The Quest of Julian Day

The Quest of Julian Day Read Free

Book: The Quest of Julian Day Read Free
Author: Dennis Wheatley
Tags: Fiction, Action & Adventure
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friends whom he had taken to his room half and hour before, assumed they were engaged on urgent business and walked out again.
    Nothing was stolen, so they could not be charged with theft afterwards but, of course, they were able to learn a number of the most jealously guarded Diplomatic secrets regarding Great Britain’s latest policy and intentions.
    Everything was put back in the safe in apple-pie order and apart from my being picked up half-dead by the Belgian police in a disreputable quarter of the city next morning, which at first did not seem to have any bearing on the affair, the whole episode might have passed off without investigation if it hadn’t happened that Lady Hogan was an interfering old busybody who let a ready ear to ever sort of tittle-tattle. The night-porter’s wife remarked to Lady Hogan’s maid that Mr. Carruthers had been sitting up till all hours with a queer lot of people in the Chancellery the night before; the maid passed it on to her gossip-loving mistress, and Lady Hogan duly asked Sir George who the queer friends were that Carruthers had been entertaining over the week-end. When Carruthers was questioned he remembered absolutely nothing about it. The night-porter was called in and described the men he had seen sitting with Carruthers round the open safe; upon which the poor fellow quietly walked upstairs and shot himself.
    The scene between myself and my Chief which ensued when I had recovered and was called on to render certain explanations can well be imagined. For all our good intentions neither Carruthers nor I had succeeded in finding out one single fact which could be used against O’Kieff, and obviously no case could be brought against him. If the First Secretary of the Embassy cared to bring a number of strangers into the Chancellery in the middle of the night and disclose our secretsto them, the case was against him, not them, and by that time he, poor fellow, was dead and buried.
    I was packed off on the next boat to England, and visited the Foreign Office for, I suppose, the last time in my life.
    After questioning me at considerable length about the details of the affair, Sir Roger Thistlethwaite said in that quiet, rather over-cultured voice of his:
    â€˜I am prepared to accept your statement that you acted in perfectly good faith, but you’ll appreciate that there is no course open to us than to dismiss you from the Service. It’s a sad pity, you know—a sad pity. Quite a number of us here had looked on you as having—er—almost brilliant prospects.
    â€˜Quite, sir,’ I replied, although I thought it a little unnecessary for him to rub it in. With my Double-First and my flair for languages, together with the facts that I am a presentable-looking person, the heir to a baronetcy, the best man with an épée in my year at Oxford and quite a useful shot, all sorts of fine things had been prophesied for me. It was a foregone conclusion that I would get good posts and I myself had even begun to dream of one day averting another world war as Britain’s youngest yet most brilliant Ambassador.
    â€˜What do you intend to do?’ Sir Roger asked after a moment.
    â€˜I hardly know what to do, sir,’ I replied.
    â€˜I fear all Government posts will be closed to you after this,’ he said, ‘and you’ll need all your courage to live this scandal down; but you must try not to let your broken career embitter you. You’re still very young, and if you take my advice, you’ll fling yourself heart and soul into something else at once. Your uncle’s getting on in life and you’re the heir to that place of his in Gloucestershire. How about settling down there and taking the running of it off his hands?’
    â€˜I’m not particularly interested in estate management and knowing Uncle Herbert, I rather doubt if he’ll ever have me in the house again when he hears about this.’
    â€˜He

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