"What do you mean?" asked Don Juan.
The old man glanced at me quickly, an anxious look in his eyes.
I looked him straight in the face in return.
"Don Juan," I replied, "Dolores and I love one another."
The anxious look faded into one of softness, and he commenced walking backwards and forwards in the room, without answering me.
Presently he stopped and faced me again, and in his old eyes, which were blue like his daughter's, there were tears.
"I will not conceal from you, Anstruther," he began, "the fact that your affection for Dolores has been apparent to me for some time past, and has given me cause for much thought. Not that I have distrusted you, remember," he added with a kind glance.
"I am not often deceived in a man, and I think I could trust my child to you." I gave a great gasp of pleasure, but he added immediately, "under certain circumstances."
"And those circumstances?" I asked anxiously.
"First," he began as he sank into an arm-chair, "you are of different religions; you are not a Catholic, I understand."
I answered him smiling.
"I don't think we shall disagree over that," I replied, "Dolores and her children shall worship the Almighty as she wishes. My religion is that of a man of the world, I worship with all."
The old man nodded his grey head and smiled.
"I did not expect you to be very bigoted," he answered quietly.
"Now, there is another point, Don Juan," I continued, "upon which I must satisfy you, and that is my ability to keep a wife."
I told him of my little estate in Hampshire with its small manor house on the shores of the Solent, and how I had let it to a yachting man who had taken a fancy to it; it being too large for my modest bachelor wants. I told him proudly of my balance at the bank, swelled by the thousand of the old lady of Monmouth Street, of which he already knew. I told him what my income was from every source, and finally what I succeeded in wringing annually from the publishing body. This last item seemed to amuse him mightily, despite his polite effort to listen to me with becoming solemnity.
"Very good, very good, Anstruther," he said at last encouragingly, "I see you are quite capable of maintaining a wife in a modest way. It is very creditable to you, too, that you have taken to making money by your pen. With regard to Dolores, however, should she become your wife, she is not likely to be a burden to you financially. She will, in the first place, become entitled on her marriage to an income of fifty thousand dollars, which arises from property which I settled upon her mother.
"Then, she is my only child as you know, and I shall make a further settlement upon her. My income has been accumulating for years, I want but little; when I die she and her children will haveall."
The amount he mentioned certainly took my breath away, but I raised my hand and asked him to stop.
"Believe me, Don Juan," I said, "I should be a happier man if I could supply her wants by the work of my hands."
"Idobelieve you," he answered, "and those would be my own sentiments exactly under similar circumstances. You will, however, not find a good income a bar to marital happiness if used judiciously. But enough of financial matters; I wish to come to another more important point. I believe it that Dolores loves you; from my own observations I believe she does, but I must hear it from her own lips.
"Should it prove to be the case, which I do not doubt, then I will give my consent to your marriage."
I rushed forward joyfully to thank him, for I knew what Dolores' answer would be, but he held up his finger to check me.
"I will give my consent under those circumstances," he continued, "ononecondition."
"And that?" I asked eagerly.
He did not answer me at once; he sat in his chair, with his hand to his forehead, thinking.
Then he lifted his head.
"Sit down and listen to me, Anstruther," he said; "I want you to follow exactly what I say.
"When you arrived in Valoro six weeks ago, and gave me that casket, you reopened an episode in my life closed many many years ago."
He spoke with great emotion and his lip trembled. I even saw a tear coursing down his sunburnt cheek.
"Since then," he continued, "you have very kindly followed me in the fulfilment of certain duties which devolved upon me upon opening that packet. You have followed me without question, as became a gentleman, taking an old man's word that all was well. In keeping that silence of delicacy, Anstruther, you have unwittingly done me a great service; you have left me unhampered to fulfil that which I had to do."
He paused and placed his fingers together in deep thought.
"I place myself mentally," he continued, "in your position, and I try to think as you think—try to realise your feelings: the appeal you received from the old lady as she stood at the door of the house in Monmouth Street, your acceding to her request, your second visit, the discovery of the tragedy, the undeserved misfortunes that fell upon you in consequence, your fidelity to your promise to the lady who was at best a mere chance acquaintance, the impenetrable mystery which surrounds it all.
"I have thought of it, and I feel that you must be consumed with a great and reasonable curiosity.
"That you have not indulged that reasonable curiosity, that you have maintained a discreet silence under very trying circumstances has caused a very good first impression of you to grow into one of respect and strong regard."
He rose and took my hand in both his, the tears running down his cheeks.
"Anstruther," he continued, mastering his emotion with an effort, "I am going to ask a further sacrifice from you as a condition of my consent to your marriage with Dolores—a very necessary condition, or I would not make it.
"Anstruther, I ask you to keep eternal silence on what has occurred to you since you entered the door of the house in Monmouth Street, that dull evening in November. I ask you never to refer to it again from this moment, in any shape or form.
"Tell me, can you make this promise?"
I stood with my hand in his, my eyes fixed on his kind old face working with emotion.
"And this is the final condition you ask," I replied, "to my union withDolores? You are satisfied in every other way?"
"I am satisfied," he replied; "I ask no more."
"Then I give you my promise," I replied, gripping his hand hard; "the subject to me shall be dead. God help me to keep my word!"
* * * * *
My future father-in-law and I sat chatting an hour longer over the bright fire in the sitting-room while the gloaming of a February day was deepening without, and he had talked to me with the familiarity accorded to one already admitted to his family circle.
Dolores had gone to a concert at the Assembly Rooms and we did not expect her back until between five and six.
It was when we had both paused in our conversation and sat with our eyes fixed on the leaping flames—the only illumination of the room—that a knock came at the door and a waiter entered.
"A gentleman to see you, sir," he said, addressing Don Juan.
"Who is it?" d'Alta asked.
"I think it is one of the police officers, sir," replied the man; "he gave the name of Bull."
"Ah! it's the inspector, evidently," commented the Don. "Show him up. I wonder whatever Inspector Bull can want," he continued, turning to me; "we only left him an hour or two ago."
The inspector came to answer for himself. The waiter threw open the door and he entered.
I saw at once that he had something of importance to communicate. His demeanour was that of the Duke of Wellington on the morning of Waterloo.
"Certain information of importance," he commenced, after we had greeted him, "having come to 'and this afternoon, sir, I thought it well to come round and see you immediate."
The inspector's eyes wandered round the apartment. There was a sideboard certainly; previous experience on former visits had, however, taught him to expect nothing from it. The foreign Don was evidently an advocate of temperance, like so many other foreigners who could not drink good, honest English beer—well seasoned with noxious chemicals.
"Indeed," commented Don Juan, who had received several of these mysterious visits before, and did not on that account expect much from this one. "What have you discovered?"
"It 'pears," continued the police officer, "that just after dinner to-day some children was playing in the little disused graveyard in the rear of 190 Monmouth Street."
From being a listless listener I became an earnest one immediately; an idea concerning that graveyard had crossed my mind that very morning while I contemplated its dismal gravestones, almost hidden in old rank grass, through the open ironwork forming the upper part of the gate which shut it off from the little strip of sloping garden in rear of 190 Monmouth Street. In my walk backwards and forwards, while I waited for Don Juan and the lawyer, Mr. Fowler, during their examination of the safe, I had come back to that iron grating again and again. It had somehow fascinated me.
"These 'ere children," proceeded the inspector, "was playing round the gravestones, and jumpin' over 'em to keep warm. It was while they were jumpin' and shovin' each other about over the graves that they noticed that the top stone of a great flat old grave was loose, and, of course, they started to make it looser by see-sawing it, until one fat boy jumped it a bit too 'eavy, and it tilted and let him in."
"In where?" I asked quickly.
"Into a new-made grave, sir," he answered solemnly—"a grave what had been dug recently under the old stone."
"Whatever for?" asked Don Juan.
"That's just where it is," replied the officer; "that's just what we want to find out. The grave is about half filled in with loose earth. We want to know what's under that loose earth, and that's why I'm here."
"What have we got to do with it?" asked the Don.
"The theory is, sir," replied Bull, "thatsomethingis buried under that loose earth. It may be stolen property. It may be abody."
I think both Don Juan and I whitened at the prospect disclosed by the inspector, but the Don soon recovered himself. He did not seem so affected by it as I imagined he would be.
"What do you propose to do?" he asked.
"We propose," answered the inspector, "to at once have the loose earth cleared out and see what's underneath."
"Do you mean now?" I asked. "Why, it is quite dark."
"We mean to put two workmen on to dig out that earth at once, sir, and I want you and this gentleman, sir," he added, with a bow to the Don, "to come and be present.There might be something to identify."
"Identify!" I exclaimed, rather horrified at the prospect; "what could we identify in the dark?"
"There'll be plenty of light, sir," answered Bull. "We shall bring half a dozen lanterns; besides, the moon will be up in half an hour's time."
I looked at Don Juan.
"Do you intend to go?" I asked.
The old man sprang to his feet.
"Though I believe the search may be a fruitless one," he answered, "I will miss no opportunity. I will certainly accompany the inspector."
The latter at once rose to his feet with a look of satisfaction on his large face.
"I thought you would, sir," he answered, with a broad smile; "but I should advise you, sir, if I might be so bold, towropup well, as the job may be a longish one, and them graveyards is very damp."
Don Juan rang the bell for his valet to fetch him a fur-lined overcoat, and I told the waiter to tell my man Brooks to bring mine.
At my suggestion, the Don ordered some liquid refreshment for the inspector. Scotch, cold, proved to be his selection, and he stood imbibing it, while we waited, commenting upon its excellent qualities for "keeping out the cold," a theory which I have since learned is totally erroneous.
Presently the coats came, and we followed the inspector down to the door of the hotel, where a closed fly was already awaiting us. We drove away through the brilliantly lighted city to the neighbourhood of long, dismal Monmouth Street on the hillside, but this time we did not drive down the street itself but took a turning which ran below it.
"The gate of the old burial ground," explained the police officer, "is in this street. It will be far more convenient to enter it this way than by going round by Monmouth Street."
At the old-fashioned, sunken iron gateway of the dreary looking, neglected graveyard a policeman was standing, apparently keeping guard.
He might have saved himself the trouble, for, with the exception of two poor-looking little children—one standing with his mouth open and a forgotten hoop and stick in his hand—the place was deserted.
We received the constable's salute and, passing through the rusty iron gate which he held open for us, came at once among the long wet grass and sunken, often lopsided, tombs. On the farther side of the ground another constable stood with a lighted lantern, and near him two labouring men, with spades and picks leaning against an old stone by them. These latter hastily put out their pipes as we approached.
I was curious to see what sort of tomb this was which had been apparently so desecrated, and followed the inspector towards it at his invitation.
"This is the grave I told you about, gentlemen," he said, indicating it with his finger; "you will see they have lifted the top stone off."
It was a very large tomb of the description called "altar tombs," but the flat stone which covered it lay by its side, and the rotten state of the low brickwork which had supported it accounted for its giving way, even with the boy's weight.
The inspector took a lantern and held it inside the broken brickwork; yes, there could be no doubt the grave had been disturbed, and that recently.
Freshly turned earth lay between the walls of brickwork, which were spacious enough to allow of an ordinary-sized grave being dug within them.
"Is the grave just as it was found?" I asked.
"Exactly, Mr. Anstruther," he answered. "The earth has not been disturbed at all. But I think we'll make a start now. Here comes Dr. Burbridge, the officer of health. We thought it better to have him present."
The figure of a man wearing a tall hat now appeared crossing the graveyard, preceded by a constable bearing a lantern.
After briefly introducing the newcomer, the inspector gave the word to the two labourers, and they scrambled inside the broken brickwork and commenced digging.
I looked round the weird spot as the noise of their spades became monotonous, relieved only by the throwing aside of the great lumps of moist earth; a mist was rising from the river flowing near, of which in the first stillness of our coming I could just catch the ripple of the water. It seemed to me that those who were long buried there had in life perhaps had some association with the river—even an affection for it—and had wished to be laid there near its soft murmur while they slept.
The men dug on and the pile of earth they threw up grew and grew; it was very clear that the old ground had been recently broken, and a new grave carefully shaped out of it. The sides were compact and firm and had not been disturbed, perhaps, for a whole century.
I glanced at the stone which had been removed, thinking, perhaps, that it might give me a clue to the date of the grave, but, alas, time and the weather had rotted the soft stone and it had come off in layers. The face of the stone was a blank, and the names of those who lay beneath lost for ever.
The moon had risen and the men had dug down perhaps four feet, but nothing had come to light. Then, as they were proceeding after a brief halt, one of them gave a cry.
"There's something here, marster!" he cried excitedly.
At the sound of his voice all the lanterns were brought to the edge of the grave, and we looked down into the hole, which the bright moonbeams did not reach. It was illuminated solely by the dull yellow light of one candle-lantern by which the men worked. The two diggers had withdrawn themselves, half scared, to the sides of the hole, and were looking down fearsomely atsomethingat their feet. It appeared that they were afraid of treading upon this something; at first I could not tell what they were looking at, but presently my eyes became accustomed to the gloom. It was a dark patch protruding from the ground.
"What is it?" I asked the men, as we all hung over the edge of the brickwork.
The nearest man turned a white face up to mine and answered me.
"It's a human 'ead, sir," he said.
I think we all drew back again as he said this, and the doctor stepped forward with a flask in his hand.
"If you will take my advice, gentlemen," he said, addressing Don Juan and me, "you will have a nip of this old brandy before we go any further in this matter. Then I think you had better let me give the instructions to these workmen, Mr. Inspector, or they may do some damage unintentionally."
Don Juan touched me on the arm. His hand trembled fearfully.
"Let us come away and walk a little," he said; "the strain of this affair is too much for me."
I took his arm and walked away with him towards the gate, where now quite a little crowd had assembled, attracted by the lanterns round the grave.
Knowing the Don's fondness for smoking and its soothing effect upon him, I handed him my cigar case, and he took a cigar and lit it. There seemed to be something in the aroma of the fine Havannahs as I lit one, too, that dispelled the lurking mouldiness of the old burial ground.
"But for those children playing around that tomb this afternoon," remarked d'Alta, "this body might have lain there undiscovered for years. It was a cunning mind which thought of using an old grave as a receptacle for a fresh body."
We strolled backwards and forwards on the grass-grown pathway, and I kept the old gentleman as far as I could from the open grave. The voice of the doctor giving directions and the muffled answers of the men working in the excavation came to us occasionally.
Presently, as we turned in one of our walks, I saw the labourers had come out of the grave and were hauling at something, assisted by the two policemen.
As I checked the Don in our walk, and looked on, a white mass was raised from the opening and laid by the doctor's direction on an adjacent flat tomb.
I shuddered as I saw the whiteness of it in the moonlight, and my thoughts reverted to the blood-stained figure of the old lady which I had last seen lying on her bed in the house in Monmouth Street.
The workmen went down into the grave again, and Inspector Bull came towards us.
"Will you kindly step over this way for a few moments, Mr. Anstruther?" he asked. "I want to see if you can recognise the body which has been brought to the surface."
I let go the arm of Don Juan which I had been holding, and with a sickening feeling at my heart followed Inspector Bull. He led me towards the object lying on the old moss-grown tomb, and I could not summon the words to ask him who it was. There was a strong presentiment in my mind that I should look upon the dead face of the old lady at whose wish I had crossed the Atlantic.
We came to the body, over which a piece of sacking had been thrown, and this the inspector drew back, while one of the policemen held a lantern.
In its yellow light mingled with the clear moonbeams, I looked upon the face, and my heart gave a great leap of thankfulness. The face was perfectly fresh and recognisable. It was not the face of the old lady which I had feared to see, but that of a man with a coal-black beard, which seemed very familiar to me.
I had scarcely looked upon it when a cry came from the grave where the men were working, and they threw up a white bundle, evidently a bundle of linen.
This the inspector quickly opened, and displayed a heap of bedclothing and a pillow all stained with blood.
"Is that all?" asked the inspector, as the men jumped out of the hole.
"Yes, marster," the man replied, knocking the clay off his boots, "there's naught there now but the coffin of the old 'un, well-nigh moulderin' away, and the plate says he was one o' the old Mayors o' Bath."
I turned again to the exhumed body, and the recognition of it came to me in a flash.
It was the dark German who had helped to strap me in the chair in Cruft's Folly, when Saumarez was going to torture me.
I was delayed two days in Bath by the inquest on the body of the German, the discovery of which in the old graveyard formed a nine days' wonder in the old western city and then died out altogether.
It was a very barren inquiry, for it discovered nothing. The man was a stranger, no evidence was produced to show who he was, and as an unknown stranger he was buried again, not in the old graveyard, but in the new cemetery away among the hills.
There was only one piece of evidence which carried any interest with it, and that was the testimony of the doctor.
He stated that the man had been shot through the head and immediately killed; he produced the .450 revolver bullet which he had found in the head.
Furthermore, he added that the body had been buried at once, and by that means preserved from decay. It was practically incorrupt. It might have been buried there a month.
That was all, and all the coroner's acumen, and all the researches of the police, could produce no more. Public opinion had to be satisfied with a very vague verdict.
There was only one point of interest left for me in the matter, and that was the bundle of bed-linen which was found buried in the grave.
That was proved beyond doubt to be the bed-linen of my old lady of Monmouth Street; it was plainly marked with the letter C, surmounted on the case of the pillow by a small coronet.
"Things is coming round in a most extraordinary way to corroborate your statement about the old lady, Mr. Anstruther," remarked Inspector Bull patronisingly. "I could 'ardly believe it. I don't know when I come across another case like it."
I don't suppose he did. It was an enigma which puzzled many wiser heads than his in the long run; but I think the part which astonished him most was to be discovering, bit by bit, that the story of my visit to the house in Monmouth Street, as related to him and his brother, the "tip-top London detective," was actually founded at any rate onsomefact!
The Don and I joyfully directed our respective servants to pack up for London at the conclusion of the inquest. Dolores had been sent back to Claridge's by her father, and placed under the care of Mrs. Darbyshire the morning after the discovery in the old graveyard. He had very wisely decided to keep her away from the gruesomeness of the inquest, which pervaded the whole town.
Under the circumstances that little interview which I was so anxious that he should have with her to discover the state of her affections towards me, was postponed, and things remained just as they were.
Nevertheless, I think both Dolores and I were perfectly satisfied to wait for the formal declaration of her father's sanction, being happy in the consciousness of each other's love and steadfastness.
So the inquest being disposed of, we very gladly went off to the station beneath the great cliff to catch the afternoon express to town.
We were in ample time, and strolled up and down the platform, taking a last look at the town which had proved so fateful to us both.
Presently the great engine, the embodiment of modern steam power, swept into the station, and the Don's man at once secured a first-class smoking compartment for us, with the aid of the guard, while Brooks looked after the luggage, the other man being a foreigner.
"I'm afraid I shall not be able to keep the whole compartment for you, gentlemen," said the guard civilly, as we took our seats; "but I'll put as few in as I can."
The old Don was the embodiment of politeness; he was the last person in the world to inconvenience any one on the railway or anywhere else, though he liked to have a carriage to himself when he could.
He told the guard so.
"I'll do my best, sir," replied the guard, with greatimpressement, as he pocketed Don Juan's five shillings. "You shall be inconvenienced as little as possible."
He locked the door and walked away, and I thought we should be left to ourselves.
The guard, however, had overestimated his powers.
The train was within a minute of starting when two passengers, evidently in a great hurry, made their appearance at the window. One was an old gentleman with a white beard, wearing blue spectacles, and apparently half blind; the other a young sturdy man, evidently his son, for the elder leant on his arm, and was addressed by him as "father."
The son led the old man straight to our carriage, and called aloud for the guard on finding it locked.
"Now, guard!" he cried with authority, when the official made his appearance, "open the door; all the other carriages are full."
"If you wouldn't mind coming down a few carriages farther, sir," suggested our guard, "I can find you two good corner seats at once."
"Open this door at once," cried the gentleman furiously; "there is only half a minute to spare, and don't you see my father is an invalid?"
Don Juan emerged from his corner with a look of genuine concern upon his face.
"Let the gentlemen in at once, guard," he ordered. "I would not be the cause of inconvenience to them on any account. Come in, gentlemen, I beg."
The guard opened the door, and the two passengers entered just as the stationmaster called out a remonstrance not to delay the train. The old gentleman sank back in his seat with a sigh of relief.
"I'm so glad we caught the train," he said breathlessly.
Brooks ran up at the last moment and handed our tickets to the collector, who had been waiting for them, as the train did not stop again until it reached Paddington.
As Brooks turned and touched his hat to us, it appeared to me that he started as he looked into the carriage, but the train was just off and the ticket collector almost pushed him into the next compartment to ours—a second, of course.
We puffed out of Bath, and I saw the last of its hills and stone houses for many a day; indeed, I don't think I have seen it since, except perhaps in the same way from a flying train. We were soon swallowed up by a great tunnel, and the Don and I subsided into thoughtfulness and the quiet enjoyment of our cigars.
Our fellow-travellers in the opposite corners maintained an absolute silence; they might have been two statues.
But in a few minutes we burst out again into the almost blinding daylight, and then it seemed to me that the appearance of the two men we were shut up with had undergone a change. It was, if not my fancy, a total change in the expression of their faces.
The idea seemed to fascinate me, and I kept my eyes fixed upon them both.
Presently, after a quick glance at his companion, the old man put his hand into the pocket of the thick travelling coat he wore and quickly pulled out a revolver; then in a voice which I knew again full well he addressed us both, at the same time covering Don Juan with his pistol.
"If you make the slightest movement, or speak without my permission, I shall fire."
I saw as I sat looking at them that the younger man had also produced a revolver, and was covering me.
Then the two moved nearer us into the two central seats of the compartment, for the convenience, as it proved, of talking to us.
Don Juan and I sat petrified with astonishment, whilst the elder man spoke again. I knew him from the first moment he had opened his lips, despite his disguise, to be the Duke of Rittersheim, or "Saumarez," as he had called himself.
"Don Juan d'Alta," he began, "I know you very well, and I don't suppose you have forgotten me."
"I know your voice,Your Serene Highness," responded the old Don, with a distinct accentuation of the title.
"Very well," replied the Duke. "Then that knowledge will enlighten you to the extent that you will be aware that I want something of you."
Don Juan made no reply.
"I want," proceeded the Duke, "the key of the steel safe which you removed from 190 Monmouth Street, Bath, and sent to the Bank of England. I want also an order from you to the directors of the Bank of England, authorising them to give me access to the safe. My friend here has writing materials."
My glance turned to Don Juan, who was contemplating the Duke with a stony stare of contempt.
"You will get neither the key nor the order, sir," he replied.
The Duke shrugged up his shoulders.
"You will compel me, then, to take a certain course," he answered. "I believe you have the key with you?"
He was right, the Don had it, but neither of us answered him.
"You will not answer," he proceeded. "Very well; silence gives consent. I believe you have it.
"That being so, I give you five minutes by this watch to make up your mind, Señor. At the conclusion of that period, we shall shoot you both as I shot the German they have been making such a fuss about in Bath, and take the key if you don't give it up. I have no doubt whatever I can get some clever fellow to copy your writing and manufacture me an order.
"At any rate, neither of you will be in a position to prevent me."
I confess that my blood ran cold at his words, as he took his watch out with his left hand and laid it on the seat. All my visions of happiness with Dolores seemed melting into shadows of grim death.
Don Juan, however, kept perfectly calm; there was scarcely a twitch on his face as he answered, although the colour had fled from it.
"That is all very well, sir," he replied coolly; "but what are you going to do with our bodies? You will be discovered, tried, and executed."
The Duke laughed aloud.
"They don't execute Serene Highnesses," he replied; "but, at any rate, as you are curious about my safety, I will tell you. In a few minutes the train will run into a tunnel. There we shall shoot you.
"In half an hour's time, during which we shall have the discomfort of regarding your two dead bodies, the train will once more enter a tunnel, the last before we reach London, and invariably the driver slows down in it to negotiate a very sharp curve. There we shall cast your bodies out on to the line as soon as we are in the tunnel, and availing ourselves of the slowing down which will occur a few minutes later, we shall leave the train."
As he spoke, the train entered the tunnel he mentioned, and almost at the same moment I saw a face appear at the window on the farther side behind the Duke and his accomplice.
It was the face of Brooks—my servant!
At first he expressed great astonishment at the situation as he looked through the window, then he very clearly frowned to me to keep silence.
Covered by the rattling of the train in the tunnel he began very carefully to open the door.
"The minutes are passing, gentlemen," remarked the Duke, in a mocking tone. "I must beg of you to make up your minds."
He clicked his revolver lock as a gentle reminder; but as he glanced at us in triumph, Brooks crept into the carriage behind him, and in a flash, with a great spring, his two strong hands held down those of our assailants which held their pistols. It was a splendid act of judgment.
In a moment I sprang forward too, to aid him, and then began a fearful struggle, in which Don Juan could take but little part. The great endeavour of Brooks and myself was to prevent the men using their revolvers; with all our strength we held down their hands and rendered them powerless.
When it appeared to me we were getting the mastery of them, I heard theDuke gasp out some guttural remarks in German to his companion.
Then suddenly the latter released his hold of the pistol, leaving it in our hands, but his freed hand went to his breast and reappeared with a long knife in it.
I did not actually see the blow, but I heard Brooks cry out, and I knew that the man had struck him.
But meanwhile Don Juan had picked up the revolver and pointed it towards the two villains.
"Fly, Duke," he cried, "for the honour of your house, or I will kill you."
With a curse the Duke let go his revolver and cried out in German to his companion. Then in a moment the two slipped out of the open door of the carriage on to the footboard and disappeared. We saw them no more.
Don Juan and I turned at once to Brooks, who had sunk back with a groan on the cushions.
"Are you hurt, my poor man," asked the Don; "have they stabbed you?"
"Yes, sir," he answered faintly, with his hand to his side. "They've about done for me, but I'm glad I die fighting like a British soldier should. I'm glad I've wiped the old score out by saving my master and you, sir."
When a quarter of an hour later the train ran into Paddington poor Brooks lay back in a corner with set white face. He had had his wish; he had died like a British soldier.
As Dolores and I had both anticipated, the result of her interview with her father on the subject of her affections was entirely satisfactory to us both. The Don expressed himself satisfied, too, with the consultation, and gave us his blessing in the good old-fashioned way still in vogue in Aquazilia, or at any rate among the adherents of the old monarchy. We knelt at his feet to receive it. The result was a paragraph in theMorning Post, as follows:—
"A marriage has been arranged, and will shortly take place, betweenWilliam Frederick, only son of the late Sir Henry and Lady MaryAnstruther, and Dolores, only daughter of Don Juan d'Alta, for someyears Prime Minister of the late Queen Inez of Aquazilia."
This announcement brought us a shower of congratulations and inquiries as to the date of the wedding.
That query I naturally left to Dolores to answer, and at my earnest solicitation she very considerately decided, having in view my intense impatience in the matter, that the paternal assent—with blessing—-having been given in the month of February, we should be married in April.
Yes, absolutelymarried! The idea took me greatly by surprise at first. I used to wake in the morning, and the thought would in a manner sweetly confront me. It was as if a little mischievous Cupid sat on the end rail of my bed and revelled in his work.
"William Frederick," he seemed to say, "you're going to be married.You're going to marry Dolores. What do you think of it?"
Ididthink a great deal of it, and the thought to me was ecstasy.
I often used to wonder, as I contemplated in my mind's eye this little wicked Cupid sitting on my bed, whether he went and sat in like manner on Dolores', and if he did, what the little imp of mischief said to her.
But time flew, long as the interval seemed at first between February and April.
I did not see half as much of my Dolores as I could have wished; Mrs.Darbyshire and a host of other ladies absorbed her.
After a week or two my cousin Ethel joined her sage counsels to the rest in the matter of the bridesmaids' dresses. She herself was to be the chief of that important band, to which sundry male recruits in the shape of small boys were to be added by way of pages.
I never could quite gather how Ethel took my engagement. Her congratulation assumed the form of a short note.
"Dear Bill," it ran, "so you've done it!
"Well, dear old fellow, I saw it was a dead certainty at Valoro, and I congratulate you both and wish you every happiness with all my heart.
"Dear little Dolores is a right good sort, and if I were a man I think I should fall in love with her myself. I am sure she will make you happy; mind you take care of her!
"There is one thing I am sure you will be glad to hear.
"Give her a season or two over an easy country to begin with, and I assure you she will ride to hounds as well as any girl born and bred in the Shires. Believe me, dear Bill, I am speaking seriously, and you know me too well to think I would deceive you on such a matter.
"I leave you to teach her to shoot; I think every girl should be able to handle a gun; it gives her something to talk about to other girls' brothers."
This was the gist of the letter, and I put it aside with a sigh, wondering whether dear old Ethel would ever marry herself. In that mood, I regretted that I had ever lingered in those dear old corridors at Bannington when the moonbeams slanted through the mullions of the narrow old Tudor windows, and Ethel came down the broad oaken staircase with a look of well simulated surprise in her eyes at finding me there, dressed early for dinner and waiting for her to surrender those red lips of hers in a cousinly kiss.
Cousinly?
Well, regrets were unavailing; I could not call the kisses back again, and how was I to know I was going to meet Dolores and of course fall straightway in love with her?
That is the way a man argues himself into a comfortable state of mind when his half forgotten peccadilloes of meanness spring up and prick him!
St. Nivel came round daily with his sister, and, to use his own expression, "took me in hand." This taking in hand meant principally marching me off to the tailors and hosiers to order new clothes.
"A man when he is going to be married," he said sententiously, "must make a clean sweep of all his old clothes and start afresh. It's a duty he owes to his future wife—and his tailor!"
He of course elected himself my best man, and only regretted that I was not in the "Brigade" that a dash of colour might be added to the ceremony by lining the church with his dear "Coldstreamers."
He was, however, getting tired of the Army. He confided to me his intention to "chuck it" at an early date, and devote himself to a country life entirely.
"In fact," he added, summing up the whole situation, "I mean to buy pigs and live pretty," whatever that expression might mean. His ideas of matrimony were, however, almost entirely of a pessimistic order, as he was for ever slapping me on the back and urging me to buck up, mistaking those delicious love musings which, I suppose, every bridegroom indulges in for fits of depression.
"My dear children," said the old Don to us one day, when we were all together, he, Dolores, and I; "my dear children, I want you to make me a promise."
"Of course we will, Padré," we both answered. "What is it?"
The "Padré" and the "dear children" were now well established forms of address, and I think the old man delighted in them.
"I want you to promise me," he replied, "that you will spendsomepart of the year with me in Valoro."
"Of course we will," we chorused.
Dolores whispered a few words in my ear to which I readily nodded assent.
"Padré," she continued aloud, "we will come and spend Christmas and theNew Year with you, and we will bring Lord St. Nivel and Ethel with us.I am sure they will come. Then," she added, turning to me, "we willhave all our courtship over again."
In such happy thoughts the time sped away. Don Juan, as an act of gratitude for what he called "a dutiful acquiescence" to his wishes, purchased a town house for us in Grosvenor Square.
"During the season," he added meditatively, "perhaps you will find a little room for me"—most of the best bedrooms measured about 25 by 40—"that is all I need. After consideration, I have decided that it would be too much to ask you to have any of my dear snakes. If I bring any with me, I shall board them out at the Zoo."
The tenant of my manor house by the Solent, when he heard I was going to be married, called upon me at my club.
"My dear fellow," he said, "I'm a sportsman; I couldn't think of keepin' on your house when I know you'll want it to settle down in. I've seen another across the water that'll suit me just as well, and you shall have your own again before the weddin'."
He was a kind-hearted man and sent me a wedding present—a silver bootjack to take off my hunting boots with. He said it might be useful to both of us, which was a distinct libel on Dolores' dear little feet.
At last the eve of our wedding came and Claridge's Hotel was filled from basement to roof, principally with the relatives of both families. For a bevy of Dons with their wives and daughters, all kindred of my little Dolores, had crossed the Atlantic, glad of the excuse to visit London, and a contingent from France of the oldnoblesse, her mother's relatives, had arrived to do honour to the nuptials of the little heiress. And because she was already a large possessor of the goods of this world they brought more to swell it; gold, silver, and precious stones in such quantities that it took two big rooms at Claridge's to contain them, and four detectives to watch them, two by day and two by night.
But among these presents were two which puzzled me greatly—they came anonymously—arivièreof splendid diamonds for Dolores, a splendid motor car for me.
Had she been but a poor relation I fear her display of wedding gifts would have been but a meagre one. As it was, perhaps St. Nivel's terse comment on the "show," as he called it, was nearest to the truth.
"Bill," he said confidentially, "all this splendour is simplybarbaric."
But nobody grudged little Dolores her grand wedding, nor the magnificent gifts, for every one loved her.
I was sitting calmly at breakfast on the morning of the day preceding our wedding, with my mind filled to overflowing with the happiness before me, when St. Nivel burst in upon me.
"Look here, Bill," he cried, flourishing a newspaper before my eyes."Look here,some onehas got his deserts at last!"
I took the paper from him and read the paragraph he pointed to; it was headed—
"Tragic Death of the Duke of Rittersheim."
I paused, put down the newspaper, and looked at St. Nivel.
"Yes," he said, interpreting my look; "you will be troubled with him no more in this world; he's dead. Read it and see."
I took up the paper and read on—
"MUNICH,Tuesday.
"Considerable consternation was caused this morning in the Castle of Rittersheim and its neighbourhood upon the fact becoming known that His Serene Highness the Duke had passed away during the night. It appears that the Duke has been in bad health ever since his return from England two months ago, where he had the misfortune to break his arm; he suffered also the loss of a very dear friend, in Mr. Summers, an American gentleman who, for some time, had been acting as his secretary, and whose body, it will be remembered, was found under very mysterious circumstances, at the time the Duke left England, in a tunnel on the Great Western Railway, just after the Bath express had passed through, in which train it is known Mr. Summers had been travelling with an elderly gentleman. A rumour concerning the connection of Mr. Summers with a murder which had taken place in the Bath train seems to have preyed on the Duke's mind, and he has been unable to sleep for some weeks past.
"It is presumed that for this reason he had commenced the habit of injecting morphia, as a large hypodermic syringe, with an empty morphia bottle, were found beside his dead body. The general opinion is, that he succumbed to an overdose."
"Well, what doyouthink," asked St. Nivel, as I laid down the paper, "accident or suicide?"
"It is impossible to say," I replied. "Nobody can tell, and I should think that will be one of the problems which will go down to posterity unsolved."
"As unsolved, I suppose," he answered, "as the mystery of your old lady of Bath?"
That was a subject I had barred since my pledge to Don Juan. "Who can tell?" I answered with a shrug of the shoulders, "I have given it up. I never think of it."
"Ido, though," replied my cousin, "and I also recollect, very often with mingled feelings, the way in which the finding of that man Summers' body in the tunnel was hushed up, and no further efforts made to connect him with the murder of poor Brooks."
"I don't see that any good purpose would have been served," I answered, "if theyhadconnected him with it. He could not have been tried and hanged."
"No, certainly not, but there would have been the satisfaction inknowing. But I believe your deceased friend the Duke of Rittersheim worked that. In my opinion he threw a cloak of some sort over the Bath case too, and I don't suppose you will ever discover the truth of it."
"No," I answered solemnly, "I don't suppose I ever shall."
And I don't suppose I ever should but for one of those little chances which occur in a man's life, trifles in themselves, but leading on to great discoveries.
The next day after that little talk, amid the pomp of a great wedding, almost regal in its magnificence, I took Dolores to be my little wife, to have and to hold from that day forth in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, until death we two doth part.
And from that time I walked as on air, and forgot the murky clouds which had darkened my horizon in the days before I found my happiness.
It was five years after my marriage, or to be correct, in May of the year nineteen hundred and seven, that Dolores and I, leaving our three dear little children in the manor house on the shores of the Solent whilst we took a flying trip to Switzerland, found ourselves one heavenly spring morning standing on the balcony of the great hotel at Lucerne which is built on the very edge of the blue lake.
"Well, where shall we go to-day, darling?" I asked my little wife as I slipped one hand round her waist and took the cigar from between my lips with the other; "shall we ascend grim Pilatus, or cog-wheel it up the Rigi and have lunch at the little hotel at the top, or shall we idle away the day in a boat on the lake? What say you, little one?"
An old German passing below with his hand behind his back, feeling his way gingerly along on gouty feet with the aid of a stick, looked up, smiled, and shook his head at us. He took us for a newly married couple!
When the laughter provoked by this little interlude had subsided, I once more put the question to Dolores.
"Where shall we go to-day?"
"Darling," she answered, "I'm entirely for the lazy day on the lake. I want to be idle."
So the lazy day on the lake it was.
A small hamper containing a cold chicken, some ham, a salad, with other accessories for lunch, and the added luxury of a gipsy tea-set, having been duly put into a boat, we followed it, and taking our seats, were met with the following query of the boatman, who sat looking at us, his two oars poised ready for work—
"Where will you go?"
We exchanged a significant glance, then gave voice simultaneously to the thought which was in both our minds.
"Anywhere."
The boatman nodded sagaciously; here again he even—the experienced—was deceived into believing that he had charge of a pair who had recently sworn to keep each other warm for life.
Had he been asked for his opinion concerning us, his reply expressed in his native tongue would have been briefly—
"Honey mooners!"
As I had reason to believe, after finding that we were perfectly indifferent as to where we went, he decided to have a little trip to suit his own convenience. He would go and see his sister at the Convent of The Nativity up the lake.
He continued sagely nodding his head as he rowed us away, and in reply to a question of mine as to what direction he had decided on, winked confidentially.
"Monsieur et madame," he replied, "leave it to me. You will have a great surprise."
We did, but not in the way he intended.
On the dark face of the boatman as he worked steadily up the lake I saw both perplexity and concern; first, although I held Dolores' hand, as I usually did on such occasions when we were alone—or nearly so, for the Swiss oarsman counted for little—yet the man saw no yearning desire on my part tokissher, as was the case with most husbands in the early days of thelune de miel.
Several times I noticed that he gave me opportunity by turning round and straining his neck to see imaginary obstacles in the way for the fulfilment of this custom, which, to his surprise, I did not avail myself of. There were no blushes, no abrupt separations, and no assumed looks of unconcern when he turned round again.
The situation was a puzzling one. But there was a pale cast of thought over his features in addition, which I only knew the reason for later on. He was puzzling his brains to find an excuse for taking us to the very plain looking convent up the lake which, although beautifully situated, yet presented no extraordinary attractions beyond a well ordered and ancient garden, laid out in terraces on the side of one of the lower slopes of the mountains, and, of course, the beautiful view. Therefore when, at that curve in the lake when the Rigi comes into fullest view, a smile of satisfaction overspread the boatman's face, I knew, after, that he had solved the difficulty and found the excuse for taking us to such a very ordinary resort.
"I will show these simple English people," he had reasoned, "the long-haired goats. I will make aspécialitéof these animals for the delectation of this cold-blooded bride and bridegroom, who do not kiss when I turn round to observe the prospect."
In the course of an hour and a half we arrived off a white terrace-like landing place with a flight of steps leading down to the lake.
All questions as to our destination had been answered by the boatman with mysterious nods and winks, giving promise of a stupendous surprise in store. His object was to get us safely on shore before he opened the subject of the hairy goats, lest we should, insular like, change our minds and not give him the opportunity of visiting his sister. The boat shot alongside the steps, the man sprang out and assisted us to land; a nun who had been working in the garden came down and met us.
"Ma soeur," explained our boatman, "this English milor and his lady have a great desire to see your most splendid goats!"
The good sister looked surprised, an expression which Dolores and I shared with her, mingled with amusement. We had, however, no particular objection to inspecting her goats, notwithstanding.
"Our Mother," she replied amiably, "I am sure, will be pleased to show monsieur and madame the goats if it will give them any gratification."
She preceded us through the beautifully kept kitchen garden, and up a flight of steps to another above, each foot of the productive soil being used to advantage, as we saw by the abundance of the crops reared on the sunny slope.
We mounted up from garden to garden until we came to a large terrace full of flowers, which surrounded the conventual buildings and commanded a magnificent view of the lake.
Here the sister left us.
"Will monsieur and madame divert themselves here," she asked, "while I go fetch our Mother?"
Delighted with the beautiful surroundings and the glorious stretch of blue water below us, Dolores and I were quite content to enjoy the lovely scene by ourselves; our boatman had long since slunk off down a side alley to find his relative the lay sister.
We had walked half the length of the broad terrace absorbed in the view, when, turning from it, we became aware that we were not alone. At the farther end of the terrace was an old lady sitting in an invalid's chair, also enjoying the beautiful prospect. By her side sat a nun on a garden chair, holding a large white sunshade over her; the sun was very hot. Not wishing to disturb her privacy, we turned back and met the Reverend Mother approaching with our conductress.
She was amiability itself. Certainly she would show monsieur and madame the goats. She was unaware that they had become so celebrated. Perhaps monsieur and madame kept goats in England?
"No; you have come only by the recommendation of the boatman, Fritz Killner?" she asked. "No doubt he wished to give you the diversion of the long passage in the boat."
I saw a look of amused intelligence pass over the Reverend Mother's face; she had divined the object of the boatman's visit. In fact, she frankly told us later—when we had seen the goats—that he had a sister in the community, and thus let the cat out of the bag.
We were not by any means petrified with astonishment at the goats; they seemed very ordinary animals, but with very long white coats. I had seen better in a goat chaise at Ramsgate.
But we had, at the Reverend Mother's solicitation, to make the tour of the convent.
We inspected the cows, the pigs, the orchard and a very respectable range of glass houses.
Then we went to the chapel, and finally to the refectory; here the hospitality of the white-clad order burst forth; we must havedéjeuner.
The good Superior waved aside the mention of our cold fowl, and insisted on cutlets and an omelette. Meanwhile, we were to walk with her upon the terrace to improve our appetite—we were simply ravenous already.
"I have brought you to the terrace, monsieur and madam," proceeded the nun, "not only to admire the fine view and increase your appetites, but also to present you to Madame la Comtesse."
"Madame la Comtesse?" I repeated inquiringly.
She indicated the old white-haired lady sitting at the farther end of the terrace.
"That is Madame la Comtesse, the founder of this religious house," she explained. "She delights to see English visitors. She adores your nation. Come, let us go to her, but I ask you to approach quite near her, or she will not see you clearly. She is shortsighted."
Walking one on either hand of the Reverend Mother, we approached Madame la Comtesse.
The attendant nun had fixed the large white sunshade in a socket in the invalid chair; she was writing at the old lady's dictation. We came quite near before the Comtesse heard us approaching. Then she turned her head and looked at us, her kind old features breaking into a very sweet smile; her glance wandered from the Mother Superior to Dolores, then to me; there it stopped.
A little more frail, a little paler, yet with a bright colour in her cheeks, her still clear eyes gazing up to mine with an alarmed look in them; I knew her.
From the very first moment that she moved in her chair and turned to us; from the instant that that movement of her head disarranged the silk scarf which was wrapped round her throat, and laying it bare, showed a broad red scar upon it,I knew her; knew her for my dear old lady of Monmouth Street, Bath, at whose bidding I had crossed the Atlantic and endured many perils. I knew her, and as I gazed upon her her lips moved and formed two words—
"Mr. Anstruther!"