The Lost Ambassador written by E. Phillips Oppenheim

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I whistled softly to myself. I began to see Louis' idea. I was to
enter, somehow or other, the room in which Mr. Delora was supposed to
be, to remain there concealed, and to await this attack which, for
some reason or other, they were expecting. And then, as the
possibilities connected with such an event spread themselves out
before me, my sense of humor suddenly asserted itself, and, to Louis'
amazement, I laughed in his face. I came back from this world of
fanciful figures, of mysterious robberies, of attempted
assassinations, to the world of every-day things. It was Louis--the
_maitre d'hotel,_ the man who had ordered my _Plat du Jour_
and selected my Moselle--who spoke of these things so calmly in my own
sitting-room, with a menu card in his hand, and a morocco-bound wine
list sticking out of his breast pocket. I was not in any imaginary
city but in London,--city of tragedies, indeed, but tragedies of a
homelier sort. It was not possible that such things could be happening
here, in an atmosphere which, through familiarity, had become almost
commonplace. Was I to believe that Louis, my favorite _maitre
d'hotel_, my fellow schemer in many luncheon and dinner parties, my
authority upon vintages, my gastronomic good angel, was one of a band
of conspirators, who played with life and death as though they had
been the balls of a juggler? Was I to believe that there existed even
in this very hotel, which for years had been my home, the seeds of
these real tragical happenings which sometimes, though only half
disclosed, blaze out upon the world as a revelation of the great
underground world of crime? I found it almost impossible to take Louis
seriously. I could not focus my thoughts.

"Louis," I said, "is this a great joke, or are you talking to me in
sober, serious earnest?"

"I am talking in earnest, monsieur," Louis said slowly. "I have not
exaggerated or spoken a word to you which is not the truth."

"Let me understand this thing a little more clearly," I said. "What
has Ferdinand Delora done that he need fear a murderous assault? What
has he done to make enemies? Is he a criminal, or are those who seek
him criminals?"

"He carries with him," Louis said slowly, "a secret which will produce
a great fortune. There are others who think that they have a right to
share in it. It is those others who are his enemies. It is those
others who hope to attain by force what they could gain by no other
means."

A sudden inspiration prompted my next question.

"Was Tapilow one of those?" I demanded.

Louis nodded gravely.

"Monsieur Tapilow was one of those who claimed a share, but he was not
willing to run the smallest risk," he assented.

"And for that reason," I remarked, "he is well out of the way! I
understand. There is one more question, Louis, and it is one which you
must answer me truthfully. You can imagine what it is when I tell you
that it concerns mademoiselle!"

"Mademoiselle is innocent of the knowledge of any of these things,"
Louis declared earnestly. "She is a very charming and a very beautiful
young lady, but if ever a young lady needed friends, she does!"

"Why is she here at all?" I demanded. "Why was she not left behind in
Paris? If there is no part for her to play in this little comedy, it
seems to me that she would have been much better out of the way."

"Captain Rotherby," Louis said, "there was a reason, and some day you
will understand it--why it was necessary that she should come to
London with her uncle. I can tell you no more. You must not ask me any
more."

I looked into Louis' impenetrable face. I could learn nothing
there. His words had left me partly unconvinced. Somehow I felt that
the only time he had spoken the entire truth was when he had spoken of
Felicia. Yet it was certainly true that I owed these people something,
and I had no wish to shrink from paying my debt.

"Tell me," I said, "if I take Delora's place to-night, and if your
scheme is successful, does that free him? Will he be able to come
back? Will it be for the benefit of mademoiselle?"

"But most certainly!" Louis answered earnestly. "It is not an
organization against which we fight. It is one or two desperate men
who believe themselves robbed. Once they are out of the way, Delora
can walk the streets a free man. There would be nothing," he added,
"to prevent your seeking his friendship or the friendship of his
niece."

"Very well," I agreed. "I will spend the night in Mr. Delora's
rooms. I shall leave it to you to make all the arrangements."

Louis looked at me with a curious expression in his face.

"You understand, monsieur," he said slowly, "that there may be
danger?"

"Naturally I understand," I said. "If it comes to a fight, I shall be
prepared, and I have had a little experience."

"However well armed you may be," Louis said, "there will be a risk.
Our enemies are swift and silent. One of them, at any rate, is an
accomplished criminal. They are too clever for us unaided. I could
take Mademoiselle Delora to Scotland Yard to-day, and I could tell
them what we fear. They might patrol the hotel with the police, and
even then you would wake in the night and find some one by your
bedside."

"By the bye, Louis," I said, "why all this mystery? According to you,
Delora is an honest man. Why don't you go to the police?"

Louis shook his head.

"We are not free to do that," he said. "Delora is honest, but it is a
great secret which he controls, and the only chance of using it
successfully is to keep it a secret from the whole world!"

"How am I to be introduced into the room, Louis?" I asked.

"That," he answered, "will be easy. There are two lifts, as you
know,--one from the smoking-room and one from the entrance hall. The
number of Mr. Delora's apartment is 157. Here, by the bye, monsieur,
is a key."

I took it and put it in my waistcoat pocket.

"You will ascend by the lift from the smoking-room to the top floor,"
Louis continued. "You can then descend by the other lift to the fifth
floor, and walk boldly into the sitting-room. The door on the right
will be Mr. Delora's bedroom, and of that there will be, after
midnight, a key upon the mantelpiece in the sitting-room."

"But Miss Delora?" I asked. "What of her? The sitting-room connects,
also, with her apartments."

"Mademoiselle will be told something of this during the evening,"
Louis answered. "It will be better. She will have retired and be
locked in her room long before it will be necessary for you to
ascend."

"Very well," I said. "But now for the practical side of it. If
anything really happens, what is to be my excuse for occupying those
apartments to-night?"

"I will provide you with a sufficient one later on," Louis
promised. "You will dine downstairs?"

"Possibly," I answered.

"In which case we can have a little conversation," Louis remarked.

"Louis," I said, "what sort of an affair is this, really, in which I
am mixing myself up? Am I one of a gang of magnificent criminals, a
political conspirator, or a fool?"

Louis smiled.

"Monsieur," he said, "I found you very weary of life. I will put you
in the way of finding excitement. Monsieur should ask no more than
that. There are many men of his temperament who would give years of
their life for the chance."

He left me with his usual polite bow. I strolled after him down the
corridor a moment or so later, but I just missed the lift in which he
descended. Looking down, I saw that it had stopped at the fifth
floor. It seemed as though Louis had gone to visit number 157!

CHAPTER XVI

TWO OF A TRADE

I smoked two pipes, one after the other, in a vain attempt to draw out
some definite sequence of facts from the tangled web of happenings
into which I seemed to have strayed. I came to the conclusion that
Fate, which had bestowed on me a physique of more than ordinary size,
a sound constitution, and muscles which had filled my study with
various kinds of trophies, had not been equally generous in her
dispensation of brains. Try as I would, I could make nothing of the
situation in which I found myself. The most reasonable thing seemed to
be to conclude that Louis was one of a gang of thieves, that I was
about to become their accomplice, and that Felicia was simply the
Delilah with whom these people had summoned me to their aid. Such a
conclusion, however, was not flattering, nor did it please me in any
way. Directly I allowed myself to think of Felicia, I believed in her.
There were none of the arts of the adventuress about her methods, her
glances, or her words. She did not, for instance, in the least
resemble the young lady with the turquoises, who had also been good
enough to take an interest in me! I gave the whole thing up at
last. Perhaps by the morrow I should know more,--if, indeed, I
thought, a little grimly, I knew anything! I could not help feeling
that this little enterprise to which I had committed myself might turn
out to be a serious affair. Even Louis had not tried to minimize the
risks. I felt, however, that if it led me to any better understanding
of the situation, I could welcome whatever danger it involved.

A little before six o'clock I turned to look at the weather, which had
been threatening all day, meaning to take a stroll. The rain, however,
was coming down in sheets, so I descended instead to the little
smoking-room, thinking that I might find there some one whom I knew. I
had already ensconced myself in an easy-chair and ordered a whiskey
and soda, when I became conscious that the very person with whom my
thoughts were occupied was in the room and within a few feet of me.

Felicia was sitting on a couch, and by her side a man whom I
recognized at once. It was the companion of my lady of the turquoises!
Apparently they had not noticed my entrance. They continued for
several moments to be unaware of it. Felicia was paler than ever. She
seemed to be struggling, as she sat there, to conceal her fear and
aversion for the man who leaned toward her, talking in rapid French,
with many gesticulations. He was badly dressed in a travelling suit of
French cut, with a waistcoat buttoned almost to the chin. A floppy
black tie hung down over the lapels of his coat. His black moustache,
which seemed to have suffered from the crossing, was drooping, and
gave to his mouth a particularly sinister expression. He had a neck
of unusual size, and the fat ran in ridges to the back of his scalp,
worked up by his collar as he moved his head rapidly with every
sentence. He seemed altogether unable to sit still or control himself.
His boots--brown tops with narrow patent vamps--beat a tattoo upon the
floor. No wonder that Felicia shrunk into the corner of her lounge! I
felt that it was impossible for me to sit and watch them any longer. I
rose to my feet.

Felicia saw me first,--then her companion. Felicia's first expression,
to my intense joy, was one of relief. Her companion, on the other
hand, darted towards me a perfectly murderous glance. I advanced
toward them, and Felicia half rose.

"Capitaine Rotherby," she said, "oh, I am very glad to see you! This
man here who sits by my side--he does not speak one word of English.
Listen, I beg. Go and find some one in the cafe--you know whom I mean,
I will not mention his name. Go and find him, and bring him here. Tell
him that Bartot is here and is terrifying me, that he threatens all
the time. Please bring him."

"I will go at once," I answered.

I bowed and turned away. Of Bartot I took no notice, though he rose at
once and seemed about to address me. I hurried into the cafe, but it
was a slack hour and there were no signs of Louis.

"Can you tell me where to find Louis?" I asked one of the waiters.

The man glanced at the clock and shrugged his shoulders.

"Perhaps in his office," he said, "but Monsieur Louis often goes out
for an hour about this time."

"Where is his office?" I asked.

The man led me into the service room and turned to the left. He
knocked at a closed door, and I heard a sleepy voice say--

"Come in!"

I entered, and found Louis in a tiny little sitting-room, curled up on
a sofa. In his hand was a pocket-book and a pencil. He appeared to
have been making memoranda. He sprang to his feet as I entered.

"Monsieur!" he exclaimed, putting away the pocket-book and rising to
his feet.

"Sorry to disturb you, Louis," I said. "Miss Delora is in the little
smoking-room, and Bartot is there,--just arrived, I suppose, from
Paris. He is terrifying her. She sent me to fetch you."

I saw Louis' lips curl into something which I can only describe as a
snarl. After that moment I never even partially trusted him again. He
looked like a wild animal, one of those who creep through the hidden
places and love to spring upon their prey unseen!

"So!" he muttered. "I come, monsieur. I come."

He followed me out and into the restaurant. As he passed along his
features composed themselves. He bent courteously toward me. He even
opened the door of the little smoking-room and insisted that I should
precede him. I stood on one side then while he went up to the pair. I
heard Felicia give a little murmur of relief. Bartot turned round
fiercely. The two faced one another, and it seemed to me that
unutterable things passed between them. They were like wild animals,
indeed,--Louis silent, composed, serene, yet with a jaguar-like glare
in his eyes, his body poised, as though to spring or defend himself,
as circumstances might dictate. Bartot, who had risen to his feet, was
like a clumsy but powerful beast, showing his fierce primitivism
through the disguise of clothes and his falsely human form. To me
those few seconds were absolutely thrilling! There was another man in
the room, who continued writing as though nothing were happening. A
couple of strangers passed through on their way to the bar, and seemed
to see nothing except the meeting of Louis--the _maitre d'hotel_--with
a possible client. Felicia had let fall her veil, so that her terror
was no longer written in her face. She had separated herself now from
Bartot, and with an involuntary movement I came over to her side. Then
the tension was suddenly broken. It was Louis who showed his teeth,
but it was with the razor-edge of civility.

"Monsieur Bartot is very welcome," he said, speaking in French.
"Monsieur Bartot has promised so often to make this visit, and has
always disappointed us."

Bartot was no match for this sort of thing. His few muttered words at
first were scarcely coherent. Louis bent towards him, always with the
same attitude of polite attention.

"If there is anything I can do," he said softly. "Monsieur has
already, without doubt, selected his rooms. It will give us great
pleasure to see him in the cafe this evening."

Bartot commenced to talk, but his voice was almost inaudible, it was
so thick with passion.

"I come to know what it means! It is not for pleasure that I come to
this villainous country! I come to know what the game is! I will be
told! Mademoiselle here--she tells me that her uncle has been lost,
and now that he is ill. She will not let me see him!"

Louis shrugged his shoulders.

"Alas!" he said. "That, I know, is quite impossible. Monsieur Delora
was taken ill on the voyage over. This gentleman," he added, turning
to me, "will bear me out when I say this. He is now in bed, and a
doctor is with him. I am sorry, but it would not be possible to have
him disturbed."

"Then I wait!" Bartot declared, folding his arms. "I wait till
monsieur recovers!"

"Why not?" Louis asked. "It is what we most desire. We will do our
best to make monsieur comfortable here."

I felt Felicia's fingers press my arm. I glanced towards her, and she
made a motion toward the door. We moved off, unnoticed, and I rang the
bell for the lift.

"Oh! Capitaine Rotherby," she exclaimed, "once more you have come to
my help! I was so frightened at that man! He did speak to me so
angrily, and he did not believe anything I told him. Indeed, it is
true that my uncle is ill. You do not disbelieve that, do you,
Capitaine Rotherby?"

The lift arrived a little opportunely for me. Then it stopped at the
fifth floor.

"We must walk softly," she said. "My uncle is asleep, and the doctor
says that he must not be wakened."

"You are going to have dinner with me?" I asked.

"I think so," she answered. "Yes, I think so! Let us go somewhere a
long way off. Take me somewhere quiet, Capitaine Rotherby, where I
shall not see any one I know."

"I will," I promised her. "Put on a high-necked gown and a hat. I will
take you where there is plenty of music but few people. We will get a
quiet table and talk. Indeed," I continued, "there are several things
which I want to say to you, Miss Delora."

"And I," she murmured. "It will be delightful. But step gently,
monsieur. He must not be awakened."

She pointed to that closed door, and I looked steadfastly into her
eyes. It was not possible that she was acting. I was convinced that
she believed that her uncle was really in the next room.

"I call for you here," I whispered, "at half-past seven."

"I shall be ready," she answered, "quite ready. You must not be late
or I shall be impatient. Oh!" she added, with a little impulsive
gesture, "I am beginning to hate this place. I begin to long to escape
from it forever. I look forward so much to going away,--the further
the better, Capitaine Rotherby! I shall be ready when you come.
Good-bye!"

CHAPTER XVII

A VERY SPECIAL DINNER

At seven o'clock that evening I passed through the cafe on my way to
the American bar. There was already a good sprinkling of early diners
there, and Louis was busy as usual. Directly he saw me, however, he
came forward with his usual suave bow.

"The table in the left-hand corner," he said, "is engaged for
monsieur. I have also taken the liberty of commanding a little
dinner."

"But I am not dining here, Louis!" I protested.

Louis' expression was one of honest surprise.

"Monsieur is serious?" he inquired. "It is only a short time ago that
I was talking with Mademoiselle Delora, and she told me that she was
dining with you here."

"I am dining with Miss Delora," I answered, "but I certainly did not
understand that it was to be here."

Louis smiled.

"Perhaps," he remarked, "mademoiselle had, for the moment, the idea of
going away for dinner. If so, believe me, she has changed her
mind. Monsieur will see when he calls for her."

I passed on thoughtfully. There was something about this which I
scarcely understood. It seemed almost as though Louis had but to
direct, and every one obeyed. Was I, too, becoming one of his
myrmidons? Was I, too, to dine at his cafe because he had spoken the
word?

I made my way to number 157 precisely at half-past seven. Felicia
was waiting for me, and for a moment I forgot to ask any
questions,--forgot everything except the pleasure of looking at
her. She wore a black lace gown,--beautifully cut, and modelled to
perfection to reveal the delicate outline of her figure,--a rope of
pearls, and a large hat and veil, arranged as only those can arrange
them who have learnt how to dress in Paris. She looked at me a little
anxiously.

"You like me?" she asked. "I will do?"

"You are charming," I answered, "You take my breath away. Indeed,
mademoiselle, I have never dined with any one so charming."

She dropped me a little curtsey. Then her face clouded over.

"There is something I have to ask," she said, looking at me
ruefully. "Do you mind if we dine downstairs?"

"Louis has already told me that it is your wish," I answered.

She picked up the train of her gown. I fancied that she turned away in
order that I should not see her face.

"He was so disappointed," she murmured, "and he has been so kind, I
did not like to disappoint him."

"How is your uncle?" I asked.

"I have not yet been allowed to see him," she answered, "but they tell
me that he is better. If he has a good night to-night, to-morrow
morning I may go to him."

"I certainly hope that he will have a good night!" I remarked. "Shall
we go down?"

"If you are ready," she answered. "There, you shall carry my purse and
handkerchief while I put on my gloves. To put them on is foolish, is
it not, when one does not leave the place? Still, one must do these
things."

"Your purse is heavy," I remarked, swinging it on my finger.

"I carry always with me much money," she answered. "It is my uncle's
idea. Some day, I tell him, one of us will be robbed. He has always
one or two hundred pounds in his pocket. I have there fifty or sixty
pounds. It is foolish, you think?"

"I do," I answered. "It rather seems like asking people to rob you."

"Ah, well, they do not know!" she answered, stepping into the lift. "I
am hungry, Capitaine Rotherby. I have eaten so little to-day."

"Louis has chosen the dinner himself," I remarked, "so we shall
probably find it everything that it should be."

We found our way to the table which had been reserved for us, escorted
by one of Louis' subordinates. Louis himself was busy in the distance,
arranging the seating of a small dinner-party. He came up to us
directly, however. The waiter was serving us with caviare.

"I hope you will enjoy very much your dinner," he said, bowing. "I
have taken special pains with everything. Two dinners to-night I have
ordered with my own lips from the chef. One is yours, and the other
the dinner of our friend Monsieur Bartot."

He pointed to a table a little distance away, where Monsieur Bartot
was already dining. His back was towards us--broad and ugly, with its
rolls of fat flesh around the neck, almost concealing the low collar.

"Some day," I remarked, "our friend Monsieur Bartot will suffer from
apoplexy."

"It would not be surprising," Louis answered. "He is looking very
flushed to-night. The chef has prepared for him a wonderful
dinner. They say that he is never satisfied. We shall see to-night."

I looked away with a little gesture of disgust. Louis was summoned
elsewhere, a fact for which I was duly grateful.

"Tell me, Miss Delora," I said, "how long have you known Louis?"

"Oh! for a very long time," she answered, a little evasively. "He is
wonderful, they all say. There is no one quite like him. A rich man
has built a great restaurant in New York, and he offered him his own
price if he would go and manage it. But Monsieur Louis said 'No!' He
loves the Continent. He loves London. He will not go so far away."

"Monsieur Louis has perhaps, too, other ties here," I remarked dryly.

She looked at me across the table meaningly.

"Ah!" she said, "Louis--he does interest himself in many things. He
and my uncle always have had much to say to one another. What it is
all about I do not know, but I heard my uncle say once that Louis very
soon would be as rich as he himself."

"Tell me how long you thought of staying in London?" I asked.

"It is not sure," she answered. "My uncle's business may be settled in
a few hours, or it may take him weeks."

"The selling of his coffee?" I asked dryly.

"But certainly!" she answered.

"And from here you go to where?" I asked.

"Back to Paris," she answered, "and then, alas, to South America. It
is to be buried!"

"You have lived long in Paris?" I asked.

"Since I came there first to boarding-school," she answered. "A little
child I was, with my hair in pigtails and frocks to my knees. I have
learned to think, somehow, that Paris is my home. What I have heard of
South America I do not love. I wish very much that my uncle would stay
here."

"There is no chance of that, I suppose?" I asked.

"I think not," she answered. "In South America he is a very important
man. They speak of him one day as President."

"Had you any idea," I asked, "that he had enemies over here?"

She shook her head.

"It is not that," she said. "We will not talk of it just now. It is
not that he has enemies, but he has very, very important business to
arrange, and there are some who do not think as he thinks about
it. Shall we talk about something else, Capitaine Rotherby? Tell me
about your friends or relations, and where you live? I would like so
much to know everything."

"I am afraid there is not much to tell," I answered. "You see I am
what is called over here a younger son. I have a brother who owns the
house in which I was born, and all that sort of thing, and I have had
to go out into the world and look for my fortune. So far," I
continued, "I can't say that I have been very successful."

"You are poor, then?" she asked timidly.

"I am not rich," I answered. "Still, on the whole, I suppose for a
bachelor I am comfortably off. Then my brother has no sons, and his
health is always delicate. I do not count on that, of course, but I
might have to succeed him."

"Tell me his name?" she asked.

"Lord Welmington," I answered,--"the Earl of Welmington he is called."

"And you would be that," she asked naively, "if he died?"

"I should," I answered, "but I should be very sorry to think that
there was any chance of it. I am going to find something to do very
soon, probably at one of the embassies on the Continent. The army at
home, with no chance of a war, is dull work."

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