Pimpernel and Rosemary, Baroness Orczy [i have read the book a hundred times .txt] 📗

the money away in his pocketbook, “and your courier having started last night, you will probably see the first of the articles in Thursday’s Times. By the way,” he went on casually, “what are you doing about young Imrey and the girl?”

“What do you mean by that? What should I be doing with them?”

“Well, when these articles appear⁠—”

“I send them packing, c’est entendu. I never go back on my word,” Naniescu said, with a grandiose gesture.

“It would not pay you to do that in this case, my friend. Lady Tarkington has your written promise and she would raise hell if you played her false. But I wasn’t thinking of that. I only wished to warn you to keep an eye on those two young firebrands.”

“Oh,” Naniescu retorted, with a shrug, “once I have them out of the country they can do what they like. They no longer hurt me. Especially after the publication of those beautiful articles.”

“That is so, but you are sending Count and Countess Imrey out of the country aren’t you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, you paid Blakeney for the articles with the title-deeds of Kis-Imre, didn’t you?”

“How did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” Number Ten replied drily. “I guessed, and you gave yourself away.”

“Well, and if I did⁠—what is it to you?”

“Nothing, my friend. Nothing. I come back to my original warning. Keep a close eye on young Imrey and Anna Heves, and above all keep a close eye on Blakeney.”

“That young blackguard?”

“Yes, that young blackguard! He may be playing a double game, you know. I suppose he is still in Cluj?”

“I thought of that,” Naniescu broke in curtly, “so I have had Imrey and the Heves girl transferred to Sót.”

“Sót? Isn’t that rather near the frontier?”

“Thirty kilometres.”

“But why Sót?”

“We have commandeered a château there, which we use as a prison for political offenders. We chose it because it stands alone in an out-of-the-way part of the country, and it saves the nuisance of public manifestations and disturbances when a prisoner who happens to have been popular is condemned. We try them by a military tribunal which holds its sittings at Sót, and if an execution is imperative⁠—well, it is done without any fuss.”

“I see. Well,” Number Ten went on, as he rose to take his leave, “I need not detain you any longer. Let me assure you,” he concluded, with his habitual sardonic smile, “that I shall not now think of interfering with any of the measures which you have adopted to stop Lady Tarkington from running after her manuscript.”

“I don’t believe that you could have interfered in any case,” Naniescu retorted gruffly.

“It is not too late, my friend. I would rather like to pit my wits against yours. So if you have repented of the bargain⁠—” And Number Ten half drew his bulging pocketbook out of his pocket.

“Oh, go to the devil!” Naniescu exclaimed, half in rage and half in laughter.

“And I hope soon to meet you in his company,” Number Ten replied, and he finally took his leave from the two men.

As soon as the door had closed on him, Naniescu turned and looked at his friend. But de Kervoisin had picked up his book, and gave him no encouragement to discuss the intriguing personality of Number Ten.

His face, too, was quite inscrutable. Marcel Proust was engaging his full attention. For a moment it seemed as if Naniescu would fall back on his stock phrase, or else on a string of cosmopolitan oaths; he even drew his breath ready for either; then it seemed as if words failed him.

The intriguing personality was above comment.

XXXVIII

Rosemary had never before welcomed her husband so eagerly as she did that afternoon. As soon as she heard the whirring of his motor she ran to the gates to meet him.

“What news?” she cried when he had brought the car to a standstill.

As usual, his dark eyes flashed with joy when he saw her. He jumped down and raised both her hands to his lips.

“Very vague, I am afraid,” he replied. “And some of it a mere conjecture.”

“Tell me.”

“To begin with, young Imrey and Anna Heves have been transferred to Sót.”

“Where is that?”

“Between Cluj and the frontier. It seems that there is a château there that is being used as a prison for political offenders.”

“Who told you that?”

“Naniescu. I saw him for a moment. He was very busily engaged with the Minister for Home Affairs who was over from Bucharest, so he could only give me a few minutes.”

“Had he seen Elza?”

“No. But she had applied for permission to see Philip and Anna, and he gave the permission. He supposed that she had gone on to Sót by train.”

“Even so,” Rosemary mused, “she would be back by now, or else she would have wired.”

Jasper appeared to hesitate for a moment or two, and then he said: “I don’t think that she has been allowed to do either.”

“Why not?”

“It is mere surmise, my dear,” Jasper went on quietly, “but one thing Naniescu did tell me and that was that he had on behalf of his government definitely made over the Kis-Imre estates to Peter Blakeney.”

They were walking round the house towards the veranda when he said this. Rosemary made no response; indeed, it might be thought that she had not heard, for the next question which she put to Jasper appeared irrelevant.

“Does the midnight express stop at Sót?”

“It does,” Jasper replied.

“Then, I can see Elza there. I am sure that is where she is. You inquired at Ujlak?”

“Yes, Elza went there first and then to Cluj.”

They had reached the veranda now, and Rosemary went up the steps and then into the house.

“You still wish to come with me tonight?” she asked her husband before she went upstairs.

“Why, of course.”

“You are not too tired after all this running about?”

“I?” he exclaimed with a laugh. “Tired? When it is a question of being near you!”

He tried to capture her wrist, but she evaded him and