Havoc | Page 3

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This Etext prepared by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.

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