The Lost Ambassador

The Lost Ambassador, by E.
Phillips Oppenheim

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Title: The Lost Ambassador The Search For The Missing Delora
Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim
Release Date: September 3, 2004 [EBook #13369]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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AMBASSADOR ***

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THE LOST AMBASSADOR
OR,

THE SEARCH FOR THE MISSING DELORA
BY
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
AUTHOR OF "THE ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE," "THE MISSIONER,"
"JEANNE OF THE MARSHES," ETC.
With Illustrations in Color by
HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY
BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1910

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.
A RENCONTRE
II. A CAFE IN PARIS
III. DELORA
IV. DANGEROUS PLAY
V. SATISFACTION
VI. AN INFORMAL TRIBUNAL
VII. A DOUBLE ASSIGNATION
VIII. LOUIS INSISTS
IX. A TRAVELLING ACQUAINTANCE

X. DELORA DISAPPEARS
XI. THROUGH THE TELEPHONE
XII. FELICIA DELORA
XIII. LOUIS, MAITRE D'HOTEL
XIV. LOUIS EXPLAINS
XV. A DANGEROUS IMPERSONATION
XVI. TWO OF A TRADE
XVII. A VERY SPECIAL DINNER
XVIII. CONTRASTS
XIX. WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS
XX. A TERRIBLE NIGHT
XXI. A CHANGE OF PLANS
XXII. FORMAL CALL
XXIII. FELICIA
XXIV. A TANTALIZING GLIMPSE
XXV. PRIVATE AND DIPLOMATIC
XXVI. NEARLY
XXVII. WAR
XXVIII. CHECK
XXIX. AN UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEW

XXX. TO NEWCASTLE BY ROAD
XXXI. AN INTERESTING DAY
XXXII. A PROPOSAL
XXXIII. FELICIA HESITATES
XXXIV. AN APPOINTMENT WITH DELORA
XXXV. A NARROW ESCAPE
XXXVI. AN ABORTIVE ATTEMPT
XXXVII. DELORA RETURNS
XXXVIII. AT BAY
XXXIX. THE UNEXPECTED

ILLUSTRATIONS
"If monsieur is ready," he suggested, "perhaps we had better go"
Frontispiece
She took up a magazine and turned away with a shrug of the shoulders
Page 66
"By Jove, it's Bartot!" I exclaimed " 135
I raised her fingers to my lips, and I smiled into her face " 275

THE LOST AMBASSADOR
CHAPTER I

A RENCONTRE
There was no particular reason why, after having left the Opera House,
I should have retraced my steps and taken my place once more amongst
the throng of people who stood about in the entresol, exchanging
greetings and waiting for their carriages. A backward glance as I had
been about to turn into the Place de l'Opera had arrested my somewhat
hurried departure. The night was young, and where else was such a
sight to be seen? Besides, was it not amongst some such throng as this
that the end of my search might come?
I took up my place just inside, close to one of the pillars, and, with an
unlit cigarette still in my mouth, watched the flying chausseurs, the
medley of vehicles outside, the soft flow of women in their white opera
cloaks and jewels, who with their escorts came streaming down the
stairs and out of the great building, to enter the waiting carriages and
motor-cars drawn up in the privileged space within the enclosure, or
stretching right down into the Boulevard. I stood there, watching them
drive off one by one. I was borne a little nearer to the door by the rush
of people, and I was able, in most cases, to hear the directions of the
men as they followed their womankind into the waiting vehicles. In
nearly every case their destination was one of the famous restaurants.
Music begets hunger in most capitals, and the cafes of Paris are never
so full as after a great night at the Opera. To-night there had been a
wonderful performance. The flow of people down the stairs seemed
interminable. Young women and old,--sleepy-looking beauties of the
Southern type, whose dark eyes seemed half closed with a languor
partly passionate, partly of pride; women of the truer French
type,--brilliant, smiling, vivacious, mostly pale, seldom good-looking,
always attractive. A few Germans, a fair sprinkling of Englishwomen,
and a larger proportion still of Americans, whose women were the best
dressed of the whole company. I was not sorry that I had returned. It
was worth watching, this endless stream of varying types.
Towards the end there came out two people who were becoming almost
familiar figures to me. The man was one of those whose nationality
was not so easily surmised. He was tall and thin, with iron-gray hair,

complexion so sallow as to be almost yellow, black moustache and
imperial, handsome in his way, distinguished, indescribable. By his
side was a girl who had the air of wearing her first long skirt, whose
hair was arranged in somewhat juvenile fashion, and whose dark eyes
were still glowing with the joy of the music. Her figure, though