Havoc | Page 3

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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 a murmur of voices. The two men turned from their window back into the room. Dorward commenced to roll a cigarette with yellow-stained, nervous fingers, while Bellamy threw himself into an easy-chair with a gesture of depression.
"So it is over, this long-talked-of meeting," he said, half to himself, half to Dorward. "It is over, and Europe is left to wonder."
"They were together for scarcely more than an hour," Dorward murmured.
"Long enough," Bellamy answered. "That little room in the Palace, my friend, may yet become famous."
"If you and I could buy its secrets," Dorward remarked, finally shaping a cigarette and lighting it, "we should be big bidders, I think. I'd give fifty thousand dollars myself to be able to cable even a hundred