VOLUME 1, CHAPTER XXVII.THE TRAP
At ten o'clock on Thursday morning, Karl Weiss presented himself at the War Office, his boots polished to a military sheen and his heart pounding with the arrogant expectation of a man who believes he has outwitted the world. He was ushered into a somber, paneled room where Webster, the grave, gray-haired official and Darville's trusted lieutenant, sat behind a sprawling mahogany desk.
"I understand, Mr. Weiss, that you wish to re-enter our service?" Webster began, his voice dry as parchment.
"That is so," Karl replied, leaning forward with the predatory grace of a hunter.
The interview was brief and surgically precise. Webster offered Karl a confidential mission to Russia—a post with a thousand-pound gratuity and expenses paid. It was the "lucrative appointment" Edris had begged for, and Karl accepted it with an eagerness that bordered on greed. He was to return on Monday for his final instructions and expense money.
Karl walked out into the crisp air of Whitehall treading on air. He hailed a taxi to Edris's club, unaware that back in Trafalgar Square, the "gray-haired official" was already on the telephone to Stagsden.
"Amerton there?" Webster asked, using Darville's code name.
"Yes. What report?" Seton replied from the library of the Temperley estate.
"All settled. He comes for pay and instructions on Monday. He fell for the bait, hook, line, and sinker."
"Good," Darville said, his voice dropping into the cold, business-like register of the Secret Service Director. "Report again at eight."
While Marcus moved through the grounds of Stagsden with Edris's Great Dane, Lord Simba, as his only companion, Karl and Edris were playing out their own drama in London. Karl was full of vituperation and overbearing pride. He boasted of his new Government position and threatened Darville with his automatic pistol, oblivious to the fact that Marcus had already rescinded an order for his arrest at Dover, choosing instead to let the "traitor" walk straight into the Russian snare.
"You will never find a man who worships you as I do!" Karl cried as they walked through Kensington Gardens. He demanded to meet the General, asserting his possession of Edris with a coarse arrogance that began to grate upon her spirit.
However, the "pinchbeck hero" had miscalculated. As the day wore on, Edris began to see the cracks in Karl's veneer. His threats against Seton—a man she still esteemed despite her betrayal—and his blatant greed for her personal fortune started to turn her infatuation into a cold, creeping dread. She realized she was being viewed as prey, not as a partner.
Back at Stagsden, Darville was saying a silent goodbye to the life he had known. He patted Lord Simba's sleek coat in the coppice, his heart heavy. "Ah, Simba! To-morrow, old boy, I shall leave you, never to see you again."
The final turn of the screw came via the telephone. Edris, sounding frantic and broken, called from the Carlton Hotel. She begged Seton to come to London, to see her one last time in room 246.
"Please, Seti—for the sake of our old love," she implored. "I must see you to-night."
Marcus hesitated, the weight of her deceit battling with the embers of his devotion. "Very well," he finally replied. "I will be with you at ten."
The meeting at the Carlton was the crucible of the story. Edris stood in a flame-colored dance-frock, her eyes shimmering with tears. As Marcus entered, his face was a mask of austere stone. He refused her hand, his anger flashing at the mention of Karl Weiss.
"Karl is my enemy. I hate him," he said.
"Yes, you have just cause," she sobbed, throwing herself at him. She spoke of a "fatal infatuation," an "evil power of fascination" that Karl had held over her like a serpent over a bird. She admitted to the lies, the cruel letters, and the betrayal at Wengen, but swore that her heart had remained his.
"I have seen him here, in my own country, and I am disillusioned," she cried. "It is a tragedy I brought upon you. He has passed out of my life forever. Will you believe me?"
The silence in the room was absolute. Seton looked down at her, his dark eyes clear and still. He saw the return of the old love-light—the genuine adoration he had once cherished. The Director of the Secret Service was, in this moment, eclipsed by the man who simply loved.
"Then you have discarded him?" he asked softly.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice catching. "I have discarded him, Seti, and I have returned to you—if I dare face you again."
She fell to her knees, covering his hand with hot, passionate kisses. The trap for Karl was still set, the machinery of the State was still in motion, but in room 246, the "Architect" had found the one thing he thought was lost forever: the truth.