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Arthur Hugh Clough - "Amours de Voyage"

Mary Roberts Rinehart - "The Circular Staircase"

J. Walker McSpadden - "Robin Hood"

E. W. Hornung - "Raffles, Further Adventures of the Amateur Cracksman"

Havoc

E >> E. Philips Oppenheim >> Havoc



Havoc

by E. Philips Oppenheim




CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I CROWNED HEADS MEET

II ARTHUR DORWARD'S "SCOOP"

III "OURS IS A STRANGE COURTSHIP"

IV THE NIGHT TRAIN FROM VIENNA

V "VON BEHRLING HAS THE PACKET"

VI VON BEHRLING IS TEMPTED

VII "WE PLAY FOR GREAT STAKES

VIII THE HAND OF MISFORTUNE

IX ROBBING THE DEAD

X BELLAMY IS OUTWITTED

XI VON BEHRLING'S FATE

XII BARON DE STREUSS' PROPOSAL

XIII STEPHEN LAVERICK'S CONSCIENCE

XIV ARTHUR MORRISON'S COLLAPSE

XV LAVERICK'S PARTNER FLEES

XVI THE WAITER AT THE "BLACK POST

XVII THE PRICE OF SILENCE

XVIII THE LONELY CHORUS GIRL

XIX MYSTERIOUS INQUIRIES

XX LAVERICK IS CROSS EXAMINED

XXI MADEMOISELLE IDIALE'S VISIT

XXII ACTIVITY OF AUSTRIAN SPIES

XXIII LAVERICK AT THE OPERA

XXIV A SUPPER PARTY AT LUIGI'S

XXV JIM SHEPHERD'S SCARE

XXVI THE DOCUMENT DISCOVERED

XXVII PENETRATING A MYSTERY

XXVIII LAVERICK'S NARROW ESCAPE

XXIX LASSEN'S TREACHERY DISCOVERED

XXX THE CONTEST FOR THE PAPERS

XXXI MISS LENEVEU'S MESSAGE

XXXII MORRISON Is DESPERATE

XXXIII LAVERICK'S ARREST

XXXIV MORRISON'S DISCLOSURE

XXXV BELLAMY'S SUCCESS

XXXVI LAVERICK ACQUITTED

XXXVII THE PLOT TEAT FAILED

XXXVIII A FAREWELL APPEARANCE






HAVOC






CHAPTER I

CROWNED HEADS MEET


Bellamy, King's Spy, and Dorward, journalist, known to fame in every
English-speaking country, stood before the double window of their
spacious sitting-room, looking down upon the thoroughfare beneath.
Both men were laboring under a bitter sense of failure. Bellamy's
face was dark with forebodings; Dorward was irritated and nervous.
Failure was a new thing to him - a thing which those behind the
great journals which he represented understood less, even, than he.
Bellamy loved his country, and fear was gnawing at his heart.

Below, the crowds which had been waiting patiently for many hours
broke into a tumult of welcoming voices. Down their thickly-packed
lines the volume of sound arose and grew, a faint murmur at first,
swelling and growing to a thunderous roar. Myriads of hats were
suddenly torn from the heads of the excited multitude, handkerchiefs
waved from every window. It was a wonderful greeting, this.

"The Czar on his way to the railway station," Bellamy remarked.

The broad avenue was suddenly thronged with a mass of soldiery -
guardsmen of the most famous of Austrian regiments, brilliant in
their white uniforms, their flashing helmets. The small brougham
with its great black horses was almost hidden within a ring of
naked steel. Dorward, an American to the backbone and a bitter
democrat, thrust out his under-lip.

"The Anointed of the Lord!" he muttered.

Far away from some other quarter came the same roar of voices,
muffled yet insistent, charged with that faint, exciting timbre
which seems always to live in the cry of the multitude.

"The Emperor," declared Bellamy. "He goes to the West station."

The commotion had passed. The crowds in the street below were on
the move, melting away now with a muffled trampling of feet and a
murmur of voices. The two men turned from their window back into
the room. Dorward commenced to roll a cigarette with yellow-stained,
nervous fingers, while Bellamy threw himself into an easy-chair with
a gesture of depression.

"So it is over, this long-talked-of meeting," he said, half to
himself, half to Dorward. "It is over, and Europe is left to wonder."

"They were together for scarcely more than an hour," Dorward murmured.

"Long enough," Bellamy answered. "That little room in the Palace,
my friend, may yet become famous."

"If you and I could buy its secrets," Dorward remarked, finally
shaping a cigarette and lighting it, "we should be big bidders, I
think. I'd give fifty thousand dollars myself to be able to cable
even a hundred words of their conversation."

"For the truth," Bellamy said, "the whole truth, there could be no
price sufficient. We made our effort in different directions, both
of us. With infinite pains I planted - I may tell you this now that
the thing is over - seven spies in the Palace. They have been of
as much use as rabbits. I don't believe that a single one of them
got any further than the kitchens."

Dorward nodded gloomily.

"I guess they weren't taking any chances up there," he remarked.
"There wasn't a secretary in the room. Carstairs was nearly thrown
out, and he had a permit to enter the Palace. The great staircase
was held with soldiers, and Dick swore that there were Maxims in the
corridors."

Bellamy sighed.

"We shall hear the roar of bigger guns before we are many months
older, Dorward," he declared.

The journalist glanced at his friend keenly. "You believe that?"

Bellamy shrugged his shoulders.

"Do you suppose that this meeting is for nothing?" he asked. "When
Austria, Germany and Russia stand whispering in a corner, can't you
believe it is across the North Sea that they point? Things have
been shaping that way for years, and the time is almost ripe."

"You English are too nervous to live, nowadays," Dorward declared
impatiently. "I'd just like to know what they said about America."

Bellamy smiled with faint but delicate irony.

"Without a doubt, the Prince will tell you," he said. "He can
scarcely do more to show his regard for your country. He is giving
you a special interview - you alone out of about two hundred
journalists. Very likely he will give you an exact account of
everything that transpired. first of all, he will assure you that
this meeting has been brought about in the interests of peace. He
will tell you that the welfare of your dear country is foremost in
the thoughts of his master. He will assure you - "

"Say, you're jealous, my friend," Dorward interrupted calmly. "I
wonder what you'd give me for my ten minutes alone with the
Chancellor, eh?"

"If he told me the truth," Bellamy asserted, "I'd give my life for
it. For the sort of stuff you're going to hear, I'd give nothing.
Can't you realize that for yourself, Dorward? You know the man -
false as Hell but with the tongue of a serpent. He will grasp your
hand; he will declare himself glad to speak through you to the great
Anglo-Saxon races - to England and to his dear friends the Americans.
He is only too pleased to have the opportunity of expressing himself
candidly and openly. Peace is to be the watchword of the future.
The white doves have hovered over the Palace. The rulers of the
earth have met that the crash of arms may be stilled and that this
terrible unrest which broods over Europe shall finally be broken up.
They have pledged themselves hand in hand to work together for this
object, - Russia, broken and humiliated, but with an immense army
still available, whose only chance of holding her place among the
nations is another and a successful war; Austria, on fire for the
seaboard - Austria, to whom war would give the desire of her
existence; Germany, with Bismarck's last but secret words written in
letters of fire on the walls of her palaces, in the hearts of her
rulers, in the brain of her great Emperor. Colonies! Expansion!
Empire! Whose colonies, I wonder? Whose empire? Will he tell you
that, my friend Dorward?"

The journalist shrugged his shoulders and glanced at the clock.

"I guess he'll tell me what he chooses and I shall print it," he
answered indifferently. "It's all part of the game, of course. I
am not exactly chicken enough to expect the truth. All the same,
my message will come from the lips of the Chancellor immediately
after this wonderful meeting."

"He makes use of you," Bellamy declared, "to throw dust into our
eyes and yours."

"Even so," Dorward admitted, "I don't care so long as I get the
copy. It's good-bye, I suppose?"

Bellamy nodded.

"I shall go on to Berlin, perhaps, to-morrow," he said. "I can do
no more good here. And you?"

"After I've sent my cable I'm off to Belgrade for a week, at any
rate," Dorward answered. "I hear the women are forming rifle
clubs all through Servia."

Bellamy smiled thoughtfully.

"I know one who'll want a place among the leaders," he murmured.

"Mademoiselle Idiale, I suppose?"

Bellamy assented.

"It's a queer position hers, if you like," he said. "All Vienna
raves about her. They throng the Opera House every night to hear
her sing, and they pay her the biggest salary which has ever been
known here. Three parts of it she sends to Belgrade to the Chief
of the Committee for National Defence. The jewels that are sent her
anonymously go to the same place, all to buy arms to fight these
people who worship her. I tell you, Dorward," he added, rising to
his feet and walking to the window, "the patriotism of these people
is something we colder races scarcely understand. Perhaps it is
because we have never dwelt under the shadow of a conqueror. If
ever Austria is given a free hand, it will be no mere war upon which
she enters, - it will be a carnage, an extermination!"

Dorward looked once more at the clock and rose slowly to his feet.

"Well," he said, "I mustn't keep His Excellency waiting. Good-bye,
and cheer up, Bellamy! Your old country isn't going to turn up
her heels yet."

Out he went - long, lank, uncouth, with yellow-stained fingers and
hatchet-shaped, gray face - a strange figure but yet a power.
Bellamy remained. For a while he seemed doubtful how to pass the
time. He stood in front of the window, watching the dispersal of
the crowds and the marching by of a regiment of soldiers, whose
movements he followed with critical interest, for he, too, had been
in the service. He had still a military bearing, - tall, and with
complexion inclined to be dusky, a small black moustache, dark eyes,
a silent mouth, - a man of many reserves. Even his intimates knew
little of him. Nevertheless, his was the reticence which befitted
well his profession.

After a time he sat down and wrote some letters. He had just
finished when there came a sharp tap at the door. Before he could
open his lips some one had entered. He heard the soft swirl of
draperies and turned sharply round, then sprang to his feet and
held out both his hands. There was expression in his face now - as
much as he ever suffered to appear there.

"Louise!" he exclaimed. "What good fortune!"

She held his fingers for a moment in a manner which betokened a
more than common intimacy. Then she threw herself into an
easy-chair and raised her thick veil. Bellamy looked at her for a
moment in sorrowful silence. There were violet lines underneath
her beautiful eyes, her cheeks were destitute of any color. There
was an abandonment of grief about her attitude which moved him.
She sat as one broken-spirited, in whom the power of resistance was
dead.

"It is over, then," she said softly, "this meeting. The word has
been spoken."

He came and stood by her side.

"As yet," he reminded her, "we do not know what that word may be."

She shook her head mournfully.

"Who can doubt?" she exclaimed. "For myself, I feel it in the air!
I can see it in the faces of the people who throng the city! I can
hear it in the peals of those awful bells! You know nothing? You
have heard nothing?"

Bellamy shook his head.

"I did all that was humanly possible," he said, dropping his voice.
"An Englishman in Vienna to-day has very little opportunity. I
filled the Palace with spies, but they hadn't a dog's chance. There
wasn't even a secretary present. The Czar, the two Emperors and the
Chancellor, - not another soul was in the room."

"If only Von Behrling had been taken!" she exclaimed. "He was there
in reserve, I know, as stenographer. I have but to lift my hand
and it is enough. I would have had the truth from him, whatever it
cost me."

Bellamy looked at her thoughtfully. It was not for nothing that
the Press of every European nation had called her the most beautiful
woman in the world. He frowned slightly at her last words, for he
loved her.

"Von Behrling was not even allowed to cross the threshold," he said
sharply.

She moved her head and looked up at him. She was leaning a little
forward now, her chin resting upon her hands. Something about the
lines of her long, supple body suggested to him the savage animal
crouching for a spring. She was quiet, but her bosom was heaving,
and he could guess at the passion within. With purpose he spoke to
set it loose.

"You sing to-night?" he asked.

"Before God, no!" she answered, the anger blazing out of her eyes,
shaking in her voice. "I sing no more in this accursed city!"

"There will be a revolution," Bellamy remarked. "I see that the
whole city is placarded with notices. It is to be a gala night at
the Opera. The royal party is to be present."

Her body seemed to quiver like a tree shaken by the wind.

"What do I care - I - I - for their gala night! If I were like
Samson, if I could pull down the pillars of their Opera House and
bury them all in its ruins, I would do it!"

He took her hand and smoothed it in his.

"Dear Louise, it is useless, this. You do everything that can be
done for your country."

Her eyes were streaming and her fingers sought his.

"My friend David," she said, "you do not understand. None of you
English yet can understand what it is to crouch in the shadow of
this black fear, to feel a tyrant's hand come creeping out, to know
that your life-blood and the life-blood of all your people must be
shed, and shed in vain. To rob a nation of their liberty, ah! it
is worse, this, than murder, - a worse crime than his who stains
the soul of a poor innocent girl! It is a sin against nature
herself!"

She was sobbing now, and she clutched his hands passionately.

"Forgive me," she murmured, "I am overwrought. I have borne up
against this thing so long. I can do no more good here. I come
to tell you that I go away till the time comes. I go to your
London. They want me to sing for them there. I shall do it."

"You will break your engagement?"

She laughed at him scornfully.

"I am Idiale," she declared. "I keep no engagement if I do not
choose. I will sing no more to this people whom I hate. My friend
David, I have suffered enough. Their applause I loathe - their
covetous eyes as they watch me move about the stage - oh, I could
strike them all dead! They come to me, these young Austrian
noblemen, as though I were already one of a conquered race. I keep
their diamonds but I destroy their messages. Their jewels go to
my chorus girls or to arm my people. But no one of them has had a
kind word from me save where there has been something to be gained.
Even Von Behrling I have fooled with promises. No Austrian shall
ever touch my lips - I have sworn it!"

Bellamy nodded.

"Yes," he assented, "they call you cold here in the capital! Even
in the Palace - "

She held out her hand.

"It is finished!" she declared. "I sing no more. I have sent word
to the Opera House. I came here to be in hiding for a while. They
will search for me everywhere. To-night or to-morrow I leave for
England."

Bellamy stood thoughtfully silent.

"I am not sure that you are wise," he said. "You take it too much
for granted that the end has come."

"And do you not yourself believe it?" she demanded. He hesitated.

"As yet there is no proof," he reminded her.

"Proof!"

She sat upright in her chair. Her hands thrust him from her, her
bosom heaved, a spot of color flared in her cheeks.

"Proof!" she cried. "What do you suppose, then, that these wolves
have plotted for? What else do you suppose could be Austria's share
of the feast? Couldn't you hear our fate in the thunder of their
voices when that miserable monarch rode back to his captivity? We
are doomed - betrayed! You remember the Massacre of St. Bartholomew,
a blood-stained page of history for all time. The world would tell
you that we have outlived the age of such barbarous doings. It is
not true. My friend David, it is not true. It is a more terrible
thing, this which is coming. Body and soul we are to perish."

He came over to her side once more and laid his hand soothingly on
hers. It was heart-rending to witness the agony of the woman he
loved.

"Dear Louise," he said, "after all, this is profitless. There may
yet be compromises."

She suffered her hand to remain in his, but the bitterness did not
pass out of her face or tone.

"Compromises!" she repeated. "Do you believe, then, that we are
like those ancient races who felt the presence of a conqueror
because their hosts were scattered in battle, and who suffered
themselves passively to be led into captivity? My country can be
conquered in one way, and one way only, - not until her sons, ay,
and her daughters too, have perished, can these people rule. They
will come to an empty and a stricken country - a country red with
blood, desolate, with blackened houses and empty cities. The
horror of it! Think, my friend David, the horror of it!"

Bellamy threw his head back with a sudden gesture of impatience.

"You take too much for granted," he declared. "England, at any
rate, is not yet a conquered race. And there is France - Italy,
too, if she is wise, will never suffer this thing from her ancient
enemy."

"It is the might of the world which threatens," she murmured.
"Your country may defend herself, but here she is powerless.
Already it has been proved. Last year you declared yourself our
friend - you and even Russia. Of what avail was it? Word came
from Berlin and you were powerless."

Then tragedy broke into the room, tragedy in the shape of a man
demented. For fifteen years Bellamy had known Arthur Dorward, but
this man was surely a stranger! He was hatless, dishevelled, wild.
A dull streak of color had mounted almost to his forehead, his eyes
were on fire.

"Bellamy!" he cried. "Bellamy!"

Words failed him suddenly. He leaned against the table, breathless,
panting heavily.

"For God's sake, man," Bellamy began, -

"Alone!" Dorward interrupted. "I must see you alone! I have news!"

Mademoiselle Idiale rose. She touched Bellamy on the shoulder.

"You will come to me, or telephone," she whispered. "So?"

Bellamy opened the door and she passed out, with a farewell pressure
of his fingers. Then he closed it firmly and came back.




CHAPTER II

ARTHUR DORWARD'S "SCOOP"


"What's wrong, old man?" Bellamy asked quickly.

Dorward from a side table had seized the bottle of whiskey and a
siphon, and was mixing himself a drink with trembling fingers. He
tossed it off before he spoke a word. Then he turned around and
faced his companion. "Bellamy," he ordered, "lock the door."

Bellamy obeyed. He had no doubt now but that Dorward had lost his
head in the Chancellor's presence - had made some absurd attempt to
gain the knowledge which they both craved, and had failed.

"Bellamy," Dorward exclaimed, speaking hoarsely and still a little
out of breath, "I guess I've had the biggest slice of luck that was
ever dealt out to a human being. If only I can get safe out of
this city, I tell you I've got the greatest scoop that living man
ever handled."

"You don't mean that - "

Dorward wiped his forehead and interrupted.

"It's the most amazing thing that ever happened," he declared, "but
I've got it here in my pocket, got it in black and white, in the
Chancellor's own handwriting."

"Got what?"

"Why, what you and I, an hour ago, would have given a million for,"
Dorward replied.

Bellamy's expression was one of blank but wondering incredulity.

"You can't mean this, Dorward!" he exclaimed. "You may have
something - just what the Chancellor wants you to print. You're
not supposing for an instant that you've got the whole truth?"

Dorward's smile was the smile of certainty, his face that of a
conqueror.

"Here in my pocket," he declared, striking his chest, "in the
Chancellor's own handwriting. I tell you I've got the original
verbatim copy of everything that passed and was resolved upon this
afternoon between the Czar of Russia, the Emperor of Austria and
the Emperor of Germany. I've got it word for word as the Chancellor
took it down. I've got their decision. I've got their several
undertakings."

Bellamy for a moment was stricken dumb. He looked toward the door
and back into his friend's face aglow with triumph. Then his power
of speech returned.

"Do you mean to say that you stole it?"

Dorward struck the table with his fist.

"Not I! I tell you that the Chancellor gave it to me, gave it to
me with his own hands, willingly, - pressed it upon me. No, don't
scoff!" he went on quickly. "Listen! This is a genuine thing.
The Chancellor's mad. He was lying in a fit when I left the Palace.
It will be in all the evening papers. You will hear the boys
shouting it in the streets within a few minutes. Don't interrupt
and I'll tell you the whole truth. You can believe me or not, as
you like. It makes no odds. I arrived punctually and was shown up
into the anteroom. Even from there I could hear loud voices in the
inner chamber and I knew that something was up. Presently a little
fellow came out to me - a dark-bearded chap with gold-rimmed glasses.
He was very polite, introduced himself as the Chancellor's physician,
regretted exceedingly that the Chancellor was unwell and could see
no one, - the excitement and hard work of the last few days had
knocked him out. Well, I stood there arguing as pleasantly as I
could about it, and then all of a sudden the door of the inner room
was thrown open. The Chancellor himself stood on the threshold.
There was no doubt about his being ill; his face was as pale as
parchment, his eyes were simply wild, and his hair was all ruffled
as though he had been standing upon his head. He began to talk to
the physician in German. I didn't understand him until he began to
swear, - then it was wonderful! In the end he brushed them all
away and, taking me by the arm, led me right into the inner room.
For a long time he went on jabbering away half to himself, and I
was wondering how on earth to bring the conversation round to the
things I wanted to know about. Then, all of a sudden, he turned to
me and seemed to remember who I was and what I wanted. 'Ah!' he
said, 'you are Dorward, the American journalist. I remember you now.
Lock the door.' I obeyed him pretty quick, for I had noticed they
were mighty uneasy outside, and I was afraid they'd be disturbing
us every moment. 'Come and sit down,' he ordered. I did so at
once. 'You're a sensible fellow,' he declared. 'To-day every one
is worrying me. They think that I am not well. It is foolish. I
am quite well. Who would not be well on such a day as this?' I
told him that I had never seen him looking better in my life, and
he nodded and seemed pleased. 'You have come to hear the truth
about the meeting of my master with the Czar and the Emperor of
Germany?' he asked. 'That's so,' I told him. 'America 's more
than a little interested in these things, and I want to know what
to tell her.' Then he leaned across the table. 'My young friend,'
he said, 'I like you. You are straightforward. You speak plainly
and you do not worry me. It is good. You shall tell your country
what it is that we have planned, what the things are that are
coming. Yours is a great and wise country. When they know the
truth, they will remember that Europe is a long way off and that
the things which happen there are really no concern of theirs.'
'You are right,' I assured him, - 'dead right. Treat us openly,
that's all we ask.' 'Shall I not do that, my young friend?' he
answered. 'Now look, I give you this.' He fumbled through all his
pockets and at last he drew out a long envelope, sealed at both ends
with black sealing wax on which was printed a coat of arms with two
tigers facing each other. He looked toward the door cautiously, and
there was just that gleam in his eyes which madmen always have.
'Here it is,' he whispered, 'written with my own hand. This will
tell you exactly what passed this afternoon. It will tell you our
plans. It will tell you of the share which my master and the other
two are taking. Button it up safely,' he said, 'and, whatever you
do, do not let them know outside that you have got it. Between
you and me,' he went on, leaning across the table, 'something seems
to have happened to them all to-day. There's my old doctor there.
He is worrying all the time, but he himself is not well. I can see
it whenever he comes near me.' I nodded as though I understood and
the Chancellor tapped his forehead and grinned. Then I got up as
casually as I could, for I was terribly afraid that he wouldn't let
me go. We shook hands, and I tell you his fingers were like pieces
of burning coal. Just as I was moving, some one knocked at the
door. Then he began to storm again, kicked his chair over, threw a
paperweight at the window, and talked such nonsense that I couldn't
follow him. I unlocked the door myself and found the doctor there.
I contrived to look as frightened as possible. 'His Highness is not
well enough to talk to me,' I whispered. 'You had better look after
him.' I heard a shout behind and a heavy fall. Then I closed the
door and slipped away as quietly as I could - and here I am."

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