Mystery at Geneva | Page 5

an expensive place like this.... The
queer thing is that no one seems to know where Wilbraham gets his
money from; he never says. A very close, discreet chap; a regular civil
servant. Do you know him, then?"
Henry hesitated for a moment, appearing to think. He then replied, in
the pained and reserved tone in which Mr. Wickham might have
commented upon Mr. Darcy, "Slightly. Very slightly. As well as I wish.
In fact, rather better. He wouldn't remember me. But Til tell you one
thing. But for a series of trivial circumstances, I too might have been...
oh, well, never mind. Not, of course, that for any consideration I would
serve in this ludicrous and impotent machine set up by the corrupt
states of the world. Wilbraham can: I could not. My soul, at least, is my
own."
"Oh, come," remonstrated the other journalist. "Come, come. Surely
not... But I must go and look up a few people. See you later on."
Henry remained for a minute, broodingly watching the neat receding
back of Charles Wilbraham. How happy and how proud it looked, that
serene and elegant back! How proud and how pleased Henry knew
Charles Wilbraham to be, walking with the senior British delegate,
whom every one admired, along the Quai du Mont Blanc! As proud

and as happy as a prince. Henry knew better than most others Charles
Wilbraham's profound capacity for proud and princely pleasure. He
loved these assemblies of important persons; loved to walk and talk
with the great. He had, ever since the armistice, contracted a habit of
being present at thore happy little gatherings which had been, so far, a
periodic feature of the great peace, and showed as yet no signs of
abating. To Paris Charles Wilbraham had gone in 1919 (and how near
Henry had been to doing the same; how near, and yet how far!). To San
Remo he had been, to Barcelona and to Brussels; to Spa, to Genoa,
even to Venice in the autumn of 1922. Besides all the League of
Nations Assemblies. Where the eagles were gathered together, there,
always, would Charles Wilbraham be.
Henry winced at the thought of Charles's so great happiness. But let
him wait; only let Charles wait.
"Holy Mother of God!" (for Henry was a Roman Catholic), "only let
him wait!"
The Assembly Hall was, as seen from the Press. Gallery, a study in
black and white. White sheets of paper laid on the desks, black coats,
white or black heads.
Young and old, black and white, the delegates stood and walked about
the hall, waiting for the session of the League of Nations Assembly to
begin. The hum of talk rose up and filled the hall; it was as if a sw r
arm of bees were hiving. What a very great deal, thought Henry, had
the human race to say, always! Only the little Japs at the back sat in
silent rows, scores and scores of them (for Japanese are no use by ones),
immobile, impassive, with their strange little masks and slanting eyes,
waiting patiently for the business of the day to begin. When it began,
their reporters would take down everything that was said, writing
widdershins, very diligently, very slowly, in their solemn picture
language. There was something a little sinister, a little macabre, a little
Grand Guignolish about the grave, polite, mysterious little Japs. The
Yellow Peril. Perilous because of their immense waiting patience, that
would, in the end, tire the restless Western peoples out. How they
stored their energy, sitting quiet in rows, and how the Westerners

expended theirs! What conversations, what gesticulations, what
laughter filled the hall! The delegates greeting one another, shaking one
another by the hand, making their alliances and friendships for the
session, arranging meals together, kindly, good-humoured, and polite,
the best of friends in private for all their bitter and wordy squabbles in
public. The chief Russian delegate, M. Kratzky, a small, trim little
ex-Bolshevik, turned Monarchist by the recent coup d'ttat, was engaged
in a genial conversation with the second French delegate. France had
loudly and firmly voted last year against the admission of Russia to the
League, but when the coup d'etat restored the Monarchist Government
(a government no less, if no more, corrupt than the Bolshevik rule
which had preceded it, but more acceptable to Europe in general),
France held out to her old ally fraternal arms. The only delegates who
cut the Russians were the Germans, and among the several delegates
who cut the Germans were the Russians, for, as new members, these
delegates were jealous one of the other. The Turkish delegates, also
recently admitted, were meanwhile delightful to the Armenians, as if to
prove how they loved these unhappy people, and how small was the
truth