The Great Secret

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"I trust that you don't consider him too ill," I answered. "I was hoping
to hear that he was better!"

"He is doing well enough," the doctor declared, "if he is left alone.
But," he added, in a lower tone, "he is a sick man--a very sick man."

I glanced towards the bedside, and was shocked at the deathly pallor of
his face. His eyes were half closed. He had not the air of hearing
anything that we said. I walked towards the door with the doctor.

"What is the matter with him, doctor?" I asked.

He glanced towards me suspiciously.

"I was told," he said, "that my patient was without friends here, or any
one for whom he could send."

"I have only known him a very short time," I answered, "but I am
interested in him. If I may be allowed to say so, I am perfectly willing
to defray any charges--"

He stopped me impatiently.

"I am physician to the hotel," he said, "Mr. Blumentein arranges all that
with me!"

"Then perhaps as I have told you I am interested in him, I can trespass
so far upon your courtesy as to inquire into the nature of his ailment,"
I said.

"I am afraid," he said, "that as you are not a medical man, I could
scarcely make you understand."

"There was--an accident, I think," I began.

"A trifle! Nothing at all," the doctor declared hastily. "The trouble is
with his heart. You will excuse me! I have many calls to make this
evening."

"Perhaps you would kindly give me your address," I said. "Dr. Mumford,
the heart specialist, is an acquaintance of mine. You would not object to
meet him in consultation?"

He looked at me for a moment fixedly.

"It is not at all necessary!" he declared. "If Mr. Blumentein is not
satisfied with my conduct of the case, I will withdraw from it at once!
Otherwise, I shall not tolerate any interference!"

He left me without another word. I returned to the bedside. As I
approached, Guest deliberately opened one eye and then closed it again. I
addressed him in French:

"How are you?"

"About as I am meant to be," he answered.

The nurse came over to the bedside.

"It is not well for the gentleman to talk to-night," she said. "The
doctor has said that he must be quite quiet."

"I shall only stay a few minutes," I answered; "and I will be careful not
to disturb him."

She stood quite still for a moment, looking sullenly at us. Then she
turned away and left the room. Guest raised himself a little in the bed.

"She has gone to fetch one of my--guardians," he remarked grimly.

"I am going to take you away from here--down to my home in the country,"
I said. "Do you think you can stand the journey?"

"Whether I can or not makes no difference," he answered. "I shall never
be allowed to leave this room alive."

The Britisher in me was touched.

"Rubbish," I answered, "if you talk like that, I shall go to Scotland
Yard at once. I tell you frankly, I don't like your nurse. I don't like
your doctor, I don't like their shutting you up in this lonely part of
the hotel, and I can't understand the attitude of Mr. Blumentein at all.
He must know what he is risking in attempting this sort of thing, in
London of all places in the world."

He interrupted me impatiently.

"Don't talk about Scotland Yard," he said. "These people are not fools.
They would have a perfect answer to any charge you might bring."

"You don't mean that you intend to lie here and be done to death?" I
protested.

"Death for me is a certain thing," he answered. "I have been a doomed man
for months. There was never a chance for me after I entered the portals
of this hotel. I knew that; but I backed my luck. I thought that I might
have had time to finish my work--to lay the match to the gunpowder."

"Listen," I said, "there is a lady--a young lady staying here, a Miss Van
Hoyt."

"Well?"

"It was her suggestion that I should take you away with me!"

His eyes seemed to dilate as he stared at me.

"Say that again," he murmured.

I repeated my words. He raised himself a little in the bed.

"What do you know of her?" he asked.

"Not much," I answered. "She came to Lord's cricket ground. My cousin was
with her. We have spoken about you."

"You know--"

"I know that she is or appears to be one of your--what shall I
say--enemies."

"She is willing," he repeated, "for me to go away with you! Ah!"

A sudden understanding came into his face.

"Yes!" he declared hoarsely, "I think that I understand. Go back to her!
Say that I consent. She--she is different to those others. She plays--the
great game! Hush! I go to sleep!"

He closed his eyes. The door opened, and the nurse entered, followed by a
man who bowed gravely to me. He was still wearing a grey tweed suit and a
red tie; his eyes beamed upon me from behind his gold-rimmed spectacles.

"Ah!" he exclaimed softly, "so you have come to see your friend. It is
very kind of you! I trust that you find him better."

I pointed to the nurse.

"Send her away," I said. "I want to talk to you!"

"We will talk with pleasure," the newcomer answered, "but why here? We
shall disturb our friend. Come into my room, and we will drink a whisky
and soda together."

"Thank you, no!" I answered dryly. "I will drink with you at the bar, or
in the smoking-room if you like--not in your room."

He bowed.

"An admirable precaution, sir," he declared. "We will go to the
smoking-room."

I glanced towards the bed. Guest was sleeping, or feigning sleep. My
companion's eyes followed mine sympathetically.

"Poor fellow!" he exclaimed. "I am afraid that he is very ill!"

I opened the door and pushed him gently outside.

"We will go downstairs and have that talk," I said.

We found a quiet corner in the smoking-room, where there was a little
recess partitioned off from the rest of the room. My companion drew a
small card-case from his pocket.

"Permit me, Mr. Courage," he said, "to introduce myself. My name is
Stanley, James Stanley, and I come from Liverpool. Waiter, two best
Scotch whiskies, and a large Schweppe's soda."

"Mr. Stanley," I said, "I am glad to know a name by which I can call you,
but this is going to be a straight talk between you and me; and I may as
well tell you that I do not believe that your name is Stanley, or that
you come from Liverpool!"

"Ah! It is immaterial," he declared softly.

"I want to speak to you," I said, "about the man Guest upstairs. It seems
to me that there is a conspiracy going on against him in this hotel. I
want you to understand that I am not prepared to stand quietly aside and
see him done to death!"

My companion laughed softly. He took off his spectacles, and wiped them
with a silk handkerchief.

"A conspiracy," he repeated, "in the Hotel Universal. My dear sir, you
are letting your indignation run away with you! Consider for a moment
what you are saying. The hotel is full of visitors from all parts of
England. It is one of the largest and best known in London. Its
reputation--"

"Oh! spare me all this rot," I interrupted rudely. "Let me remind you of
what happened two nights ago, when you broke into my room in search of
Guest."

"Ah!" he remarked, "that, no doubt, must have seemed an odd proceeding to
you. But, in the first place, you must remember we had no idea that the
room was occupied. We were very anxious to have an explanation with our
friend, purely a business matter, and he had irritated us both by his
persistent avoidance of it. We have had our little talk now, and the
matter is over. My partner has already left, and I am returning to
Liverpool myself to-morrow or the next day. I fear that you were misled
by my language and manner on that unfortunate evening. I am sorry; but
I must admit that I was over-excited."

"Very good," I said. "Then, perhaps, as you are so fluent with your
explanations, you will tell me why Mr. Guest has been removed to a part
of the hotel which I am quite sure that no one knows anything about, is
being attended by a doctor of most unprepossessing appearance, and a
nurse who treats him as a jailer would!"

Mr. Stanley's face beamed with good-humored mirth.

"You young men," he declared, "are so imaginative. Mr. Guest has simply
been removed to the part of the hotel which is reserved for sick people.
No one likes to know that they have anybody next door to them who is
seriously ill. As for the doctor, he is a highly qualified practitioner,
and visits the hotel every day by arrangement with the manager; and the
nurse was sent from the nearest nurses' home."

"You think, then," I continued, "that if I were to go to Scotland Yard,
and tell them all that I know, that I should be making a fool of myself."

Mr. Stanley's eyes twinkled.

"Why not try it?" he suggested. "There is a detective always in
attendance on the premises. Send for him now, and let us hear what he
says."

"Very well, Mr. Stanley," I said, "your explanations all sound very
reasonable. I am to take it, then, that if Mr. Guest desired to--say
leave the hotel to-morrow, no one would make any objection!"

Mr. Stanley was almost distressed.

"Objection! My dear sir! Mr. Guest is his own master, is he not? He pays
his own bill, and he leaves when he likes. At present, of course, he is
not able to, but that is simply a matter of health."

"I am proposing," I said, "to take Mr. Guest away with me into the
country to-morrow."

Mr. Stanley looked at me steadily. There was a subtle change in his face.
I was watching him closely, and I saw the glint of his eyes behind his
spectacles. I began to think I had been rash to lay my cards upon the
table.

"I am afraid," he said gently, "that you are proposing what would
be--certain death to Mr. Guest--in his present state of health."

"I am afraid," I replied, "that if I leave him here, it will also be--to
certain death!"

Mr. Stanley called to the waiter.

"One small drink more, and I must go to bed," he said. "Up to a certain
point, I agree with you. I believe that Leslie Guest is a dying man.
Whether he stays here or goes makes little difference--very little
difference indeed to me. Your health, Mr. Courage! A farewell drink this,
I am afraid!"

I raised my tumbler to my lips, and nodded to him. Then I rose to my
feet, but almost as I did so, I realized what had happened. The floor
heaved up beneath my feet, my knees trembled, I felt the perspiration
break out upon my forehead. Through the mist which was gathering in front
of my eyes, I could see the half-curious, half-derisive glances of the
other occupants of the room; and opposite, Mr. Stanley, his eyes blinking
at me from behind his spectacles, his expression one of grieved concern.
I leaned over toward him.

"You d----d scoundrel!" I exclaimed.

After that, my head fell forward upon my folded arms, and I remembered no
more!

CHAPTER IX

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

I sat up in bed, heavy, unrefreshed, and with a splitting headache. The
clock on the mantelpiece was striking three o'clock; from below I could
hear the clatter of vehicles in the courtyard, and the distant roar of
traffic from the streets beyond. Slowly I realized that it was three
o'clock in the afternoon; the events of the night before re-formed
themselves in my mind. I rang the bell for the valet and sprang out of
bed.

"Why didn't you call me this morning?" I asked angrily.

"You gave no orders, sir," the man answered. "I have been in the room
once or twice, but you were sleeping so soundly that I didn't like to
disturb you."

I began tearing on my clothes.

"What sort of weather has it been?" I asked.

"Pouring rain since seven o'clock, sir!" the man answered. "No chance of
play at Lord's, sir!"

"Thank Heaven!" I exclaimed fervently. "Order me a cup of tea, will you,
and--stop a minute--take this note round to Miss Van Hoyt--367."

He returned in a few minutes with the tea; but he brought my note back
again.

"Miss Van Hoyt left the hotel this morning, sir," he announced.

I turned round quickly.

"She is coming back, of course!" I exclaimed.

"The chambermaid thought not, sir," the man declared. "She has given up
her room, at any rate. They would know for certain down in the office."

I finished the rest of my toilet in a hurry, and went straight to the
reception bureau. I fancied that the clerk to whom I addressed myself
eyed me queerly.

"Can you tell me if Miss Van Hoyt has left the hotel?" I asked.

"She left this morning, sir," he replied.

"Is there any message for me--Mr. Courage?" I asked.

He disappeared for a moment, but I fancied that his search was only
perfunctory.

"Nothing at all for you, sir," he announced.

I concealed my surprise as well as I could.

"Will you send my card up and ascertain if I can see Mr. Leslie Guest?" I
asked. "He is staying somewhere in the south wing."

"Mr. Leslie Guest left just before one o'clock, sir," the clerk answered.

"Left the hotel!" I repeated. "Why! He was in bed yesterday, and scarcely
able to move."

The clerk shrugged his shoulders. He had the air of being a little tired
of me.

"He was probably better to-day," he answered. "At any rate, he was well
enough to travel."

"Is Mr. James Stanley, of Liverpool, in?" I asked.

"Mr. Stanley paid his bill and went away at eight o'clock this morning,"
the man answered, going back to his ledger.

"I must see the manager at once," I declared firmly.

The clerk called a page-boy.

"Take this gentleman's name down to Mr. Blumentein," he ordered shortly.

I waited for several minutes. Then the boy returned, and beckoned me to
follow him.

"Mr. Blumentein will see you in his office, sir," he announced. "Will you
come this way?"

It was a very different Mr. Blumentein who looked up now, as I was shown
into his private room. He regarded me with a frown, and his manner was
indubitably hostile.

"You wish to speak to me, sir?" he asked curtly.

"I do!" I answered. "There is a good deal going on in your hotel which I
do not understand; and I may as well tell you that I am determined to get
to the bottom of it. I was drugged in the public smoking-room last night
by a man who called himself Stanley, acting in collusion with one of the
waiters."

Mr. Blumentein looked at me superciliously.

"Mr. Courage," he said, "the events of last night preclude my taking you
seriously any more; but I should like you to understand that you have
proved yourself an extremely troublesome guest here."

"What do you mean by the events of last night?" I asked.

"You were drunk in the smoking-room," Mr. Blumentein replied curtly, "and
had to be assisted to your room. Don't trouble to deny it. There are a
dozen witnesses, if necessary. I shall require you to leave the hotel
within the next few hours."

"You know very well that I was nothing of the sort," I answered hotly.

"It is easily proved," Mr. Blumentein asserted. "Please understand that I
am not prepared to discuss the matter with you."

"Very well," I answered. "Let it go at that. Whilst I was safely put out
of the way, several of your guests seem to have left. Will you give me
Miss Van Hoyt's address?"

"I will not," the manager answered.

"Mr. Leslie Guest's then?"

"I do not know it," he declared.

I turned towards the door.

"Very well, Mr. Blumentein," I said; "but if you imagine that this matter
is going to rest where it is, you are very much mistaken. I am going
straight to a private detective's, who is also a friend of mine!"

"Then for Heaven's sake go to him!" Mr. Blumentein declared irritably.
"We have nothing to conceal here! All that we desire is to be left alone
by guests whose conduct about the place is discreditable. Good afternoon,
Mr. Courage!"

I returned to my room and had my bag packed. Then I sat down to think. I
reviewed the course of events carefully since the night before last. Try
how I could, I found it absolutely impossible to arrive at any clear
conclusion with regard to them. The whole thing was a phantasmagoria. The
one person in whom I had believed, and at whose bidding I was willing to
take a hand in this mysterious game, had disappeared without a word of
explanation or farewell. There could be only one reasonable course of
action for me to pursue, and that was to shrug my shoulders and go my
way. I had my own life to live, and although its limitations might be a
little obvious, it was yet a reasonable and sane sort of life. Of Adele I
refused resolutely to think. I knew very well that I should not be able
to forget her. On the other hand, I was convinced now that she was simply
making use of me. I would go back home and forget these two days. I would
reckon them as belonging to some one else's life, not mine.

I paid my bill, left the hotel, and caught the five o'clock train from
St. Pancras to Medchester. From there I had a ten-mile drive, and it
was almost dusk when we turned off the main road into the private
approach to Saxby Hall--my old home. Every yard of the land around, half
meadow-land, half park, I knew almost by heart; every corner and chimney
of the long irregular house was familiar to me. It all looked very
peaceful as we drove up to the front; the blue smoke from the chimneys
going straight up in a long, thin line; not a rustle of breeze or
movement anywhere. Perkins, my butler, came out to the steps to meet me,
and successfully concealed his surprise at my return two days before I
was expected.

"Any news, Perkins?" I inquired, as he helped me off with my coat.

"Nothing in any way special, sir," Perkins replied. "The cricket team
from Romney Court were over here yesterday, sir, for the day."

"Gave 'em a licking, I hope?" I remarked.

"We won by thirty runs, sir," Perkins informed me. "Johnson was bowling
remarkably well, sir. He took seven wickets for fifteen!"

I nodded, and was passing on to my study. Perkins followed me.

"We got your first telegram early this morning, sir!" he remarked.

I stopped short.

"What telegram?" I asked.

"The one telling us to prepare for the gentleman, sir," Perkins
explained. "We had to guess at the train; but we sent the brougham in for
the twelve o'clock, and Johnson waited. We've given him the south room,
sir, and I think that he's quite comfortable."

"What the devil are you talking about?" I asked.

It was Perkins' turn to stare, which he did for a moment blankly.

"The gentleman whose arrival you wired about, sir," he answered. "Mr.
Guest, I believe his name is."

"Mr. Guest is here now?" I asked.

"Certainly, sir! In the south room, sir! He asked to be told directly you
arrived, sir!"

I turned abruptly towards the staircase. I said not another word to
Perkins, but made my way to the room which he had spoken of. I knocked at
the door, and it was Guest's voice which bade me enter. It was Guest
himself, who in a grey travelling suit, which made him look smaller and
frailer than ever, lay stretched upon the sofa over by the great south
windows!

CHAPTER X

"WORTLEY FOOTE--THE SPY"

He sat up at once, but he did not attempt to rise. His eyes watched me
anxiously. My surprise seemed to trouble him.

"I am afraid--" he began hesitatingly.

"You need be afraid of nothing," I interrupted, going over and taking his
hand. "Only how on earth did you get here?"

He looked around before replying. The old habits had not deserted him.

"Your friend, Miss Van Hoyt, arranged it," he said. "The others had
another plan; but they were no match for her."

"But how did you come?" I asked. "You were not well enough to travel
alone."

"She left me at Medchester station," he answered. "Your carriage brought
me over here, and your servants have been most kind. But--but before I go
to bed to-night, there are things which I must say to you. We must not
sleep under the same roof until we have arrived at an understanding."

I looked at him with compassion. He had shaved recently, and his face,
besides being altogether colorless, seemed very wan and pinched. His
clothes seemed too big for him, his eyes were unnaturally clear and
luminous.

"We will talk later on," I said, "if it is really necessary. Shall you
feel well enough to come down and have dinner with me, or would you like
something served up here?"

"I should like to come down," he answered, "if you will lend me your man
to help me dress."

"Come as you are," I said. "We shall be alone!"

He smiled a little curiously.

"I should like to change," he declared. "A few hours of civilization,
after all I have been through, will be rather a welcome experience."

"Very well," I told him, "I will send my man at once. There is just
another thing which I should like to ask you. Have you any objection to
seeing my doctor?"

"None whatever," he answered. "I think perhaps," he added, "that it would
be advisable, in case anything should happen while I am here."

I laughed cheerfully.

"Come," I declared, "nothing of that sort is going to happen now. You are
perfectly safe here, and this country air is going to do wonders for
you."

He made no answer in words. His expression, however, plainly showed me
what he thought. I did not pursue the subject.

"I will send a man round at once," I said, turning away. "We dine at
eight."

My guest at dinner-time revealed traces of breeding and distinction which
I had not previously observed in him. He was obviously a man of birth,
and one who had mixed in the very best society of other capitals, save
London alone. He ate very little, but he drank two glasses of my
"Regents" Chambertin, with the air of a critic. He declined cigars, but
he carried my cigarette box off with him into the study; and he accepted
without hesitation some '47 brandy with his coffee. All the time,
however, he had the air of a man with something on his mind, and we had
scarcely been alone for a minute, before he brushed aside the slighter
conversation which I was somewhat inclined to foster, and plunged into
the great subject.

"Mr. Courage," he said, "I want to speak to you seriously." I nodded.

"Why don't you wait for a few days, until you have pulled up a little?" I
suggested. "There is no hurry. You are perfectly safe down here."

He looked at me as one might look at a child.

"There is very urgent need for hurry," he asserted, "and apart from
that, death waits for no man, and my feet are very near indeed to the
borderland. There must be an understanding between us."

"As you will," I answered, "although I won't admit that you are as ill as
you think you are!"

He smiled faintly.

"That," he said, "is because you do not know. Now listen. You have to
make, within the next few minutes, a great decision. Very likely, after
you have chosen, you will curse me all your days. It was a freak of fate
which brought us together. But I must say this. You are the sort of man
whom I would have chosen, if any measure of choice had fallen to my lot.
And yet," he looked around, "I am almost afraid to speak now that I have
seen you in your home, now that I have realized something of what your
life must be."

All the time, underneath the flow of his level words, there trembled the
sub-note of a barely controlled emotion. The man's eyes were like fire.
His cigarette had gone out. He lit another with restless, twitching
fingers.

"Words, at any rate, can do me no harm," I said encouragingly. "Go on! I
should like to hear what you have to say."

"Words," he exclaimed, "bring knowledge, and with knowledge comes all the
majesty or the despair of life. One does not need to be a student of
character to know that you are a contented man. You are well off. You
have a beautiful home, you are a sportsman, your days are well-ordered,
life itself slips easily by for you. You have none of the wanderer's
discontent, none of the passionate heart longings of the man who has
lifted even the corner of the veil to see what lies beyond. If I speak,
all this may be changed to you. Why should I do it?"

His words stirred me. The eloquence of real conviction trembled in his
tone. I felt some answering spark of excitement creep into my own blood.

"Let me hear what you have to say, at all events!" I exclaimed. "Don't
take too much for granted. Mine has been a simple life, but there have
been seasons when I would have changed it. I come of an adventurous race,
though the times have curbed our spirits. It was my grandfather, Sir
Hardross Courage, who was ambassador at Paris when Napoleon--"

"I know! I know!" he exclaimed. "Your grandfather! Good! And Nicholas
Courage--what of him?"

"My uncle!" I answered. "You have heard of him in Teheran."

A spot of color burned in his pallid cheeks.

"I hesitate no longer," he cried. "These were great men; but I will show
you the way to deeds which shall leave their memory pale. Listen! Did you
ever hear of Wortley Foote?"

"The spy," I answered, "of course!"

He started as though he were stung even to death. His cheeks were
flushed, and then as suddenly livid. He seemed to have grown smaller in
his chair, to be shrinking away as though I had threatened him with a
blow.

"I forgot," he muttered. "I forgot. Never mind. I am Wortley Foote. At
least it has been my name for a time."

It was my turn to be astonished. I looked at him for a moment petrified.
Was this indeed the man who had brought all Europe to the verge of war,
who was held responsible for the greatest international complication of
the century? Years had passed, but I remembered well that week of fierce
excitement when the clash of arms rang through Europe, when three great
fleets were mobilized, and the very earth seemed to reverberate with the
footsteps of the gathering millions, moving always towards one spot.
Disaster was averted by what seemed then to be a miracle; but no one ever
doubted but that one man, and one man alone, was responsible for what
might have been the most awful catastrophe of civilized times. And it was
that man who sat in my study and watched me now, with ghastly face and
passionately inquiring eyes. When he spoke, his voice sounded thin and
cracked.

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