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Updated: April 30, 2025
"I have been looking for you, De Grost," the latter declared. "Where can we talk for a moment?" His host took the ambassador by the arm and led him into a retired corner. Monsieur de Lamborne was a tall, slight man, somewhat cadaverous looking, with large features, hollow eyes, thin but carefully arranged gray hair, and a pointed gray beard.
"For the present, excuse me. I must look after my guests." The music had ceased, there was a movement toward the supper-room. The Baron offered his arm to Madame de Lamborne, who welcomed him with a brilliant smile. Her husband, although, for a Frenchman, he was by no means of a jealous disposition, was conscious of a vague feeling of uneasiness as he watched them pass out of the room together.
It is my wish." "I am the good friend of Monsieur de Lamborne," Peter said, and in his tone there seemed to lurk some far-away touch of regret, "yet madame knows that her conquests here have been many." The ambassador's wife fanned herself and remained silent for a moment, a faint smile playing at the corners of her full, curving lips.
I want you to come home with me and share my vigil. You shall be my witness in case anything happens. We will watch together." Peter reflected for a moment. "Bernadine makes few mistakes," he said thoughtfully. Monsieur de Lamborne passed his hand across his forehead. "Do I not know it?" he muttered. "In this instance, though, it seems impossible for him to succeed.
"Simply that a verbatim copy of the document in question will be dispatched to Berlin to-morrow evening without fail," replied the ambassador. "There are no secrets between us," Peter declared, smoothly. "What is the special importance of this document?" De Lamborne shrugged his shoulders. "Since you ask," he said, "I tell you.
The cloud of misgiving passed away from him; he settled down to the game. "If money could only buy the desire of one's heart," he murmured. "Alas!" His eyes seemed to seek out Monsieur de Lamborne among the moving throngs. She laughed softly, and her hand brushed his.
At one o'clock precisely Monsieur de Lamborne returned to his house, and found de Grost gazing with obvious respect at the ponderous safe let into the wall. "A very fine affair this," he remarked, motioning with his head towards it. "The best of its kind," Monsieur de Lamborne admitted. "No burglar yet has ever succeeded in opening one of its type.
"I maintain only," the Baron answered, "that your safe was entered from that room. A search will prove it." "There will be no search there," De Lamborne declared, fiercely. "I am the Ambassador of France, and my power under this roof is absolute. I say that you shall not cross that threshold." De Grost's expression did not change.
It was, perhaps, by accident that his eyes met those of Madame de Lamborne, but she smiled at him subtly, more, perhaps, with her wonderful eyes than her lips themselves. She was the centre of a very brilliant group, a most beautiful woman holding court, as was only right and proper, among her admirers. The Baron sighed. "No," he said, "I shall not return with you, De Lamborne.
The spy has no sex. For the sake of your family, permit me to send you back to your husband's house." That night two receptions and a dinner party were postponed. All London was sympathising with Monsieur de Lamborne, and a great many women swore never again to take a sleeping draught. Madame de Lamborne lay dead behind the shelter of those drawn blinds, and by her side an empty phial.
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