An Adventure and a Rescue
It was not until Rushford opened his paper an hour later that he fully understood the remarkable situation of which the Grand Hôtel Royal had, by the merest chance, become the centre.
"It is extremely unfortunate [said theTimes] that Lord Vernon should have been taken ill at just this time, when the question of the succession of Schloshold-Markheim is hanging in the balance. Lord Vernon is the only man in the cabinet capable of dealing with the situation, which is as delicate as can be imagined. On the one side are arrayed the sympathies of our reigning house and perhaps even our own honour; on the other, the plainly expressed desires of the German Emperor.
"The late Prince Christian left no direct heirs, so that, in any event, the succession must be through a collateral branch. The claims of the rivals, Prince George, of Schloshold, and Prince Ferdinand, of Markheim, are therefore evenly balanced. On one side of the scale, however, the German Emperor has thrown the weight of his influence. On the other side is the moral influence of practically all the rest of Europe, but this will scarcely be of any value to Prince Ferdinand unless he can enlist the active support of Great Britain, which, it may be, Lord Vernon, though reluctant to withhold, will find impossible to give. It is not to be denied that, from a disinterested view-point, Prince Ferdinand seems by far the more worthy of the two claimants.
"Lord Vernon is suffering with a very severe attack of influenza, which has been developing for some days, and which has, at last, become so serious that his physicians have commanded a complete rest for a week or ten days. One may well conceive Lord Vernon's reluctance to heed this advice, but he has very wisely decided to do so. The little seaside resort of Weet-sur-Mer, on the Dutch coast, has been selected as the place for his sojourn, and he will be taken there to-morrow on H. M. S.Dauntless. Sir John Scaddam, his physician, and two of his secretaries, Mr. Arthur Collins and Mr. George Blake, will accompany him, although work of any kind has been absolutely forbidden him for at least a week. It is believed that the bracing atmosphere of Weet-sur-Mer will effect a cure in that time.
"Weet-sur-Mer is comparatively little known, at least in England. It is really the old Dutch fishing-village of Weet-zurlindenhofen; but a number of years ago it was exploited as a watering-place and re-christened Weet-sur-Mer by some enthusiast more anxious to advertise the fact that one may bathe there than to observe the rules of etymology. It is rather out of the way, and the route by rail is so circuitous and uncertain that it was judged best to spare Lord Vernon the fatigue of such a journey by conveying him directly thither upon theDauntless. He hopes to find there a quiet and seclusion which would be impossible at any of the larger resorts.
"We understand that Prince George is with the German Emperor at Berlin, and that Prince Ferdinand, who is at Markheim, has commissioned his cousin, Prince Frederick, of Markeld, to place his claims before our foreign office. His reception at this time can hardly fail to cause acute embarrassment."
There was a half-column more of comment and veiled suggestion that perhaps the wisest course for the foreign office to pursue, now that Lord Vernon's guiding hand was for the moment withdrawn, would be to let affairs take their course; though it was difficult to see how this could consistently be done if Prince Frederick succeeded in gaining a formal audience and placing his case before the government. Already, it seemed, the jingo papers were taunting the administration with undue truckling to the wishes of Germany, with a lack of stamina and backbone in short—with something like treachery toward Prince Ferdinand and treason toward the royal family, with which the Prince was distantly allied.
Rushford gave a long whistle of astonishment; then he laid the paper on his knees and stared thoughtfully out across the sands for some minutes.
"Of course, Markeld has followed Vernon here," he said, at last. "I rather admire his pluck. And I'd like to be present at the interview—it'll be interesting. Why, hello, Pelletan," he added, as the latter approached him humbly, as a slave approaches the Sultan. "Want to speak to me?" "Eef monsieur please," answered the little Frenchman, who was plainly labouring under deep excitement.
"All right; what is it?"
"Wass monsieur serious in hees command t'at I exclude t'e Prince ofZeit-Zeit?"
"Never more serious in my life. He's barred! We take only human beings—not monstrosities. Has he applied?"
"Yess, monsieur; he tesires hees old apartment."
"Which was that?"
"Apartment A, monsieur; he hass always had t'e pest in t'e house when he come here mit' hees fat'er."
"Well, apartment A's already taken; even if it were empty, he shouldn't have it. Where's your nerve, Pelletan—here's your chance for revenge!"
"But to refuse a Prince!" murmured Pelletan. "Eet iss somet'ing unheard of!"
"It will make you famous! It's a big ad for the house! 'The Grand Hôtel Royal refuses to receive the Prince of Zeit-Zeit.' Think what a stir that will make! Besides, you have no choice—I require it!"
"Fery well, monsieur," agreed Pelletan, with a gesture of despairing obedience. "T'ere iss one t'ing more—I haf an idea."
"That's good; let's have it," said Rushford, encouragingly. "There's nothing like ideas."
"Monsieur will remember," began Pelletan, in a voice carefully lowered, "t'at we agreed to touble t'e price of entertainment."
"Yes—what of it? Anybody been kicking?"
"No—au contraire, monsieur—t'e house iss full—efery leetle room."
"You see you don't need Zeit-Zeit; it's quite like the old times, isn't it?"
"Yess—only petter, monsieur; far petter. Oh, eet iss wunderschön!"
"Well, go ahead; what's the idea?"
"Since t'e house iss full," said Pelletan, impressively, "and t'ere are many more asking for rooms—oh, temanding t'em—t'e Prince among t'e number!—why may not we again touble t'e price?" and he leaned back in his chair, looking triumphantly at his partner. But his face fell as the latter shook his head. "No?" he asked. "Eet will not do?"
"No," said Rushford, slowly; "I'm afraid it won't do. You see it would be a kind of ex post facto proceeding—"
"A—I ton't quite comprehen', monsieur."
"No matter—trust me—see what's happened since yesterday," and he waved his hand at the busy corridor.
"Oh, eet iss kolossal!" cried Pelletan. "I shall nefer cease to atmire monsieur. Perhaps," he suggested timidly, "since he hass peen so successful, monsieur may pe tempted to remain permanently. Surely he would pe one great success! In a year—two year—we would eclipse Ostend—monsieur himself hass said eet!"
"No," laughed the other, "I don't think I'd care to remain. Though, of course," he added, "the possibility of great success is always fascinating."
"Oh, eet iss more t'an a possibility," cried Pelletan. "Eet is a certainty."
"A certainty is not so fascinating as a possibility," the American pointed out, his eyes twinkling.
"Unt t'en," continued Pelletan, persuasively, fancying, no doubt, that he saw some signs of yielding in his partner's face, "eef monsieur remains, he can haf t'e house done ofer to suit heem; he can t'row away t'e furniture he does not like; he can paint out t'e marble columns; he can cause all t'e servants to pe tressed to hees taste. He would make one grand sensation! T'e house would pe t'e talk of Europe, tint we would soon pe reech—oh, reech!" and the little Frenchman stretched his arms wide to indicate the vast extent of the wealth that was awaiting them.
But Rushford shook his head.
"No, Pelletan," he said; "no, I really can't do it. It's utterly impossible, or your impassioned eloquence would certainly prevail. There's nothing I'd like better than to show the hotel-keepers of Europe a thing or two—they are more conceited with less reason for being so than any other class of men I know. But I've got to go back to America before long to look after my business there. Besides, I don't really feel that hotel-keeping is my lifework. I'm afraid it would pall upon me after a time. But I tell you what I'll do, if you wish, Pelletan. I'll tear up the agreement and say no more about it. You may have all the profits."
"Oh!" cried the Frenchman, dazzled by this munificence, by the golden vision which danced before his eyes. Then he hesitated. With his partner's marvellous influence withdrawn, might not the whole wonderful structure come tumbling about his ears? It would be like pulling out the foundation! What would prevent his guests from packing up and leaving to-morrow? "No, monsieur," he said, slowly, at last, "I prefer eet as eet iss."
"Very well," and Rushford laughed again; it was not the first time his partners in business had been afraid to do without him! "Let it be that way, then. Have you got that agreement with you?"
"Yess, monsieur; eet iss here," and he produced it from an inner pocket.
"Let me have it a minute."
Pelletan gave it to him with trembling hand. His partner opened it, got out his fountain-pen, and changed a word in the contract.
"There," he said, "that's more fair, Pelletan."
Pelletan paled as he looked at the paper and his eyes grew misty. Instead of one hundred francs daily, he would receive two hundred. Ah, these magnificent Americans!
The interview to which theTimeslooked forward with so much apprehension was, it seemed, indefinitely postponed. The Prince of Markeld had, indeed, immediately upon his arrival, caused his presence to be formally announced to Lord Vernon, but the latter had responded that he was, for the present, under the orders of his physician, who forbade him to see any one or to transact business of any kind. Whereat the Prince had twisted his mustachios fiercely (with an accompaniment, no doubt, of sub voce profanity) and had proceeded to amuse himself until luncheon with an exceedingly ugly bulldog he had brought with him.
He had luncheon in his apartment, smoked a cigarette or two, despatched a telegram describing the state of affairs to Prince Ferdinand, and then, looking from his window and perceiving that all the world was abroad, prepared for a walk along the beach. At the door, he happened to look back and caught his dog's eyes fixed wistfully upon him.
"Ah, Jax, old boy," he said, "it is unfair to leave you shut up here with only Glück for company. Like to come along?"
Jax wriggled his delight.
"And you'll behave yourself?"
Jax promised as clearly as a dog could.
"Very well, then," and the Prince went down the stair, with Jax, half-delirious with joy, behind him.
Now the Prince was a very good-looking fellow, erect and clean, as German noblemen have a way of being—besides, he was a Prince, a commander of favours from the world and women, not a mere suitor for them as most poor mortals are—and more than one pair of eyes gazed at him languishingly from under pencilled brows as he strolled moodily along the beach, golden yellow in the sunlight; more than one crimson mouth shaped itself to an entrancing smile; more than one sullied heart beat high at thought of a brilliant future.
But on this occasion, none of the sirens won an answering glance, for the Prince was in no mood for flirtation—and, besides, he was used to sirens. So he strolled on, deep in thought. This affair of state, which rested upon his shoulders, promised to go badly; if Lord Vernon persisted in his refusal to see him, he was checkmated at the start, before he had opportunity to make a move. Delay meant ruin, and his cousin had trusted everything to him. He knew very well that the Emperor would not delay; that he would use every minute to strengthen his position; that he would compel events, not dance attendance on them. He, the Prince, must see Lord Vernon at any cost; he must demand an audience; he must appeal to his patriotism, his sense of honour, the love of fair play which every Englishman possesses; he must make refusal impossible—
He paused and looked up, conscious of a sudden commotion on the beach just ahead of him. Then he saw his dog dancing frantically about a young lady who held in her arms a little white spaniel, which she had evidently just snatched up from annihilation.
Markeld started forward with a leap, but at that instant a tall figure emerged from a hooded chair nearby, and with a quick and well-directed kick, sent the dog spinning.
"Oh, thank you!" cried Susie Rushford, looking up into a very handsome face.
"It was my great good fortune," said the stranger, bowing, "to be of service to a compatriot."
"Oh, you are an American?"
"No; an Englishman; but at least we speak the same language! I don't know the word for it"
"Neither do I—compatriot will do. You were just in time!"
"And you did it very neatly," added Nell, admiringly, glancing at the discomfited Jax, who was looking about him dazedly.
"Thank you," and the stranger, checking the words which were evidently upon his lips, bowed again, turned quickly back to his chair, buried himself in its recesses, and retired behind a newspaper.
"Well!" gasped Sue, meeting her sister's astonished eyes, "I must say—"
But what she must have said will remain forever a mystery, for just then the Prince of Markeld came hurrying up.
"I hope there is no damage," he said, speaking with just the slightest accent. "He is my dog," he added, seeing their questioning glance. "I am very sorry. I was a little preoccupied and was not noticing him. He is usually a very good dog. I cannot understand why he should have attacked yours."
"He isn't mine," laughed Susie, patting the spaniel upon his silky head; "he just ran to me for refuge."
"Evidently a most intelligent dog," observed the Prince, gravely.
"You think so?" asked Susie, her colour deepening just the faintest bit. "Ah, here is the owner, now," she added, as a little faded old woman came panting up.
"Oh, thank you, mademoiselle!" cried the newcomer, snatching the dog from Susie's arms. "Thank you! He was a bad boy—he run away!" and she held him close against her heart.
"It was nothing," protested Susie. "I am very glad I happened to be just here. Though I don't suppose that either I or the dog was in danger of being eaten," she added to Markeld, as the little old woman trotted tremulously away. "Your dog doesn't look especially ferocious."
"Still, I beg a thousand pardons," repeated the Prince. "I should have kept my eye on him. Come here, Jax," he called, "and make your apologies to the ladies."
Jax crawled up very humbly and Susie stooped and patted his head.
"Poor Jax," she said. "It wasn't your fault, I know. I'm sure that little spaniel insulted you!"
Jax licked her hand gratefully, and the Prince looked on with an admiration he did not attempt to conceal.
"Would you like him?" he asked, eagerly.
Susie started up with crimsoning cheeks.
"No, thank you," she said, and taking her sister's arm, she walked on, chin in air.
The Prince gazed after her, wide-eyed, for a moment, then turned resolutely and continued on his way.
"Well," began Nell, at the end of a minute, "he quite took my breath away!"
"Which he?" queried Sue.
"Both of them; but the first especially. That kick bespoke football training."
"And he has evidently kept in condition," added Sue. "The owner of the dog wasn't a bad-looking fellow, either—interesting, too, I haven't a doubt, and I do like interesting people! But the nerve of him—offering me his dog! I'm afraid we need a chaperon, after all, my dear."
"Yes," agreed Nell, "perhaps we do. But it would be an awful bother."
They walked on to the end of the beach, then mounted to the Digue and strolled slowly back toward the hotel, enjoying the breeze, the colour, the sunshine, the strange and varied life of the place.
Stretching along the landward side of the dyke stood a row of little houses, green and pink and white, with tile roofs mounting steeply upward, their red surfaces broken by innumerable dormers. These had once been the homes of honest and industrious fishermen, but time had changed all that. They had been remodelled to suit the demands of business, and every house had now on the lower floor an expensive little shop with monsieur sitting complacently at the door and madame, fat and voluble, at the money-drawer, and on the floor above, a still more expensive suite of rooms to let—rooms panelled in white and gold, resplendent with rococo mouldings, and crowded with abominable furniture, intended to be coquettish—gilt chairs, scalloped tables, embroidered lambrequins, ottomans smothered in plush and fringe, beds draped with curtains until they were all but air-tight—in effect more French than France.
Here and there between the houses, a glimpse might be had of the low country beyond, with its sluggish canal choked with rushes, a dingy windmill here and there, and stretching away on either side the flat meadows crinkling with yellow grain, and the green pastures dotted with huge black-and-white cattle. A narrow road, straight as a line in Euclid, and bordered by a row of trees each the counterpart of all the others, mounted toward the horizon, leading, principally, to a low, yellow house about a mile away, displaying above its door the appropriate motto, "Lust en Rust." There, either in the cool, vine-shaded garden, in the long, low-ceilinged dining-room, or in some smaller and more ornate apartment, one might breakfast, dine, what not, in the fashion of the country—which, for the most part, meant the drinking of a muddy liquid with an unpronounceable name and the eating of wafelen and poffertjes, and of little cheeses calculated to appal the strongest stomach.
The shops and the landscape—the cosmopolitan crowd with its Babel of many tongues—the great hotels, built of stucco in the nouveau-riche style so rasping to sensitive nerves—the striped awnings, the low balconies, the gaudy house-fronts—all these our heroines looked at and commented on and revelled in with the joy of fresh and unspoiled youth. It was life they were tasting—strange, interesting, intoxicating life—and they drank deep of it.
As they neared the hotel entrance, they saw coming from the other direction, pushed by two men, an invalid chair. They stood aside to let it pass, and its occupant, carefully wrapped in a great steamer-rug, glanced up at them with a quizzical light in his eyes.
They shrank back together against the wall with a simultaneous gasp of dismay, for the invalid was their athletic rescuer of an hour before.
The chair went on to the desk, where it paused, while its occupant wrote a hasty sentence on a slip of paper, which he tore from his notebook. A moment later, it was presented to Susie by one of his attendants. She took it mechanically, and, with a low bow, the messenger hurried back to the chair.
"What in the world," she began dazedly; then she unfolded the paper and read:
"Lord Vernon will be deeply grateful if he is not mentioned in connection with today's adventure."
Tellier Takes a Hand
The Prince continued his walk to the limits of the beach, with Jax trotting humbly at his heels; then he returned slowly to the hotel and mounted to his apartment.
"That will do, Glück," he said, as he gave him his hat and gloves."Don't let me be disturbed."
And Glück, with his imperturbable mahogany face, silently withdrew to mount guard without the door.
The Prince sat down, lighted a cigarette, and stared moodily out of the window, down upon the shifting crowd which still thronged the beach. His hand, hanging inert by his side, became suddenly the receptacle for a moist nose.
"Ah, Jax; and did she pat you on the head, old boy?" he asked. "And are you properly proud?"
Jax wiggled his remnant of a tail.
"Would you like to belong to her, Jax, and get patted every day? Yet she wouldn't take you—snapped me off short as that stump of yours when I offered you to her. Why was that, Jax?"
Jax couldn't say, not being familiar with the ways of fair Americans, and the Prince patted him softly on his nobbly crown.
"Just the same, she was a beauty, Jax; slim, straight, full of fire—a thoroughbred; and with a sense of humour, my dear, which you will find in not many women. Did you notice her cheeks, Jax, and her eyes? But of course not; you were very properly grovelling before her. And I owe you eternal gratitude, old boy; but for you, I'd have stalked past without seeing her. That would have been a pity, wouldn't it?"
There was a knock at the door and Glück's head appeared.
"I thought I told you," began the Prince—
"Your Highness will pardon me," explained Glück, quickly, "but there is a man here who insists that Your Highness will see him."
"Who is he?"
"This is his card, Your Highness," and Glück entered the room. "I have sent it back once, saying that Your Highness was not to be disturbed. He returned it, insisting—"
Markeld took the card, glanced at it, and read:
"M. André Tellier, Paris. Agent du Service de Sûreté"
Beneath this was a pencilled line—"Concerning the question of the succession."
The Prince stared at it a moment in some astonishment, not unmixed with irritation. What could this fellow know concerning the succession? It was most probably simply an impertinence. The Paris police were famous for impertinences.
Glück started for the door; since his master's boyhood, he had watched over him, attended him—he could read his countenance like an open book. The Prince glanced up.
"Where are you going?" he demanded.
"I go to tell the imbecile that Your Highness will not see him," responded Glück, impassively, his hand on the knob.
The Prince smiled. He had a great fondness for his old retainer.
"Wait," he said. "We must not permit ourselves to be governed by first impressions, nor swayed by prejudice. It is just possible that this fellow has something to tell me which I ought to hear. I can't afford to disregard any chance. So inform M. Tellier that I will see him," and he lighted a fresh cigarette resignedly.
As he watched the smoke turn gray in the sunlight, it suddenly occurred to him that, in some unaccountable manner, the question of the succession had receded somewhat into the background; it no longer seemed to him of such overwhelming consequence; at least, he had not been thinking of it a moment before, but of something very different—
There appeared at the door a figure which drew a stare of surprise from Markeld, accustomed as he was to eccentric habiliment. It was arrayed in a long, mouse-gray frock coat and shiny black trousers; a hand gloved in lavender kid carried a top hat, while the other caressed, from time to time, the carefully-waxed mustachios and imperial adorning a countenance which was a singular mixture of craft and vanity. The little eyes were half-concealed under drooping, baggy lids, the nose was long and sharp, the lips very thin and severe, though at this moment parted in a smile meant to be ingratiating. The figure entered and bowed profoundly, disclosing Glück's disgusted face in the doorway.
"Monsieur Tellier?" asked the Prince.
Tellier bowed again, and the Prince noticed the white line of scalp leading, with geometrical precision, from the brow to the bald spot on the crown, and then on down the back of the head. It reminded him, somehow, of the Lake of Constance, with the Rhine flowing through it.
"You have something to communicate?" he continued, repressing a smile.
"Something of the first importance, Your Highness," said the Frenchman; "otherwise I should not have taken the liberty of disturbing Your Highness."
"Very well," and the Prince motioned him to a chair. "Sit down. I shall be glad to hear you."
"It is something," said the Frenchman, with a glance at the open door, "which should be communicated, if Your Highness please, in confidence."
"Glück, shut the door," commanded the Prince. "Now, my dear sir, proceed."
"Your Highness is, of course, aware," began the detective, sitting down with a back very straight, and drooping his lids until his eyes were almost closed, "that France is deeply interested in this question of the succession, and that its sympathies are wholly with Prince Ferdinand, the cousin of Your Highness, and whom, I understand, Your Highness represents."
Markeld nodded.
"We should naturally expect France's sympathy," he said.
"France," proclaimed Tellier, raising his chin proudly, "is always on the side of justice and decency."
"More especially," continued the Prince, drily, "when the Emperor ofGermany happens to be on the other side. Come now, confess—if theEmperor were for us, you would be against us—is it not so?"
Tellier permitted the faintest shadow of a smile to flicker across his lips.
"Your Highness speaks with a bluntness disconcerting," he said, deprecatingly.
"I wished merely to clear the air," said the Prince, "and to prick at the outset the bubble with which you were trying to dazzle me. Let me assure you that we thoroughly understand France's attitude in this matter. She is on our side simply because she sees an opportunity of humiliating, through us, an old enemy."
"'At least," said Tellier, "Your Highness agrees that we are on your side—the reasons for this attitude do not concern me. I only know that we are anxious to do all we can to help Your Highnesses cause. Consequently, when it was learned that Lord Vernon was coming to this place, the Department of State, fearing some duplicity, asked that a competent man be sent here to—to—"
"Keep an eye out for developments," said the Prince, seeing that the other hesitated for a word, "and to watch for an opportunity of forcing England's hand."
"Precisely, Your Highness; and my superiors did me the honour of selecting me for this delicate task."
"A wise choice, I do not doubt," said the Prince, gravely. That Tellier had any important revelation to make he did not in the least believe; but there seemed a chance of extracting some amusement from the situation—and time was hanging heavily on his hands—would hang heavily until the hour of the promenade to-morrow.
"I hope to prove it so, Your Highness!" cried the detective, flushing with pleasure at the compliment. "In fact, I think that I may say I have already proved it so!"
"Ah!" said the Prince, and lighted another cigarette.
"I arrived soon after Your Highness; I took a wagon from Zunderburg, rather than lose precious time by waiting for the train of this afternoon. I was very weary, for the journey from Paris is a trying one; but before seeking repose, indeed without even permitting myself to think of my own fatigue, I ascertained that Lord Vernon occupied apartment A de luxe, and Your Highness apartment B de luxe, in this hotel."
"Indeed!" said the Prince.
"I naturally took care at once to secure a room here, since it was of the first importance that I should be in a position to see everything that might occur."
"Naturally," agreed the Prince.
"Though it was very difficult, since every room was taken. For another man, it would have been impossible."
"But for you, I see, nothing is impossible," observed the Prince.
"Very few things, Your Highness," agreed Tellier, modestly. "In this case I had but to speak a single word," and he paused with an air of triumph.
"Wonderful!" cried the Prince, and clapped his hands softly. "Some day I must get you to teach me that word. It must be very useful. Well, what next?"
"An hour's rest," Tellier continued, "and I was myself again. I soon made the acquaintance of a chamber-maid—a girl who keeps her eyes open—and I learned many things—"
"It was not to tell me them that you came here, I trust," interposed thePrince. "I care little for backstairs gossip."
"Oh, not at all! As Your Highness says, they would, most probably, not interest you. But to one in my profession, no fact is uninteresting; no occurrence is too trivial to be noticed."
"Well, get on to your story, then," said the Prince, with some impatience.
"Just after luncheon today, Your Highness walked on the beach," saidTellier, "accompanied by the dog yonder."
Jax growled softly as he caught the Frenchman's eye, which pleased him no more than it had Glück.
"That is true," agreed the Prince. "What of it?"
"The dog attacked a small spaniel, which sought refuge with two ladies, one of whom picked it up."
"All ancient history, I assure you, Monsieur Tellier. Yet, wait a moment. Do you happen to know who the ladies were?"
"They are sisters," said Tellier. "Their name is Rushford; their father is a tall American, who incessantly smokes a cigar and reads a newspaper in the office of the hotel. If Your Highness wishes, I can make further inquiries."
"Not at all!" cried the Prince, violently. "I won't countenance such impertinence! Go on with the story."
Tellier bowed to indicate the most implicit obedience.
"It happened that I was near by," he said, "at the moment of the encounter. I had taken my stand near a large beach-chair, which, for reasons, interested me. I was nonchalant, impassive; alert, without seeming to be so. Many of the women passing I had met upon the boulevards under circumstances the most peculiar; concerning many of the men I knew more than they would wish the world to know. Seeing me standing there, some of them turned pale, others grew red with emotion. Some went by endeavouring to appear not to have seen me; others threw me appealing glances. Never, by the quiver of a lash, did I show that I recognised them. I stood and waited—like the Sphinx."
"For what?" inquired the Prince, whose sense of humour had returned to him.
"For the dénouement, Your Highness. I knew that, sooner or later, it would come. I knew it could not escape me, Tellier—the evidence of duplicity which I was seeking."
"But," objected the Prince, "what duplicity can there be? If Lord Vernon is ill—"
"Your Highness will pardon me for interrupting; but much depends upon that 'if.' If, on the other hand, the illness is only for the moment assumed—"
"Oh, nonsense!" cried Markeld. "What reason could he have for assuming illness? That would be childish!"
The Frenchman smiled a self-satisfied smile, as he softly caressed his imperial, and his little eyes glowed with anticipated triumph.
"Let us deal with the facts first, if Your Highness will permit, and with reasons afterwards. I was, then, standing by the chair in the attitude which I have described, when your dog appeared and attacked the spaniel. As the young lady stooped and picked it up, your dog sprang against her, frightening her so that she cried aloud."
"And you stood by without offering to assist her?" demanded the Prince, with some indignation.
"There was no need, Your Highness," responded Tellier, easily. "In the first place, she was, of course, in no real danger. In the second place, I perceived instantly that fate was playing into my hands. In fact, the incident could not have been more à propos if it had been arranged by my guardian angel. For from the chair beside which I was stationed a man sprang out and kicked the dog away. Your Highness must have remarked his agility and strength—may even have seen his face."
"No," said the Prince. "I was not near enough to see it distinctly."
"I saw it, Your Highness, very distinctly, and I assure you that it was that of a man in the full enjoyment of health. Even from his agility, Your Highness could doubtless judge whether the man was seriously ill."
The Prince hitched about in his chair a little impatiently. He was beginning to find the Frenchman tedious.
"Most certainly he was not seriously ill," he agreed; "nor, I should say, even slightly so. What is that to me? Pray have done with this mystery!"
Tellier's face was glowing with all a Frenchman's pride in a coup de théâtre—his moment of triumph had arrived.
"Of all the eyes which witnessed that episode, seemingly so slight and so unimportant," he said, proudly, "mine were the only ones which saw its full significance. Your Highness will, no doubt, be surprised when I inform you that this gentleman, so agile and so athletic, was no other than Lord Vernon!"
The Path Grows Crooked
In the sitting-room of apartment A, in the south wing of the Grand Hôtel Royal, Lord Vernon was tramping nervously up and down while his companions regarded him with evident anxiety.
"I tell you fellows," he was saying, "it can't be kept up—I thought so from the first, but all the rest of you seemed to think it would be so infernally easy that I was ashamed to say anything. I knew something was sure to happen to give us away, and something has happened. What was I to do? Sit there like a mummy and allow that dog to frighten those girls to death? What the deuce are you laughing at, Collins?"
"I'm laughing at your tragic tone. No, you couldn't have sat still—though I don't suppose the young ladies were in any serious danger. They were pretty, no doubt?"
"Ah!" said Vernon, with a mental smacking of the lips at the entrancing picture the words called up.
"That, of course, made it doubly impossible to sit still. Did they know you?"
"Oh, no; never saw me before; hadn't the slightest suspicion that they were talking to such a famous personage. They said they were Americans."
"Then I don't see that any harm has been done."
"Unfortunately, when I was coming back, all bundled up in my chair, we ran right into them down here at the door, and they recognised me instantly—I could tell that by their gasp of amazement as they shrank back against the wall."
"Still, if you preserved a cold and haughty demeanour, they may have concluded they were mistaken."
"Cold and haughty nothing!" broke in the third man. "I was there andI'll swear he winked."
"No, I didn't wink," laughed Vernon. "Though perhaps I should if I'd dared—they're mighty taking girls!"
"Well, whatdidyou do?" demanded Collins, with just a trace of impatience.
Again Vernon laughed.
"I sent 'em back a note asking 'em not to tell," he said.
Collins threw up his hands in horror and the third man grinned sardonically. Vernon looked at them and kept on laughing.
"You two fellows take it too seriously," he added. "I don't believe they'll tell."
"I thought you knew women better than that," said Collins, reproachfully.
"I do know them—better than any dried-up diplomat, at least,—and I believe we can trust these two—for a few days, anyway. How much time do we need?"
"A week, at the very least. Fancy asking a woman to keep a secret for a week! And as for taking it too seriously, you know how much depends on it."
"Yes," observed Vernon, sarcastically, "you fellows seem to think the peace of Europe depends on it."
"I should say that would not be overstating it in the least," saidCollins, with a solemnity almost religious.
"Oh, nonsense; you diplomatic fellows make mountains out of molehills; you see a storm in every cloud; you imagine the lightning's going to strike you every time it flashes! You're all nerves!"
"Anyway, you agreed—"
"Yes, I know I agreed," interrupted Vernon, irritably, "and I was a fool to do it."
"Besides," added Blake, "we've got to play very close, since it happens that Markeld is in this very hotel. We supposed, of course, that he would go on to London. I must say that I think he showed exceedingly poor taste in following us here."
"Oh, I don't know," said Vernon. "I think it was rather enterprising. I only wish we could treat the poor devil fairly."
"Well, since he is here," continued Blake, "there's only one thing for you to do, and that is to stay under cover."
"But, confound it!" protested Vernon, "I can't stay cooped up here in these rooms all the time!"
"That's the only safe way," observed Collins. "Suppose Markeld should find out how the land lies! The fat would be in the fire for sure; and we'd be in a mighty awkward position! Suppose the jingoes got hold of it!" and he turned pale at the thought.
"Well, I won't stay shut up, that's certain," said Vernon, doggedly."As for the jingoes, let them rave!"
"That's easy to say," retorted Collins, with irony, "when some one else has to bear the brunt of it."
Vernon snorted impatiently.
"You may frighten yourself whenever you please," he said, "but you can't frighten me. I've heard the cry of 'Wolf! Wolf!' entirely too often."
"But the wolf came at last," Blake pointed out.
"Well, it isn't coming this time; and I don't care if it is. I repeat, categorically and imperatively,I won't stay shut up!"
"You agreed to obey our instructions, you know."
"Every one has the right to rebel against a tyrant!"
"At least," said Collins, yielding the ground grudgingly, "you must remember always to keep on your sick-togs when you do go out, and to try to look a little less scandalously healthy than you are. Now, if you'd kept on your wraps when you jumped out of the chair—"
"How was I to kick a dog with a rug around my legs? You fellows don't give me credit for what I did do. I'd just got into a most interesting conversation with those girls, when up came a fellow whom I knew instinctively to be Markeld."
He stopped as he caught the others' astounded gaze.
"Yes, Markeld!" he repeated, defiantly. "I've an idea that he is the owner of the dog. I suppose I should have sent James to inquire who the dog belonged to before I ventured forth!"
"No matter," said Collins, impatiently. "What did you do?"
"I was guilty of unpardonable rudeness," answered Vernon. "I broke away from those girls as though they had the plague, jumped into my chair, and buried myself behind my newspaper. They must have thought I'd escaped from somewhere."
"So Markeld didn't see you, it doesn't matter what they thought," remarked Collins.
"Oh, doesn't it?"
"Surely you're not going to run any further risks for the sake of a girl more or less!"
"My dear Collins!" said Vernon, with chill politeness; "I have always suspected that a course in diplomacy sucked the blood out of a man and substituted ice-water in its stead. Now I know it. Permit me to add that you have not seen the girl—either girl—though I don't suppose that would make the slightest difference."
"May I inquire what you propose to do?" asked Collins, flushing a little.
"I propose to cultivate the acquaintance of the beautiful Americans in every way I can. After all, what does it matter to me who rules over a little twopenny duchy called Schloshold-Markheim?"
"I suppose your promise is of equal indifference to you!"
"Damn my promise! See here, Collins; don't push me too far; the worm will turn. Of course, I'll keep my promise; but don't irritate me. I'm all on edge over this thing now—a little more, and I'll be capable of doing something—"
A tap at the door interrupted him, and he disappeared between two curtains into the inner room, where an invalid chair, buried in wraps, stood by the window. Near it was a little table covered with medicine bottles, glasses, spoons—in a word, all the paraphernalia of prolonged and serious illness.
Blake opened the door and took the card that was presented to him.
"The Prince of Markeld," he said, looking at it. "Ah, yes; you will tell His Highness that there has been no change in the condition of Lord Vernon, who thanks him for his kind inquiries."
He closed the door and turned back into the room.
"Now, what do you think that means?" he asked, of Collins. "That's the second time today. He's getting importunate."
Collins stared out of the window gloomily.
"Perhaps he suspects already," he said. "I've been told he's a clever fellow—in fact, he's proved it once or twice."
"Suppose he does suspect—what shall we do?"
"Convince him to the contrary. Where's Scaddam?"
"In his room, I suppose."
"Better send for him."
"May I come out?" inquired a voice from the inner room.
"Yes, come ahead," called Collins, and Vernon reappeared. "Now, my friend," he continued rapidly, "you'd better go in and put on your war-togs." Vernon groaned. "Put 'em on thick. I believe Markeld suspects the trick we're playing, and we've got to fool him—we've got to show him what a sick man you are."
"Howcouldhe suspect?" demanded Vernon, incredulously. "Even if he saw me, he couldn't recognise me—he doesn't know me."
"Perhaps those girls have already given you away."
"Nonsense! You fellows are afraid of your own shadows. He can't suspect!"
"Just the same, we've got to be prepared for emergencies. Have you got plenty of pepper?"
Vernon groaned again.
"Plenty! I tell you fellows I'll ruin my health if I keep this up much longer. I might easily burst a blood-vessel. People often do when they sneeze."
"Well, we'll have to take the risk," said Blake, with grim complacency.
"Much risk you take! In fact, I saw you sprinkling pepper on my handkerchief this morning, when there wasn't the slightest need of it."
"Now, see here," protested Collins, sharply, "what's the use of all this argument? We've got to see this thing through, whether we like it or not. I've sent for Scaddam, so he'll be on the scene in case of emergencies—"
"You mean, if I break a blood-vessel?" inquired Vernon, politely.
"Oh, break your grandmother! I tell you—"
There was a second tap on the door and Vernon again made a dive for the inner room. This time, a note was handed in. Collins closed the door, tore open the envelope nervously, and ran his eyes quickly over the contents.
"Come out here, you beggar," he called, and Vernon reappeared on the threshold. "Take a look at this," he added, and held out the note. "Maybe you won't be so cocksure hereafter that diplomats are always making mountains out of mole-hills."
Vernon took the paper and read it slowly, his face growing blanker and more blank as he proceeded. Then he went back to the beginning and read it aloud:
"The Prince of Markeld admired greatly Lord Vernon's recent prompt and chivalrous action, which he had the privilege of witnessing. He is sure, however, that His Lordship's illness cannot be so serious as represented, and hopes that His Lordship will not persist in refusing him an audience. Such a course would be neither ingenuous nor fair."
For a moment, no one spoke, then Blake gave vent to a low whistle.
"Well," he said, dazedly; "so the cat's out of the bag! What's to be done?"
"There's only one thing that can be done," Collins said sharply. "I've already pointed out what that is," and he sat down at the table and wrote a rapid message. "How will this do? 'Lord Vernon will be pleased to see the Prince of Markeld at five o'clock this afternoon. He has no recollection of having recently performed any prompt or chivalrous action. The Prince has doubtless been misinformed.' That gives us half an hour—neither too much time, nor too little."
"But that's folly!" protested Blake; "how can you carry it through?"
"Leave that to me. I've got out of tighter places than this one. And," he added, turning to Vernon, "if you ever looked ill in your life, prepare to do it now."
Vernon was looking dreamily over Markeld's note.
"He uses adjectives well, doesn't he?" he asked. "'Such a course would be neither ingenuous nor fair.' 'Pon my word, I quite agree with him!"
"Remember, you're under orders," said Collins, sternly.
"Under reasonable orders, perhaps," admitted Vernon, quietly, with a little tightening of the muscles of the face. "I don't admit that either you or Blake is infallible. What is it you propose to do?"
"We propose, in the first place, to send Markeld this note."
Vernon took it and read it at a glance.
"A note which is, of course, a lie," he observed, dispassionately, as he handed it back.
"It is not a lie!" retorted Collins, flushing hotly. "It is, on the contrary, the absolute truth."
"There are many ways of lying," remarked Vernon, still more coolly. "It isn't so much the letter as the spirit which constitutes a lie."
"This is scarcely the time," put in Blake, "for a lecture upon ethics."
"And it would, in any event," added Vernon, "be entirely wasted upon the present audience. Well, what next?"
"I think you understand your part," answered Collins, curtly. "The only question is, are you prepared to play it?"
Vernon hesitated for an instant, his hands trembling slightly.
"I feel the veriest scoundrel," he said, bitterly. "It sickens me—but you've got me fast."
"Yes," agreed Collins, with a malicious grin, "we've got you fast."
"Though not quite as fast as you think, perhaps," added Vernon, quietly. "I warn you that I will break the bonds if they become too galling. I see that I'm going to owe Prince Frederick a hearty apology before this thing is over."
"Oh, I shan't interfere with your apology when the time conies," retorted Collins.
"I should hope not," said Vernon, still more quietly; then he turned and entered the inner room.
"You mustn't push him too hard, Arthur," said Blake, in a low tone, "or he'll kick over the traces. Remember, he is devilish high-spirited. And he won't lie."
"It takes a firm hand to keep him under control; but I'll be careful. And he won't have to lie. It's confoundedly unfortunate Markeld couldn't have left his dog at home! Just see how small a thing may affect the fate of nations!"
"Don't get philosophical," advised Blake. "There isn't time. Are you going to send that note?"
Collins sealed the missive.
"It's our only chance," he said, decidedly. "Don't you see; we've got to brazen this thing through. We're in a corner, and there's only one way out." He went to the door and opened it. "For the Prince of Markeld," he said, as he handed the note to the man who stood outside.
An Appeal for Aid
One can easily guess with what delicious precipitation the Misses Rushford, having read the note sent to them by Lord Vernon and having recovered somewhat from the paralysis of amazement into which it had thrown them, hurried up the stair and sought the privacy of their own apartment. Here, evidently, was a full-fledged mystery enacting under their very noses, no trumpery neighbourhood mystery, either, but one of national—aye, even international—importance! It made them gasp to think of it; they were even a little frightened. By the touch of a finger the stage-door had been opened; they had been admitted behind the scenes—to the inside, as they had longed to be. And the experience was even more interesting and exciting than they had dared to hope! They were playing a part, however humble, in the great drama of European politics!
"But what can it mean?" Nell demanded, as she read the note for perhaps the twentieth time. "What can it possibly mean? Why should Lord Vernon wish to appear ill when he isn't?"
"I don't suppose he's doing it for fun," observed Susie, sagely.
"No, of course not," agreed Nell. "There isn't any fun in it that I can see. But it seems a very remarkable course of action. Some great affair of state must depend upon it," she added in a tone slightly awe-struck, for her imagination was beginning to be affected. "He seems awfully young to hold such an important place," she added.
"These English statesmen always look younger than they are," said Sue. "From his pictures, I always imagined that Chamberlain was a comparatively young man, and here I read somewhere the other day that he's nearly seventy!"
"At any rate," concluded Nell, "since it was for our sake Lord Vernon threw off the mask, so to speak, it is only fair, on our part, to keep quiet about it. Why do you think he ran away so quickly? It was almost rude."
"I thought it quite entirely rude," asserted Sue. "But maybe he saw somebody coming whom he wished to avoid."
And then both gasped simultaneously:
"The owner of the dog!"
"Of course!"
"How dense we were!"
"But who is the owner of the dog? Not an Englishman!"
"No—a German, I should say."
"Yes—did you notice his accent? And then he is tall and blond."
"Distinguished looking; and with an air about him—an autocratic manner—which makes me think he's a Somebody. He's evidently not used to being snubbed."
"It's perfectly maddening!" exclaimed Nell, with brows most becomingly wrinkled. "If we only knew something of English politics, we might be able to guess what it is all about."
"Dad could see through it in a minute," sighed Susie, "but that poor dear will never have the chance, because, of course, we can't tell even him. And he likes this sort of thing, too; it would give him just the excitement he's been sighing for!"
And yet fate willed that he was to have the chance, for half an hour later, after a short conference with Monsieur Pelletan, a gentleman whom we have met before in the apartment of Lord Vernon approached him where he sat in the smoking-room, drew up a chair, and sat down beside him.
"This is Mr. Rushford, isn't it?" he asked.
"Yes; that's my name," and the American looked him over in some surprise.
"My name is Collins," went on the other. "I am secretary to LordVernon."
"Glad to know you, Mr. Collins," and the American held out his hand. "I hope Lord Vernon's getting along all right."
"As well as could be expected, thank you; but there has been a little unforeseen—er—complication—"
"Nothing serious, I hope?"
"Well, yes; to be quite frank, Mr. Rushford, I think it decidedly serious."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Rushford, with genuine feeling. "We Americans have always taken a special pride in Lord Vernon's career—his mother was an American girl, you know—and his death would be almost a personal loss to us."
"His death?" echoed Collins, staring.
"There's no immediate danger, then? I'm glad of that. Still, if the complication is as serious as you think—"
"My dear sir," broke in the Englishman, "you have misunderstood me. Lord Vernon's health is—er—quite satisfactory, all things considered. The complication is in—er—a rather delicate affair of state, which—which—"
"Anything I can do?" asked Rushford, encouragingly, as the other stammered and broke down.
"Yes, there is, Mr. Rushford," answered Collins, quickly, taking his courage in both hands. "Or, rather, there's something your daughters can do."
"My daughters?" Rushford looked at him again, a growing suspicion in his eyes. "I don't quite understand. You'll have to be more explicit, Mr. Collins. I don't see how my daughters can have anything to do with your affairs of state."
"I am going to be as explicit as I can," Collins assured him, "but it's such an infernally delicate matter that one hardly knows where to begin. Of course, what I have to tell you must be told in confidence."
"All right," said the American, with a little pucker of the brow which told that he did not wholly like Mr. Collins. 'Fire ahead."
"First, if you don't mind," said the Englishman, looking about him, "I think we'd better get out of this crowd."
"Suppose we go up to my rooms," suggested Rushford, rising. "We'll be free from interruption there, and can thresh the whole thing out."
"Thank you," assented Collins. "Of course, I understand," he continued, in a louder voice, as they started toward the door, "that the question of stocks is always a very complicated one, and very difficult for a layman to understand, but a man of your experience—"
The door of the elevator-car closed behind them, and he stopped.
"Whose benefit was that for?" asked Rushford.
"For the benefit of a French police spy, who was trying his best to overhear our conversation."
"A police spy? Did you know him?"
"I know his class; it's impossible to mistake it. They all look alike—it's a type which even the comic opera has been unable to burlesque. You probably noticed him—all moustache, imperial, and lavender gloves."
"Oh, him? Yes, I've seen him. And I've been rather itching to apply my boot to his coat-tails. I thought he was a cheap actor—a ten, twenty, thirty, as we say in America. Do you suppose Pelletan knows him?"
"Oh, undoubtedly! He's probably boarding him for nothing. These French police have a way with them."
Rushford bit his moustache savagely and resolved to have an explanation with Monsieur Pelletan.
The car stopped.
"Here we are," he said, stepping out into the corridor. "You see our apartment is just over Lord Vernon's. I don't believe even a French detective can disturb us here," and he locked the door after them as they entered. "Besides, my daughters will be handy if we decide to call them in."
Yet, in spite of the plural pronoun, it was quite evident that he was the one who proposed to do the deciding.
"Thank you," said Collins, again. "I hope to show you the necessity of calling them in. In fact, the principal favour I want to ask of you is an introduction to them. They can, if they will, save Lord Vernon, and incidentally the government, a lot of trouble."
Rushford looked at him with a little stare.
"In what way?" he asked, motioning him to a chair.
"It happens," answered Collins, "that, by chance, they hold in their hands the key to a very important affair of state—nothing less than the succession to Schloshold-Markheim. They could, if they wished, involve the government in difficulties of the most serious nature."
Rushford stared at him yet a moment. Then he settled back in his chair.
"Have a cigar?" he asked. "No? You won't mind my smoking? I can think better when I smoke. Now let's have the story; I'm anxious to hear what those girls have been up to. I'm afraid they need a chaperon, after all!"