such a blow that he reeled away, and before he could recover
I took him by the back of his neck and flung him from me across the
table which our struggle had already half upset. He lay there, a
shapeless mass, surrounded by broken glass, streaming wine, a little
heap of flowers from the overturned vase. Then the hubbub of the room
was suddenly stilled. A dozen hands were laid upon me.

"For God's sake, monsieur!" I heard Louis cry.

Monsieur Carvin led me away. I looked back once more at the prostrate
figure and then followed him.

"This is not my fault," I said calmly. "He knew quite well that it was
bound to happen. I told him that wherever we next met, whether it was
in a street or a drawing-room, or any place whatsoever upon the face
of the earth, I would deal out his punishment with my own hands, even
though it should spell death. Perhaps," I continued, "you would like
to send for the police. You can have my card, if you like."

"We do not send for the police here," Monsieur Carvin said
hoarsely. "Louis will take you away at once. Where do you stay?"

"At the Ritz," I answered.

"Keep quiet to-morrow!" he exclaimed. "Louis will come to you. This
way."

I shrugged my shoulders. At that moment it mattered little to me
whether I paid the penalty for what had happened or not. I even looked
back for a last time into the restaurant. I saw the strained, eager
faces of the people bent forward to watch me. Some of the men had left
their seats and come out into the body of the hall to get a better
view. The man Delora was among them. The girl was leaning forward in
her place, with her fingers upon the table, and her dark eyes
riveted with horrible intensity upon the fallen figure. I saw
mademoiselle--the turquoise-covered friend of Bartot. She, too, was
leaning forward, but her eyes ignored the man upon the floor, and were
seeking to meet mine. There was something unreal about the whole
scene, something which I was never able afterwards to focus absolutely
in my mind as a whole, although disjointed parts of it were always
present in my thoughts. But I know that as I looked back she rose a
little to her feet and leaned over the table, and heedless of Bartot,
who was now by her side, she waved her hand almost as though in
approbation. I was within a few feet of her, upon the threshold of the
door, and I heard her words, spoken, perhaps, to her companion,--

"It is so that men should deal with their enemies!"

A moment later, Louis and I were driving through the streets toward my
hotel. It was already light, and we passed a great train of market
wagons coming in from the country. Along the Boulevard, into which we
turned, was sprinkled a curious medley of wastrels of the night, and
men and women on their way to work. It had been raining a little time
before, but as we turned to descend the hill a weak sunshine flickered
out from behind the clouds.

"It is later than I thought," I remarked calmly.

"It is half-past five o'clock," answered Louis.

He accompanied me all the way to the hotel. He asked for no
explanation, nor did I volunteer any. As we drove into the Place
Vendome, however, he leaned towards me.

"Monsieur is aware," he said, "that he has run a great risk to-night?"

"Very likely," I answered, "but, Louis, there are some things which
one is forced to do, whatever the risk may be. This was one of them."

"You have courage," Louis whispered. "Let me tell you this. There were
men there to-night, men on every side of you, to whom courage is as
the breath of life. They have seen a man whom nobody loved treated as
he probably deserved. Let me tell you that there is no place in the
world where you could have struck so safely as to-night. Remain in
the hotel to-morrow until you hear from some of us. I may not promise
too much, but I think--I believe--that we can save you."

At that moment Louis' words meant little to me. I was still under the
spell of those few wonderful moments, still mad with the joy of having
taken the vengeance for which every nerve in my body had craved. It
was not until afterwards that their practical import came home to me.

CHAPTER VI

AN INFORMAL TRIBUNAL

I was awakened about midday by the _valet de chambre_, who
informed me that a gentleman was waiting below to see me--a gentleman
who had given the name of Monsieur Louis. I ordered him to prepare my
bath and bring my coffee. When Louis was shown upstairs I was seated
on the edge of my bed in my dressing-gown, smoking my first cigarette.

Louis had the appearance of a man who had not slept. As for myself, I
had never opened my eyes from the moment when my head had touched the
pillow. I had no nerves, and I had done nothing which I regretted. I
fancy, therefore, that my general appearance and reception of him
somewhat astonished my early visitor. He seemed, indeed, to take my
nonchalance almost as an affront, and he proceeded at once to try and
disturb it.

"Monsieur was expecting, perhaps, another sort of visitor?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"I really hadn't thought about it," I said. "After what you told me
last night I have been feeling quite comfortable."

"Do you know that it is doubtful whether Monsieur Tapilow will live?"
Louis asked.

"It was the just payment of a just debt," I answered.

"The law," he objected, "does not permit such adjustments."

"The law," I answered, "can do what it pleases with me."

Louis regarded me steadily for a moment or two, and I fancied that
there was something of that admiration in his gaze which a cautious
man sometimes feels for the foolhardy.

"Monsieur has slept well?" he asked.

"Excellently," I answered.

He glanced at the watch which he had taken from his waistcoat pocket.

"In twenty minutes," he announced, "we must be at the Cafe Normandy."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Indeed!" I said dryly. "I don't exactly follow you."

Louis shrugged his shoulders.

"Monsieur," he said, "it is no time, this, for the choice of words.
There is a man who lies very near to death up there in the Cafe des
Deux Epingles, and it must be decided within the next few hours what
is to be done with him."

"I am not sure that I understand, Louis," I said, lighting a
cigarette.

"You will understand at the Cafe Normandy in half an hour's time,"
Louis answered. "In the meanwhile, have you a servant? If not, summon
the _valet de chambre_. You must dress quickly. It is important,
this."

"I will dress in ten minutes," I replied, "but I must shave before I
go out. That will take me another ten. In the meantime, perhaps you
will kindly tell me what it all means?"

"What it all means!" Louis repeated, with upraised hands. "Is it not
clear? Have you forgotten what happened only a few hours ago? It rests
with one or two people as to whether you shall be given up to the
police for what you did last night,--does monsieur understand
that?--the police!"

"To tell you the truth, Louis," I answered, "I never dreamed of
escaping from them. It did not seem possible."

"In which case?" Louis asked slowly.

I pointed to the revolver upon my mantelpiece.

"We all," I remarked, "make the mistake of overestimating the actual
importance of life."

Louis shivered a little. I noticed both then and afterwards that he
was never comfortable in the presence of firearms.

"A last resource, of course," I said, "but one should always be
prepared!"

"In this city," Louis said, "it is not as in London. In London there
are no corners which are not swept bare by your police. In London, by
this time you would have been sitting in a prison cell."

"That," I remarked, "is doubtless true. So much the more fortunate for
me that I should have met Monsieur Tapilow in Paris and not in London.
But will you tell me, Louis, why you want me to go with you to the
Cafe Normandy, and how you think it will help me?"

"It would take too long," Louis answered. "We will talk in the
carriage, perhaps. You must not delay now--not one moment."

I humored him by hastening my preparations, and we left the place
together a few minutes later. There were many things which I desired
to ask him with regard to the events of last night and the place to
which he had taken me, but as though by mutual consent neither of us
spoke of these things. When we were already, however, about half way
towards the famous restaurant which was our destination I could not
keep silence any longer.

"Louis," I said, "tell me about this little excursion of ours. Who are
these men whom we are going to meet?"

He turned towards me. The last few hours seemed to have brought us
into a greater intimacy. He addressed me by name, and his manner,
although it was still respectful enough, was somehow altered.

"Captain Rotherby," he said, "you do not seem to appreciate the
position in which you stand. You are young, and life is hot in your
veins, and yet to-day, as you sit there, your liberty is
forfeit,--perhaps even, if Tapilow should die, your life! Have you
ever heard any stories, I wonder," he added, leaning a little toward
me, "about French prisons?"

"Are you trying to frighten me, Louis?" I asked.

"No!" he answered, "but I want you to realize that you are in a very
serious position."

"I know that," I answered. "Don't think, Louis," I continued, "that
what I did last night was the result of a rash impulse. I had sworn
since a certain day in the autumn of last year that the first time I
came face to face with that man, whether it was in the daytime or the
nighttime, in a friend's house or on the street, I would punish him.
Well, I have kept my word. I had to. I have had my fill of vengeance.
He can go through the rest of his life, so far as I am concerned,
unharmed. But what I did, I was bound to do, and I am ready to face
the consequences, if necessary."

Louis nodded sympathetically.

"Monsieur," said he, "you have but to talk like that to convince the
men whom you will meet in a few moments that you had a real grievance
against Tapilow, and all may yet be well."

"Who are these men?" I asked. "Is it a police court to which you are
taking me?"

"Monsieur," Louis answered, "there are things which I cannot any
longer conceal from you. I myself, believe me, am merely an
outsider. I am, as you know, a hardworking man with a responsible
position and a family to support. But here in Paris I come on to the
fringe of a circle of life with which I have no direct connection, and
yet whose happenings sometimes touch upon the lives of my friends and
intimates. It is a circle of life into which is drawn much that is
splendid, much that is brilliant; but, monsieur, it is life outside
the law, life which does as it thinks fit, which lives its own way,
and recognizes no laws save its own interests."

I nodded.

"Go on, Louis, please," I said, "Tell me, for example, who these men
are whom I am going to meet."

"They are men," Louis answered, "who have great influence in that
world of which I spoke. The law cannot touch them, or if it could it
would not. They wield a power greater than the power which drives the
wheels of government in this country. If they hear your story, and
they think well, you will go free, even though the man Tapilow should
die."

"You believe this, Louis?" I asked curiously.

"I am sure of it," he answered.

It was not for me to dispute what he said. I merely shrugged my
shoulders. Yet, as a matter of fact, I was expecting every moment to
find the hand of a gendarme upon my shoulder. I expected it as the
carriage stopped before the restaurant and we crossed the pavement. I
expected it even when two men who were sitting in the anteroom of the
restaurant rose up to meet us. Louis, standing between, performed an
introduction.

"Monsieur Decresson and Monsieur Grisson," he said, stretching out his
hand, "permit me to make you acquainted with Monsieur le Capitaine
Rotherby, a retired officer in the English army, and brother of the
Earl of Welmington."

The two men bowed politely and held out their hands. They were both
typical well-dressed, good-looking Frenchmen, apparently of the upper
class. Monsieur Decresson had a narrow black beard, a military
moustache, a high forehead, pale complexion, and thoughtful eyes.
Monsieur Grisson was shorter, with lighter-colored hair, something of
a fop in his attire, and certainly more genial in his manner.

"It is a pleasure," they both declared, "to have the honor of meeting
Monsieur le Capitaine."

The usual inanities followed. Then Monsieur Decresson pointed with his
hand into the restaurant.

"If monsieur will do us the honor to join us," he said, "we will take
luncheon. Afterwards," he continued, "we can talk over our coffee and
liqueurs. It would be well for us to become better acquainted."

I saw no reason to object. I was, in fact, exceedingly hungry. We
lunched at a corner table in the famous restaurant, and I am bound to
admit that we lunched exceedingly well. During the progress of the
meal our conversation was absolutely general. All the events of the
previous night were carefully ignored. When at last, however, we sat
over our coffee and liqueurs, Monsieur Decresson, after a moment's
pause, turned his melancholy gray eyes on me.

"Capitaine Rotherby," he said, "my friend and I represent a little
group of people who have some interest in the place where we met last
night. We are deputed to ask you to explain, if you can, your
conduct,--your attack, which it seemed to us was absolutely
unprovoked, upon an habitue of the place and an associate of our own."

"There is only one explanation which I can make," I answered slowly.
"I went there, as Louis will tell you, absolutely a stranger, and
absolutely by chance. Chance decreed that I should meet face to face
the one man in the world against whom I bear a grudge, the one man
whom I had sworn to punish whenever and wherever I might meet him."

Monsieur Decresson bowed.

"There are situations," he admitted, "which can only be dealt with in
that manner. Do not think me personal or inquisitive, I beg of you,
but--I ask in your own interests--what had you against this man
Tapilow?"

"Monsieur Decresson," I said, "I will answer you frankly. The man whom
I punished last night, I punished because I have proved him to be
guilty of conduct unbecoming to a gentleman. I punished him because he
broke the one social law which in my country, at any rate, may not be
transgressed with impunity."

"What you are saying now," Monsieur Grisson interrupted, "amounts to
an accusation. Tapilow is known to us. These things must be spoken of
seriously. You speak upon your honor as an English soldier and a
gentleman?"

"Messieurs," I answered, turning to both of them, "it is agreed. I
speak to you as I would speak to the judge before whom I should stand
if I had murdered this man, and I tell you both, upon my honor, that
the treatment which he received from me he merited. He borrowed my
money and my brother's money. He accepted the hospitality of my
brother's house, the friendship of his friends. In return, he robbed
him of the woman whom he loved."

"The quarrel," Monsieur Decresson said softly, "seems, then, to have
been another's."

"Messieurs," I answered, "my brother is an invalid for life. The
quarrel, therefore, was mine."

Decresson and his companion exchanged glances. I leaned back in my
chair. The three of them talked together earnestly for several minutes
in an undertone. Then Louis, with a little sigh of relief, rose to
his feet and came over to my side.

"It is finished," he declared. "Monsieur Decresson and Monsieur
Grisson are of one mind in this matter. The man Tapilow's punishment
was deserved."

I looked from one to the other of them in wonder.

"But I do not understand!" I exclaimed. "You mean to say, then, that
even if Tapilow himself should wish it--"

Monsieur Decresson smiled grimly.

"What happens in the Cafe des Deux Epingles," he said, "happens
outside the world. Without special permission it would not be possible
for Monsieur Tapilow to speak to the police of this assault. Buy your
_Figaro_ every evening," he continued, "and soon you will
read. In the meantime, I recommend you, monsieur, not to stay too long
in Paris."

They took leave of me with some solemnity on the pavement outside the
restaurant, but Monsieur Decresson, before stepping into his
automobile, drew me a little on one side.

"Capitaine Rotherby," he said, "you have been dealt with to-day as a
very privileged person. You were brought to the Cafe des Deux Epingles
a stranger, almost a guest, and your behavior there might very well
have been resented by us."

"If I have not said much," I answered, "please do not believe me any
the less grateful."

"Let that go," Monsieur Decresson said coldly. "Only I would remind
you of this. You are a young man, but your experience has doubtless
told you that in this world one does not often go out of one's way to
serve a stranger for no purpose at all. There is a chance that the
time may come when we shall ask you, perhaps through Louis here,
perhaps through some other person, to repay in some measure your
debt. If that time should come, I trust that you will not prove
ungrateful."

"I think," I answered confidently, "that there is no fear of that."

Monsieur Decresson touched Louis on the shoulder and motioned him to
enter the automobile which was waiting. With many bows and solemn
salutes the great car swung off and left me there alone. I watched it
until it disappeared, and then, turning in the opposite direction,
started to walk toward the Ritz. Curiously enough it never occurred to
me to doubt for a moment the assurance which had been given me. I had
no longer the slightest fear of arrest.

On the way I passed the Cafe de Paris. Then I suddenly remembered that
strange little note from the girl with the turquoises. I never stopped
to consider whether or not I was doing a wise thing. I opened the
swing doors and passed into the restaurant. It was almost empty,
except for a few people who had sat late over their luncheon. I called
Leon to me.

"Leon," I said, "you remember me? I am Captain Rotherby."

He held up his hand.

"It is enough, monsieur," he declared. "If monsieur would be so good."

He drew me a little on one side.

"Mademoiselle still waits," he said in an undertone. "If monsieur will
ascend."

"Upstairs?" I asked.

Leon bowed and smiled.

"Mademoiselle is in one of the smaller rooms," he said. "Will
monsieur follow me?"

"Why, certainly," I answered.

CHAPTER VII

A DOUBLE ASSIGNATION

I followed Leon upstairs to the region of smaller apartments. At the
door of one of these he knocked, and a feminine voice at once bade us
enter.

Mademoiselle was sitting upon a lounge, smoking a cigarette. On the
table before her stood an empty coffee-cup and an empty
liqueur-glass. She looked at me with a little grimace.

"At last!" she exclaimed.

"It is the gentleman whom mademoiselle was expecting?" Leon asked
discreetly.

"Certainly," she answered. "You may go, Leon."

We were alone. She gave me her fingers, which I raised to my lips.

"Mademoiselle," I said, "I owe you a thousand apologies. I can assure
you, however, that I have come at the earliest possible moment."

She motioned me to sit down upon the lounge by her side.

"Monsieur had a more interesting engagement, perhaps?" she murmured.

"Impossible!" I answered.

Now I had come here with no idea whatever of making love to this young
lady. My chief interest in her was because she, too, was an habitue of
this mysterious cafe; and because, from the first, I felt that she had
some other than the obvious reason for sending me that little note.
Nevertheless, it was for me to conceal these things, and I did not
hesitate to take her hand in mine as we sat side by side. She did not
draw it away, and she did not encourage me.

"Monsieur," she said, "do not, I beg of you, be rash. It was foolish
of me, perhaps, to meet you here. We can talk for a few minutes, and
afterwards, perhaps, we may meet again, but I am frightened all the
time."

"Monsieur Bartot?" I asked.

She nodded.

"He is very, very jealous," she answered.

"You go with him every night to the restaurant in the Place d'Anjou?"
I asked.

"I go there very often," she answered. "Monsieur, unless I am
mistaken, is a stranger there."

I nodded.

"Last night," I told her, "I was there for the first time."

"You came," she said, toying with her empty liqueur-glass, "with
Louis."

"That is so," I admitted.

"Louis brings no one there without a purpose," she remarked.

"You know Louis, then?" I asked.

She raised her eyebrows.

"All the world knows Louis," she continued. "A smoother-tongued rascal
never breathed."

"Louis," I murmured, "would be flattered."

"Louis knows himself," she continued, "and he knows that others know
him. When I saw monsieur with him I was sorry."

"You are very kind," I said, "to take so much interest."

She looked at me, for the first time, with some spice of coquetry in
her eyes.

"I think that I show my interest," she murmured, "in meeting monsieur
here. Tell me," she continued, "why were you there with Louis?"

"A chance affair," I answered. "I met him coming out of the Opera. I
was bored, and we went together to the Montmartre. There I think that
I was more bored still. It was Louis who proposed a visit to the Cafe
des Deux Epingles."

"Did you know," she asked, "that you would meet that man--the man with
whom you quarrelled?"

I shook my head.

"I had no idea of it," I answered.

She leaned just a little towards me.

"Monsieur," she said, "if you seek adventures over here, do not seek
them with Louis. He knows no friends, he thinks of nothing but of
himself. He is a very dangerous companion. There are others whom it
would be better for monsieur to make companions of."

"Mademoiselle," I answered, looking into her eyes, "these things are
not so interesting. You sent me last night a little note. When may I
see you once more in that wonderful blue gown, and take you myself to
the theatre, to supper,--where you will?"

She shot a glance at me from under her eyelids. The blind was not
drawn, and the weak sunlight played upon her features. She was
over-powdered and over-rouged, made up like all the smart women of her
world, but her features were still good and her eyes delightful.

"Ah, monsieur," she said, "but that would be doubly imprudent. It is
not, surely, well for monsieur to be seen too much in Paris to-day? He
was badly hurt, that poor Monsieur Tapilow."

"Mademoiselle," I assured her, "there are times when the risk counts
for nothing."

"Are all Englishmen so gallant?" she murmured.

"Mademoiselle," I answered, "with the same inducement, yes!"

"Monsieur has learned how to flatter," she remarked.

"It is an accomplishment which I never mastered," I declared.

She sighed. All the time I knew quite well that she carried on this
little war of words impatiently. There were other things of which she
desired to speak.

"Tell me, monsieur," she said, "what had he done to you, this man
Tapilow?"

I shook my head.

"You must forgive me," I said. "That is between him and me."

"And Monsieur Louis," she murmured.

"Louis knew nothing about it," I declared.

She seemed perplexed. She had evidently made up her mind that Louis
had taken me there with the object of meeting Tapilow, and for some
reason the truth was interesting to her.

"It was a quarrel about a woman, of course," she murmured,--"the
friend of monsieur, or perhaps a relation. I am jealous! Tell me,
then, that it was a relation."

"Mademoiselle," I answered gravely, "I cannot discuss with you the
cause of the quarrel between that man and myself. Forgive me if I
remind you that it is a very painful subject. Forgive me if I remind
you, too," I added, taking her other hand in mine for a moment, "that
when I saw you scribble those few lines and send them across to me,
and when I read what you said and came here, it was not to answer
questions about any other person."

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