The waiter, well trained, arranged the supper-table as directed; then, taking a last look round to see that everything was in order, he discreetly withdrew.
"I hope you will like what I have ordered," said Iván awkwardly; "if not, please ask for anything you want, anything that will make you lively, you know," he added, with a forced laugh; "we must enjoy ourselves, Grete, mustn't we?"
The ice was broken. Grete burst into a merry peal of laughter.
"Well, you are the funniest creature I have ever come across," she said, shaking with merriment. "Are you afraid of me? You have not opened your mouth since you brought me here. No, not there," she said, as Iván solemnly sat down opposite her at the table; "I call that most unsociable, and I give you my word I won't eat you up. Ach! Herr Je!" she added, with a sigh, "the things on the table are much more appetising than you, and you are not the first young gentleman I have supped with. Come and sit here, little booby," and she placed a chair close to her own.
Iván, glad that she started a conversation–which she was evidently well able to conduct by herself–changed his seat as she wished, and poured himself and her a full glass of champagne.
Poor soul! she was enjoying the recherché supper thoroughly, and, after the first glass of Perrier Jouët, began telling him anecdotes of her chequered career; a quarter of an hour later she sidled up to him, looking somewhat amused the while.
"You funny booby," she laughed, "you may, you know," and she stretched out a very red cheek towards him.
"Look out! the waiter is coming," said Iván pushing back his chair and hastily jumping up from the table.
The bare idea of having to kiss that ugly, elderly woman sent a cold shiver down his spine.
"What if he is, booby mine?" she replied, giving way to an uncontrollable fit of laughter–the idea seemed so amusing. "Do you think he has never seen me kissed before? Come, cheer up, sit down again; your mammy shan't know. There now, this is much more comfortable," she added, for Volenski, on whom the importance of the present situation flashed again in an instant, had offered his feelings as holocaust on the altar of the great cause, and resumed his seat beside the donna–with an arm round her antiquated waist. She placed her yellow head languishingly on his shoulder.
"Do you know, little booby, that, as a rule, I don't much care for young gentlemen like yourself?"
"No?" he asked indifferently.
"Well, you see," she said, with a pout, "it is difficult to get any fun out of them; they are so mortally afraid of being seen in our company that they won't take us anywhere."
Iván could not help smiling to himself at the idea of taking this beauty–say, to the opera–and meeting his Eminence on the way, and did not wonder that Grete was not very often taken to the theatre by "young gentlemen" like himself.
"Who are the people you like best then, Grete?" he asked, in order to keep up the conversation.
"Oh! I have many friends–real friends," she said. "But that's a fine ring you are wearing, booby!"
Volenski felt at this moment that it was of the most vital importance that he should hear something of Grete's real friends; he must get her to tell him about them; surely the accomplice, the one who was arrested at Oderberg, was one, and, who knows, another might at this moment be actually in possession of the fateful candlesticks!
Taking the ring off his finger, he slipped it into Grete's hand, and said with an effort at cordiality:
"Pray accept it; it will adorn your pretty hand. But do tell me some more about your friends–the real friends that were not young gentlemen?"
"One of them was an actor, and earned quite a lot of money–he used to play all kinds of parts–and, Lord! sometimes now, he makes me laugh with the clever way in which he can disguise his handsome features. Never mind, my pretty one," she added coaxingly, "you have got a nice little face of your own too, and –– "
"Never mind about my face; tell me about his."
"Now you are angry," she said, with a pout. "I shan't talk any more about him, though he is a clever chap! I could tell you one or two of his tricks. But there, that's nothing to do with you."
Volenski felt the conversation was becoming interesting. He swallowed the last vestige of repulsion he felt for this coarse, now decidedly intoxicated, woman, and pouring her out a large tumblerful of champagne, "Drink this, my girl," he said, "and tell me some of your friend's tricks. I should like to hear something that will make me laugh."
She drank the champagne and said nothing for a few moments, then burst into a loud laugh.
"Ah! but I did the best trick of all to-day; I tricked them all, every one of them; they thought themselves mighty clever, they did, but Grete Ottlinger was one too many for them. Booby, don't look so scared; give me another glass of champagne, and I'll tell you all about it. Another glass, booby; fill it to the top. I don't often get champagne; men mostly only give me beer or spirits. You see, I am not so young as I was. But champagne–I love champagne –– "
She was getting very tipsy and very noisy. Volenski, no less excited than herself, tossed down a couple of glasses. He felt nothing, he was conscious of nothing, except that in five minutes he would know his fate, and that this woman held it in her hands.
"Oh! it was funny," she laughed again; "I knew they were after me. I am no fool. They let me come back to Vienna; they meant to search my rooms while I was out; they thought I wouldn't know.
"Booby," she whispered, "old Moses Grünebaum was waiting at the station for me. He had the things already in his shop, while the crew were following me round the town and turning out my rooms; and they will find nothing. Ha! ha! ha! what a lark, booby! Eh, booby? What's the matter with you? Here! I say, booby, what on earth are you after?"
For Volenski was fumbling for his hat, his gloves, his coat, and, tossing a hundred guldens to the woman, he had fled from the hotel, past the astonished waiters into the streets, leaving Grete to pay for the supper, and still muttering to herself: "Booby–well I never! Gott in Himmel! Ach, Herr Je!"
Chapter XII
How Iván ever reached home that night, without being arrested by the police on suspicion of being drunk, he never afterwards could say. He remembered nothing after the time when, out of Grete Ottlinger's confused babble, he had gleaned the name of Grünebaum–the name that to him at last meant absolute salvation. He knew the shop well on the Opernring, kept by old Moses Grünebaum, and containing a wonderful collection of antique jewellery, furniture, and curios of all kinds–a shop much frequented by connoisseurs, the most thought of in Vienna, in fact, for that class of things, certainly not one that would ever fall under suspicion of harbouring stolen goods.
It was obviously too late to interview old Moses at that hour of the night. Iván, though hardly alive to any outward facts, save the all-absorbing one, was nevertheless conscious of that, and instinct guided his reeling footsteps to the hotel on the Kolowrátring.
A mass of letters awaited him; correspondence he was sadly neglecting in these days of anxiety. One of them was from his Eminence. Iván tore it open in eager excitement. It ran as follows:
Klinger's Hotel, Marienbad,
28th February.
"My dear Son,–You will see by the above address that I have altered my plans and am staying here for the present. The fresh mountain air is having a most beneficial effect upon my health, and I shall probably stay (D.V.) the full length of my intended holiday. I hope you are getting on satisfactorily with the work fast enough to enable you to take some days' rest before we once more meet at St. Petersburg for diplomatic business.