VOLUME 1, CHAPTER XXI.HOW THE SCALES FELL
The next morning, the alpine sun seemed a mockery to Seton Darville. Edris entered his room, a vision in black and pale blue, her eyes sparkling with a light that Seton now recognized as a fever he did not share.
"I'm off for a run with Karl," she announced. "And Seti, his mother has invited me to Interlaken on Wednesday. You'll come, won't you?"
Seton rose slowly, his face a mask of weary resolve. "I do not wish to go to Interlaken, Edris. And I am not blind. I told Karl of our engagement, yet he persists. He is fast becoming my enemy—and for my enemies, as you know, I have no remorse."
Edris laughed, a sound that struck Seton as hollow and forced. "You are suffering from a 'living hell' for nothing, darling! Karl is going to Canada. I only feel sorry for him because he is poor and treated unfairly. Couldn't you use your influence to find him a job?"
Seton recoiled inwardly. A job for the man stealing his soul. He remembered the secret dossier on Karl Weiss—the "Prussian" officer's bearing, the suspected ties. "I cannot help him," he said flatly. "And I cannot understand this interest in a man you have known but a few days."
"You are horrid today!" she cried, throwing her arms around him in a practiced, coaxing embrace. "Trust me, Seti. I will prove I am true."
But as the door closed behind her, the Architect of Britain's secrets collapsed. He fell into his chair, the pen dropping from fingers that had signed the fates of nations. He looked at the manuscript, now blurred by the sudden, hot tears of a middle-aged man who had found love only to find it a phantom.
"Edris!" he sobbed into the silence of the room. "Come back to me!"
He spent the morning in a paroxysm of grief, eventually falling to his knees in prayer. But when he rose, the tears were gone, replaced by a cold, crystalline clarity. He began to pack. If she loved the boy, he would go out of her life in silence.
When Edris returned, she found his writing table cleared and his trunks open.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice rising in indignation.
"I am leaving for London tonight," Seton replied. "And you are coming with me."
"I will do no such thing! You cannot leave me here among strangers!"
"Strangers? You have Karl," Seton said, the bitterness finally leaching into his tone.
Edris played her part well, feigning a protest against "always Karl, Karl!" she begged him to stay, to go to lunch, to avoid a scene. Seton agreed to the meal, his mind already shifting into the cold, analytical gear of the Secret Service chief.
At lunch, amidst the clatter of silver and the backdrop of a sudden, howling blizzard, the trio sat together. Edris spun tales of their morning ski-run, unaware that Seton saw through every word. He watched Karl—the "friend" who was a cad, the guest who was a thief.
A dark thought began to take root in Seton's mind. Edris wanted a career for Karl? He could provide one. He had "hidden hands" across the globe—strings he could pull to elevate a man or drop him into a void. If Karl Weiss wanted to be a man of destiny, Seton would give him a fate he never expected.
At four o'clock, Edris saw Karl off at the station. Seton watched them go from the hotel terrace, his cigarette glowing in the gathering gloom. He saw their long, secret farewell; he saw the way they leaned together.
As the train pulled away, carrying the boastful Swiss toward Interlaken, Seton Darville began to weave a web of subtle, deadly complexity. He would not scream; he would not fight. He would simply remove the barrier.
And Edris would never even know he had moved his hand.