She looked around. The captain was not on the bridge. He had been there a few moments before. He had been there when the engine began to work. He had disappeared. The Queen rowed back to the steamer. She asked for the captain. The young officer whom she had seen in the morning came to the side of the ship and told her that no one was allowed to enter the cave. She asked to see the captain, refusing to argue about her rights with a subordinate officer. She was told that the captain was very much occupied and could not be disturbed. The Queen, puzzled and angry, rowed back to the palace.
It was nearly luncheon-time when she landed. Smith met her with the news that Mr. Donovan had been suffering severely with his heart all the morning, that he would not join the Queen at luncheon, that, further, he felt the need of absolute quiet and rest during the afternoon, but hoped to be able to meet the German captain at dinner.
Donovan’s balcony commanded a full view of the harbour. He had seen Kalliope’s struggle with the German sailor. He felt sure that his daughter would tell him the whole story. He feared that she would want him to take some vigorous action. Donovan made a point of encouraging his heart in disordered action whenever demands of that kind were likely to be made upon him. He argued that the trouble of the morning would in all probability have died away before dinner. If it showed signs of reviving or increasing in intensity he intended to dine in his room and go to bed early.
The Queen felt it her duty to lecture Kalliope severely. No well-conducted lady’s-maid ought to attack strange sailors with oars and knock out their front teeth. Kalliope must be made to understand that such conduct was not only undesirable in a maid but was actually unwomanly. The lecture was, necessarily, delivered for the most part in pantomime, by means of frowns, nods, and shakings of the head. Up to a certain point the Queen succeeded very well. Kalliope easily understood that her assault on the sailor was the subject of discussion. After that the Queen’s sign languagebegan to fail her. Kalliope continued to be greatly pleased with herself and proud of her performance. After a long struggle the Queen made her understand that she had behaved not well, but very badly. Kalliope grovelled in abject apology. The impression finally left on her mind was that she was to blame for anticipating her mistress’ action. The Queen, so she thought, would have liked to fell the German sailor herself, would indeed have brained the man instead of merely breaking his front teeth.
The Queen, aware that she was failing badly, gave the business up and sent Kalliope away to make tea. It was easy enough to communicate with Kalliope about tea, clothes, and such ordinary subjects. The girl had picked up the English names for most things which her mistress commonly used.
The Queen took advantage of this. After tea she made an inspection of her evening frocks. She wished to appear to the very best advantage before Captain von Moll when he came to dinner. The man had stared insolently at her in the morning; but then she had been wearing a simple cotton frock and a boating hat crammed hastily on the back of her head. In the evening she meant to be splendid, regal. Captain von Moll should look at her with respect. She determined that her manner should correspond with her attire. She would be gracious indeed, as a good hostess should be, but very dignified, a little remote, with more than a hint of condescending patronage in her tone when she spoke.
Kalliope, greatly delighted, brought out frock after frock. She spread the garments on the backs of sofas and chairs, handling delicate lace and fine fabrics with tender affection. Sometimes, at the bidding of the Queen, she put on one of the frocks and paraded up and down the room in it, her brown face and strong, sunburnt arms making an odd contrast with pale-blue silk and fluffy chiffon. The occupation was fascinating. There were some frocks which the Queen had scarcely seen. She had, she supposed, chosen the material and the shape, had, it was likely, tried them on during the hurried days before sailing for Salissa. But she had forgotten what they were like, forgotten that she possessed them. It was a joy to see them spread out before her eyes or actually draped on Kalliope’s slender figure.
Neither girl noticed that shortly after six o’clock theIdaslipped round the corner of the reef and dropped anchor in the harbour. Phillips, standing with Captain Wilson and Gorman on the bridge, scanned the palace steps, the balconies, the windows, and then, with eager eyes, the shores of the bay, for a sight of the Queen. Captain Wilson and Gorman stared with surprise and curiosity at the German steamer. Gorman had no special knowledge of ships, but he recognized that the vessel before his eyes was not an ordinary tramp. He was startled and interested to see any such vessel in the harbour of Salissa. Captain Wilson, a puzzled frown on his face, wondered at the odd way the steamer wasmoored and her nearness to the cliffs. Phillips, who had no eyes at all for the strange steamer, seized the line attached to theIda’swhistle, and blew three long blasts. He hoped to announce his arrival to the Queen, wherever she might be.
Captain Wilson, perplexed by the look and position of the German steamer, was irritable. He ordered Phillips off the bridge. But the whistle had done its work. The Queen and Kalliope ran to the balcony. They waved joyful greetings to theIda, Kalliope an odd figure in a pale-grey evening dress. Phillips, standing on the deck below the bridge, waved back. It was a joyful moment. A few minutes later his joy was turned to sorrow of an almost unbearable kind. Captain Wilson forbade him to go ashore. A boat was lowered and Gorman was rowed off to the palace—to the gates of paradise. Phillips bitterly regretted that he had blown his blasts of greeting on the syren. But, in fact, it was not for that he was punished. Captain Wilson was simply in a very bad temper. The sight of Salissa always annoyed him. The position of the German steamer irritated him vehemently. She lay dangerously near the cliffs in a position in which no seaman would willingly put his ship. She was absurdly moored with four anchors. She was occupied in a perfectly incomprehensible manner. No man likes to be puzzled by things which it is his business to understand. Doctors have been known to deny the existence of symptoms which do not accord with those properto the patient’s taste. Politicians are baffled and infuriated by men who, indifferent to the sacred etiquette of the profession, speak the truth in public. Engineers are angry when water persists in oozing out of the top of a hill—as it sometimes does to the confusion of all known laws—instead of trickling into the drains dug for it in the valley underneath. So Captain Wilson’s temper gave way because the German steamer lay as no steamer in the charge of sane men ought to lie; and Phillips was punished. Kings fly into a rage, said an ancient poet, and the common people suffer for it.
Perhaps Phillips would have been consoled, he would have certainly been less sulky during the evening, if he had seen what happened in the palace. The Queen stood on the balcony all eagerness, her lips parted, her eyes sparkling, a flush coming and going on her cheeks. She watched the boat lowered, saw the men take their places, saw Gorman climb cautiously down and seat himself in the stern. She waited. Phillips was on deck. She could see him. The boat pushed off. Phillips was not in her. He still stood on the steamer’s lower deck leaning over the bulwarks. The Queen turned and went into her room. She flung herself down on a chair. She had much ado to hold back most unqueenly tears of disappointment. Kalliope slipped off the grey and silver dress she wore. Very silently she folded and put away the clothes which lay scattered about the room. Then she sat down at the Queen’s feet and cried softly. She had asympathetic soul. She understood the Queen’s feelings.
Gorman was received by Smith. After a few minutes he was led up to the balcony where Donovan lay stretched on a deck chair with a box of cigars at his elbow.
“I am very, very pleased to see you, Gorman,” he said.
“I’m afraid,” said Gorman, “that I’ve come to bother you. There’s been a lot of fuss in London about your purchase of this island. The Emperor——”
Donovan waved his hand feebly and lay back in his chair with every appearance of extreme exhaustion.
“Ill?” said Gorman.
“Two years ago,” said Donovan, “after I had realized my little pile, before I came over to Europe I sent for a doctor—leading man in his own line in America—heart specialist. ‘Doc,’ I said to him, ‘here’s 200 dollars. You take a good look at my heart.’ Well, he tapped me some and fooled around in the usual way. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘your heart is as sound as a bell.’ ‘Doc,’ I said, ‘you’re mistaken, and the fee I offered was unworthy of your acceptance. I’ll write out a cheque for 500 dollars, and you take another look at my heart. I’ve a feeling,’ I said, ‘that what I want is rest and quiet now that my pile’s made.’ Well, he tapped me again and kind of listened to the throbbing of the darned machine. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘you’re sufferingfrom disordered action of your heart, and I recommend rest and quiet. No excitement and no worry.’ ‘Doc,’ I said, ‘I’m a business man—or I was before you passed that sentence on me. I’d be obliged if you’d put that on paper with your signature underneath.’ Well, he did that, and I paid him another 200 dollars. But I reckon the money was well spent. That paper is a protection to me.”
“I see,” said Gorman, “I’ll let the Emperor know——”
“The Emperor be damned,” said Donovan, “and, say, Gorman, there’s a kind of German naval officer wandering around this island. I gather that some trouble arose this morning between his men and my daughter’s maid. Seems to me that there may be explanations, especially as that German captain is to dine here to-night. Now my idea is to stay where I am—on account of the condition of my heart. Smith will bring me up a bit of chicken and a half-bottle of Heidsieck. That’s all I feel inclined for. But I don’t care to leave Daisy alone with that man. I’m not scared of anything happening to the girl. She’s pretty well able to look after herself. But there might be more trouble for the officer.”
“There will be,” said Gorman, “if he’s come here with any kind of message from the Emperor.”
“Daisy,” said Donovan, “is liable to speak out at times. And that girl of hers is handy in the use of weapons. I don’t want to have to officiate at the funeral of a German naval officer.”
“It might very well come to that,” said Gorman.
He was thinking at the moment of the Emperor’s suggestion that Miss Donovan should be married out of hand to King Konrad Karl. It seemed to him likely that there would be very serious trouble if the German officer made that proposal, especially if he made it with the manner of a man who is conferring a favour.
“You see,” he went on, “that Emperor—silly old fool he is—has got it into his head——”
Donovan lay back and closed his eyes.
“My heart isn’t up to the strain,” he said. “I’d rather leave the affair in your hands.”
“All right,” said Gorman. “I’ll see it through.”
“Thank you. It’s asking a good deal, I know.”
“Not at all,” said Gorman cheerfully. “I shall probably enjoy it.”
Captain von Moll thought that a certain assertion of dignity was due to his position as a naval officer. He was to dine with two Americans, no doubt vulgar representatives of a nation which did not understand class distinctions and the value of a von before a surname. He had no idea of being friendly. The dinner was an official affair. He was for the moment the representative of the Emperor. He dressed himself with great care in a uniform resplendent with gold braid. He combed and brushed his beard into a state of glossiness. He twisted the ends of his moustache into fine points. He reflected that if the American girl were really enormously wealthy and if, which he doubted, her manners were tolerable, it might be worth while to marry her. He would, no doubt, lose caste to some extent if he did so; but her money would be very useful to him and it would be unnecessary afterwards to see much of the girl herself. He rubbed on his head a strongly scented preparation guaranteed to give a shine to the dullest hair. He went ashore in a boat rowed by six men. A flag drooped from the staff at the stern, just touching the water with its lowest corner.
Gorman received him in the large hall of the palace.
“Mr. Donovan, I presume,” said Captain von Moll. “It gives me pleasure to meet you.”
Gorman explained who he was and said that Donovan was unable to be present at dinner owing to the condition of his heart. Von Moll said that he derived equal pleasure from meeting Mr. Gorman. Then the Queen swept into the hall, followed by Kalliope. She was dressed in a pale-blue gown which glittered with sequins. She wore a diamond star in her hair. She walked slowly and held herself very erect. Kalliope, walking behind her, added to the dignity of her entrance.
Von Moll stepped forward, stood in the middle of the floor, clicked his heels together and bowed low. The Queen, ignoring him for the moment, shook hands warmly with Gorman and welcomed him to Salissa. Then she held out her hand to von Moll. He bent over it and touched it with his lips.
“I have to tender an apology,” he said. “This morning, much to my regret, some of my men stopped your boat. They have been placed under arrest.”
Gorman is of opinion that von Moll was genuinely anxious to make himself agreeable to the Queen. He probably could not help looking her over from head to foot as a man might look over a horse he thought of buying. That was simply his nature. He regarded women as useful and desirable cattle.It would not have occurred to him that any woman would think of herself as his equal.
The Queen flushed a little under his gaze; but she accepted the apology at its face value.
“Oh, it’s all right,” she said. “But I hope you have not punished the men. I wouldn’t like to think of their getting into trouble through me.”
“You are kind,” said von Moll, “but it is necessary to maintain discipline. The men exceeded their orders.”
Then Smith announced that dinner was served. The Queen led the way into the dining-room. She took her place at the head of the table. Gorman and von Moll sat one on each side of her. Von Moll’s eyes wandered over the appointments of the meal, the tall silver candlesticks, the exquisite linen, the fine glass. They rested with particular pleasure on the menu card which stood in front of him. It promised a luxurious dinner. He tucked his napkin under his chin with an air of satisfaction.
Kalliope stood behind the Queen’s chair and waited on her. Smith served the two men. At the vacant end of the table stood the three island girls whom Smith had in training. They were no particular use, but they were pretty girls and they added something to the dignity of the scene. They were elaborately dressed in a glorified form of the bright costume of the island women. Gorman noticed that von Moll eyed them with appreciation.
“I do wish you’d tell me,” said the Queen, “why you didn’t want me to go to the cave this morning.”
“My orders,” said von Moll, “were not meant to apply to you. I merely wished to prevent the islanders from interfering with my men at their work. That is all.”
“It sounds very interesting,” said Gorman, “but I don’t know what happened. Do tell me.”
“It was rather exciting,” said the Queen. “Two of Captain von Moll’s men stopped our boat and Kalliope hit one of them with an oar. Did he lose many teeth?”
Von Moll drew himself up stiffly. He would have been better pleased if the Queen had tendered some apology to him and promised that the over-daring Kalliope should be punished. It is a serious thing to strike a seaman of the Imperial navy, a man wearing the Emperor’s uniform. In von Moll’s opinion such conduct could not, without grave impropriety, be described as “rather fun.” He was not at all sure that the German navy would not suffer in prestige among the islanders.
“The man,” he said stiffly, “had three teeth broken.”
“Oh,” said the Queen, “I’m so sorry, and I’m afraid there’s no dentist on the island. Still it was his own fault, wasn’t it?”
“I am sure,” said von Moll, “that you will punish the girl suitably.”
The Queen looked at him with astonishment. She had not the slightest intention of punishing Kalliope. It seemed to her extraordinary that von Moll should suggest such a thing. She was a littleinclined to be angry. Then she thought that von Moll must be making a joke. He looked rather grim and solemn; but perhaps that was the way all Germans looked when they made jokes. She laughed in polite appreciation of von Moll’s attempt at humour.
Gorman, watching with twinkling eyes, was greatly pleased. Von Moll was evidently another Steinwitz in seriousness and pompous dignity. It was a delightfully amusing trait in the German character.
“I’m still rather in the dark,” he said. “Who’s Kalliope?”
“My maid,” said the Queen. “There she is.”
Gorman glanced at Kalliope who was at the moment placing a plate before her mistress. The girl grinned at him in a friendly way. She was quite aware that she was the subject of conversation.
“It strikes me, von Moll,” said Gorman, “that your navy hasn’t come very well out of its first regular sea battle.”
Von Moll’s face hardened disagreeably. It was an outrageous thing that an Irishman, a mere civilian, who apparently had no right to wear a uniform of any kind, should poke fun at the Imperial navy. He wished very much to make some reply which would crush Gorman and leave him writhing like a worm. Unfortunately it is very difficult to make that kind of reply to a man who insists on laughing when serious subjects are underdiscussion. Gorman, still watching von Moll closely, felt pleased.
“I hope the Press won’t get hold of the story,” he said. “Just imagine the headlines. ‘Grave International Crisis.’ ‘Naval Encounter in the Cyrenian Sea.’ ‘Imperial Gunboat’—they’d be sure to say gunboat, you know—‘attacked by a girl.’ If it had been a man! But a girl! However, I won’t mention the matter. If you fix that fellow up with a set of false teeth I daresay nobody will ever hear about the business.”
Von Moll was angry; but he was no more ready than he had been at first with a suitable answer for Gorman. He was dimly aware that if he gave way to his feelings, if he even allowed his anger to appear, this grey-haired, bantering Irishman would be gratified. He had just sense enough to realize that he must make some pretence at laughing. It was, of course, impossible for him to regard disrespectful remarks about the German navy as a joke, but he succeeded in giving a kind of hoarse cackle.
Smith was conscious of a want of harmony in the party. He became most vigilantly attentive to the two men on whom he waited. Von Moll drank sherry with his soup and two glasses of hock while he ate his fish. Smith poured him out a glass of champagne. For Gorman he opened a bottle of Irish whisky. Then he handed round an entrée, a fine example of his powers as a cook.
The Queen, too, was aware that von Moll’s temper had been ruffled. She turned to him with asmile and made a banal, but quite harmless remark.
“I think Salissa is a perfectly sweet island,” she said, “don’t you?”
Von Moll thought it an exceedingly dull hole and wished to say so plainly. Perhaps it was the sight of the champagne foaming pleasantly in his glass which made him restrain himself.
“No doubt it is pleasant as a holiday resort,” he said. “For a few weeks one might find life agreeable enough; but after that——”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh,” said the Queen, “I’ve been here for more than two months already and I like it better every day.”
“Really?” said von Moll. “What a pity that you are leaving so soon.”
“But I’m not leaving. What makes you think I am?”
“I understand,” said von Moll, “that Mr. Donovan has resold the island to King Konrad Karl.”
“Whatever put that into your head?” said the Queen.
“I am perhaps mistaken,” said von Moll, “in saying that the island has already been resold; but very soon it will be.”
“Oh no, it won’t,” said the Queen. “It’s my island, you know, my very own, and I wouldn’t part with it for anything you could offer me.”
“I understand,” said von Moll, “that it is the Emperor’s wish that the island should revert to the Crown of Megalia.”
He spoke with a certain ponderous assurance. There was evidently no doubt whatever in his mind that the Emperor’s wish settled the matter. The Queen’s next remark must have startled him.
“What on earth has the Emperor got to do with it?” she said. “Who is the Emperor, anyway?”
“Now that,” said Gorman, “is what I’m always asking. Where does the Emperor come in? I asked Steinwitz. I asked King Konrad Karl. I asked that footling ass Bland-Potterton. They don’t any of them seem to be able to do more than just gasp and say ‘The Emperor’ over and over again.”
“The Emperor’s wish——” said von Moll.
“There you go,” said Gorman. “That’s exactly what I’m complaining about. I ask what the Emperor has got to do with it and all the answer I get is ‘The Emperor.’”
“Anyway,” said the Queen decisively, “the Emperor has nothing to do with me and I’m not going to sell Salissa to him or any one else.”
Von Moll was master of himself this time. No doubt it appeared to him that this defiance of the Emperor’s wish was childish, unworthy of the attention of a serious man. The silly girl who sat at the end of the table playing at being a queen would pack up her boxes and leave the island on the day fixed by the Emperor. Meanwhile she looked quite pretty, prettier than he thought she could look, with her heightened colour, sparklingeyes, and slightly parted lips. He began to think that it might be worth his while to marry her in spite of her bourgeoise blood. He looked at her with cool, appraising eyes. The slight smile on his lips was the only evidence of the contempt he felt for a girl who thought she could resist the Emperor.
After that, conversation at the dinner table became rather difficult. Smith did the best he could with the champagne bottle, but the wine seemed only to increase von Moll’s conviction of his own superior wisdom. The Queen drank nothing but water, so her temper preserved its raw edge. It fell to Gorman to keep things going. He told a series of stories about Ireland, all of them good stories, some of them partly true. No one laughed, except Kalliope, who did not understand the stories but liked the twinkle in Gorman’s eyes. At the end of each story he asked von Moll how he thought the Emperor would deal with a country like Ireland. Von Moll twisted his moustaches fiercely and told Gorman that if Ireland had been a German dependency she would have ceased to trouble the world early in the eighteenth century. Gorman listened with every appearance of deference and docility, while von Moll explained the Prussian way of dealing with people like the Irish.
The Queen could not cut the dinner short. Smith had provided many courses and it was impossible to skip any of them. But at the earliest possible moment she got up and left the room. Gorman closed the door behind her and then drewhis chair close to that on which von Moll was sitting. Smith brought in coffee and liqueurs. Gorman took the brandy bottle off the tray and set it on the table at von Moll’s elbow. Smith made an effort to recover the bottle and carry it away. He seemed to think that von Moll had had enough to drink. Gorman was of the same opinion, but he did not allow Smith to carry off the brandy bottle. He thought that von Moll might be very interesting if he took rather more than enough to drink. When Smith, after hovering about for some time, left the room, Gorman refilled von Moll’s glass.
“Silly little thing, Miss Donovan,” he said, in a confidential tone.
“That is so,” said von Moll.
“In Germany,” said Gorman, “you put that sort of young person into her place at once, I suppose.”
“In Germany,” said von Moll, “she would not exist.”
He spoke with ponderous gravity. Gorman was pleased to see that he was becoming more ponderous as he drank glass after glass of brandy.
“That cave incident, for instance,” said Gorman. “I call it cheek her trying to get into the cave when you had sentries posted outside to stop her. By the way, what had you in the cave that you didn’t want her to see? A girl?”
Von Moll leered in a most disgusting manner. Gorman poured him out another glass of brandy.
“You naval men,” he said, “you’re always the same. No girl can resist you. But, I say, you’dreally better keep it dark about that man of yours getting his teeth knocked out. If there were any kind of inquiry and it came out about your being in the cave with one of the island girls——”
“There was no girl in the cave,” said von Moll.
“Come now! I won’t give you away. Between ourselves. We are both men of the world.”
“I have said. There was no girl.”
“Oh well,” said Gorman, “I suppose you were writing poetry and didn’t want to be disturbed. What was it? An ode to the Fatherland, ‘Oh, Deutschland, Deutschland!’—that kind of thing.”
Von Moll strongly suspected that Gorman was laughing at him again. It seemed almost incredible that any one would dare to do such a thing, but Gorman was plainly an irresponsible person.
“I was,” said von Moll, “carrying out the orders of the Emperor.”
“The Emperor again,” said Gorman. “But this time it won’t do. It really won’t. You can’t expect me to believe that the Emperor sent you all the way to Salissa to write poetry in a cave.”
“There was no poetry. The Emperor’s orders were not about poetry. They were about——”
Von Moll stopped abruptly and winked at Gorman with drunken solemnity.
“I don’t give your Emperor credit for much intelligence,” said Gorman, “but he must surely have more sense than to give orders of any kind about a cave in an out-of-the-way potty little islandlike this. Why can’t you tell the truth, von Moll?”
Von Moll straightened himself in his chair and glared at Gorman. His eyes were wide open, so wide that a rim of white showed all round the pupils. His forehead was deeply wrinkled. His nostrils were distended.
“Gott in Himmel!” he said, “you doubt my word.”
Gorman chuckled. Von Moll was decidedly amusing when partially drunk. His glare—he continued to glare in the most ferocious manner—was a most exciting thing to see.
“There is no use looking at me like that,” said Gorman. “I shan’t fight. I never do. I’m not that kind of man. The fact is I don’t like fighting.”
“I believe it,” said von Moll.
He spoke with a sneer, a heavily accentuated sneer. It was more like the sneer of the villain of old-fashioned melodrama than anything Gorman had ever seen.
“If you want a scrap,” said Gorman, “really want it, you know, you ought to knock up Phillips on your way back to your boat. He’s the first officer of theIda. He’ll take you on. He’s six foot one and weighs about fourteen stone. He’ll simply wipe the floor with you; so unless you’re really keen on fighting some one you’d perhaps better leave him alone.”
“I stay here no longer,” said von Moll.
He rose and crossed the room quite steadily, butputting his feet down with extreme care. He reached the door and bowed to Gorman.
Gorman leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. He had enjoyed the evening. He had also found out something that he wanted to know. The Emperor really did intend to make use of the island of Salissa in some way. He wondered whether the cave which the Queen had been forbidden to enter was the same cave which contained the iron cisterns.
The Queen, sitting at her window, heard von Moll leave the house and go down the steps towards the landing place. Smith was with him, seeing him safely to the boat which waited for him.
“So,” said von Moll, “I telegraph to Berlin and I forward your letters.”
He spoke in German, but he spoke very deliberately, pronouncing each word carefully. The Queen had no difficulty in understanding what he said. Smith replied in a much lower tone. She could not hear him.
“Ach,” said von Moll, “the old man is a fool, good. And the girl—do you know, Fritz, I think I shall marry the girl!”
The Queen shut her window. She had no wish to hear more of von Moll’s plans. She was insulted and very angry. It was not until she thought the matter over coolly next day that it occurred to her as strange that von Moll should have addressed Smith as Fritz. The man’s Christian name was Edward.
Iam uncomfortably aware that this history of recent events in Salissa is sadly deficient in the matter of dates. I am not to blame. If I could I should date each chapter accurately. Unfortunately, not one of the people chiefly concerned kept a diary. They all remember events very well and are most willing to describe them for me, but they cannot remember exactly when things happened. I am therefore particularly pleased to be able at this point to give two definite dates. TheIdaarrived at Salissa with Gorman on board on July 8. She left again on July 11. I dragged this information out of Captain Wilson. He no longer has access to theIda’slog-books. They passed into Steinwitz’ hands and disappeared when his office was closed at the outbreak of war. But Captain Wilson kept a private notebook. He referred to it, with considerable reluctance, when I pressed him.
Taking these two dates as fixed, we are able to say for certain that von Moll reached the island during the night of July 7 and 8, ten days after the Serajevo assassinations. He was occupied with his business in the cave all day of July 8. He left Salissa early on July 9. He might easily have madeany one of three or four ports on the mainland before evening that day. A telegram sent to Berlin might have been in the hands of some responsible person that night. Smith’s letters would follow at once by a special messenger. We may take it that the Emperor’s secret service agents, perhaps the Emperor himself, knew on July 10 that the island would not be resold to King Konrad Karl.
The sailing of theIdaso soon as three days after her arrival puzzled me at first. Captain Wilson would say nothing except that he obeyed orders. As a matter of fact he seems to have worried everybody until he got the order he wanted. TheIdacarried very little cargo to the island on her second voyage and was unloaded in a few hours. Captain Wilson received from the Queen the lists she had prepared of tools, engines and material for carrying out her schemes of improvement. He was given a few letters by Donovan and by Smith. Then there was no reason why he should not start.
Nor was there any reason why Gorman should not have gone with him. It was, indeed, plainly Gorman’s duty to get back to England as quickly as possible. His mission had completely failed. The Queen would not sell the island. She would certainly not marry Konrad Karl. Ireland was at the moment passing through a crisis, and Gorman, as one of her statesmen, ought to have been at hand with advice. But Gorman—he owes a good deal of his attractiveness to this—never allows himself to be hampered by words like “ought” and “duty.”
An Irish crisis is an interesting thing; but it is by no means uncommon, and the details are always more or less the same. The affairs of Salissa had certain novel features which were exceedingly attractive and Gorman had never before had an opportunity of mixing himself up in foreign politics. English statesmen, especially Liberals, who regard Ireland with serious intensity of feeling, offer great opportunities to men of Gorman’s temperament. But he thought that still more amusement might be obtained by playing politics with people like Steinwitz, von Moll, and the immensely pompous Emperor.
Donovan was anxious that Gorman should stay on the island. He listened, reluctantly, to all the Queen had to tell him. He heard about the cisterns in the cave. He was told of von Moll’s mysterious activities, of Smith’s suspicious conduct, of the Emperor’s fixed determination to get the island back for Konrad Karl. He professed to regard the whole business as a bore.
“Buried treasure, pirate hoards and other mysteries,” he said, “have no kind of attraction for me. I feel sort of discouraged when they bubble up round me. You’re young, Daisy, and naturally inclined to romantic joys. Just you butt in and worry round according to your own fancy. There’s only one thing I’d rather you didn’t do. Don’t get interfering in any serious way with Smith. Smith’s a valuable man.”
Later on he spoke to Gorman.
“As a public man,” he said, “your time has got value. You’re wanted, Gorman, and that’s a fact. The cause of Ireland is a sacred trust and I’m not speaking against it; but if a subscription to the party funds would set you free for a month——Now can another patriot be hired at a reasonable salary to take your place? If he can, you name the figure and I’ll write the cheque. The fact is, it’ll be a mighty convenient thing to me if you’ll take hold of things here. Daisy’s dead set on unearthing mysteries. I don’t say there aren’t any mysteries. There may be. But it doesn’t suit me to be wrapped up in them. Then I understand that one of your European monarchs is fidgeting round, wanting to take this island off my hands. Daisy says he’s an Emperor. Now I won’t have emperors worrying me. I’ve never gone in for emperors to any extent, and I’m not inclined to begin now. I’m a plain American citizen with democratic principles and a disordered heart. I’d be obliged to you, Gorman, if you’d stay here and kind of elbow off that Emperor when he intrudes. There’s only one point about which I’d like you to be careful. I mentioned it to Daisy. She tells me that Smith answers to the name of Fritz and she regards that as a suspicious circumstance. Now, it doesn’t matter a cent to me whether Smith calls himself Fritz or Leonardo da Vinci or Ivanovitch Ivanokoff. So long as he isn’t signing cheques one name is as good as another. And if Smith writes letters to the Emperor—that’s what Daisy says—I don’t see thatit hurts me any. Every man has his own little pleasures, and in a free country he oughtn’t to be hindered in the pursuit. I’ve known men who collected stamps. It seemed foolish to me, but it didn’t interfere with me. Same thing with Smith. I don’t happen to care about writing letters to emperors, but Smith does. See?”
Gorman did not want to worry or annoy Smith in any way. He recognized the man’s value. His mind was more actively curious than Donovan’s. He wanted to know what was going on, what von Moll had been doing, what the Emperor aimed at, what Smith’s real business was, but he also appreciated, no less than Donovan, good food, comfort and smooth service. He liked to be sure that his wants would be supplied, his wishes anticipated, his habits intelligently studied. Without Smith life on Salissa would be robbed of a great deal which made it attractive.
When Gorman made up his mind to stay on Salissa he wrote three letters. One of them was to King Konrad Karl and was addressed to an hotel in Paris. He said briefly that the Donovans would not sell the island and that it was not the least use trying to arrange a marriage with the Queen. He advised the King to enjoy himself as much as he could in Paris and to spend his money before it was taken from him. He added a postscript.
“If the Emperor sends a man called von Moll to negotiate with you—a sort of naval officer wholikes giving orders—ask him whether he had many casualties in his last sea battle.”
His next letter was to Steinwitz. In it, too, he announced the complete failure of his mission.
“The fact is,” he added, by way of explanation, “that these Americans don’t know enough about your Emperor to be properly impressed. Could you send along a good-sized photo of him, in uniform if possible? I am sure it would have a great effect.”
Then he wrote to Sir Bartholomew Bland-Potterton. Knowing how all members of our governing classes delight in official fussiness he threw his letter into a telegraphic form.
“Things more complicated than anticipated,” he wrote. “Will Government recognize Salissa as independent state? Query attitude President U. S. A. Urgent.—Gorman.”
“Things more complicated than anticipated,” he wrote. “Will Government recognize Salissa as independent state? Query attitude President U. S. A. Urgent.—Gorman.”
He read over what he had written with extreme satisfaction. It pleased him to think that Steinwitz would immediately go out and buy an enormous photograph of the Emperor; that he would send it out to Salissa with perfect confidence in the effect it would produce. It was also pleasant to think of Konrad Karl and Madame Ypsilante making efforts to get rid of the remains of Donovan’s money by scattering it about the streets of Paris. But his despatch to Bland-Potterton pleased him most of all. He imagined that gentleman, swollen with the consciousness of important news, dashingoff to the Foreign Office in a taxi-cab, posing Ministers of State with unanswerable conundrums, very probably ruffling the calm waters of Washington with cablegrams of inordinate length and fierce urgency.
He rang the bell for Smith.
“I’ve just written some letters,” he said; “will you send them off to theIdaand ask Captain Wilson to have them posted when he arrives in London or earlier if he calls at any intermediate port.”
“Yes, sir. Certainly, sir. Beg pardon, sir, but will you be staying on in the palace?”
“For a week or two, Smith.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll make all arrangements. Your luggage will be fetched from the steamer. If you leave your keys with me I’ll see to the unpacking.”
Gorman had no keys.
“By the way, Smith, what’s your Christian name?”
“Edward, sir.”
“I asked,” said Gorman, “because I’d a sort of idea that Captain von Moll called you Fritz last night.”
“Very likely, sir. I didn’t notice. It struck me, sir—I don’t know whether you noticed it—that the German gentleman wasn’t quite himself after dinner. He might have called me Fritz, mistaking me for some one else. I understand, sir, that Fritz is a common name in Germany.”
“Very likely,” said Gorman.
Smith left the room. In ten minutes he was back again.
“Luncheon is served, sir. In the small verandah at the south end of the palace. Shall I show you the way?”
He guided Gorman to the small verandah, a pleasant, shady place, opening off the room in which they had dined the night before.
“Is the Queen coming?” asked Gorman.
“I’ve sent a maid to inform her Majesty the luncheon is served, sir.”
Smith stood ready for his duties at the end of the table. Gorman noticed that three places had been laid.
“Mr. Donovan coming?” he asked.
“No, sir. Mr. Donovan scarcely feels well enough. I’m expecting Mr. Phillips, sir. He’s with her Majesty.”
“Ah,” said Gorman. “They may be late.”
They were late. A quarter of an hour late. Gorman guessed the reason at once. No formal announcement was made, but he felt certain that in the course of the morning they had arrived at a satisfactory understanding and were engaged to be married. Gorman felt satisfied that the Emperor’s plan for the Queen’s future was not quite hopeless.
Luncheon was a difficult meal for him. He did his best to keep up a conversation, but neither the Queen nor Phillips seemed capable of understanding what he said. If they answered him at all they said things which were totally irrelevant. For the mostpart they did not answer. They gazed at each other a good deal and Gorman detected Phillips trying to hold the Queen’s hand under the table. Philips dropped his fork three times. The Queen looked very pretty, much prettier than she had the night before when she was angry with von Moll.
Gorman, in spite of his cynicism, is a kind-hearted man. It gave him a great deal of pleasure to see a girl and a boy in a condition of almost delirious happiness. But he felt that they ought not to be entirely selfish. They intended, apparently, to go off after luncheon, to a distant part of the island, accompanied by Kalliope, whom they could not well shake off. Gorman did not want to be left alone all the afternoon.
“What about going to that cave?” he said. “I’d rather like to find out what von Moll was doing there yesterday.”
The Queen and Phillips looked at each other. They had done little less except look at each other since they came in to luncheon. But this time they looked with a new expression. Instead of fatuous felicity, their faces suggested disappointment.
“I think we ought to do it,” Gorman went on. “That fellow may have been up to any kind of mischief. By the way, is his cave the one the cisterns are in?”
“Yes,” said the Queen.
“That seems to me to settle it,” said Gorman. “We certainly ought to take the matter up vigorously and at once.”
“I suppose so,” said Phillips.
Gorman was really anxious to find out what had been going on in the cave. The fact that von Moll had been acting under the Emperor’s orders stimulated curiosity. It had been puzzling enough to discover, in England, that the Emperor was very anxious to remove the Donovans from the island, and was prepared to adopt all sorts of tortuous ways to get rid of them. It was much more puzzling to find a German naval officer engaged in storing large quantities of rubber tubing in a cave. Gorman confesses that he was utterly unable to make any sort of guess at the meaning of the affair. He was all the more anxious to begin his investigation.
The Queen and Phillips cheered up a little when the party started for the cave. Kalliope rowed, as usual. Gorman—all successful politicians are men of tact—settled himself in the bow of the boat. The Queen and Phillips were together in the stern and held each other’s hands. Gorman pretended to look at the scenery. Kalliope made no pretence at all. She watched the lovers with a sympathetic smile. She was in no way embarrassed by them.
No one—I judge by Gorman’s description—was ever more helplessly in love than Phillips. But even he was roused to other feelings when the boat grounded on the stony beach in the cave. He slipped his hand from the Queen’s and sprang ashore. Even from the boat, before crossing the steep stretch of stones, there were some interesting things to be seen. Von Moll had left his rubbertubing in three great coils in front of the cisterns. Gorman and the Queen followed Phillips. The three stood together and stared at the hose. Phillips estimated that there must have been three or four hundred yards of it. The ends of each coil were fitted with brass caps intended to screw together. Any one of them might have been screwed to the cocks of the cisterns.
There were also many large packing-cases, stacked at the end of the row of cisterns. These were strong, well-made cases and carefully nailed up. The only tool possessed by the party was Phillips’ clasp knife, a serviceable instrument for many purposes, but no use for opening well-secured packing-cases. Gorman fetched one of the iron rowlocks from the boat, but nothing could be done with it. The cases were very heavy. Gorman and Phillips together could not lift one. It seemed likely that they contained metal of some sort.
The cisterns stood exactly where the Queen and Phillips had seen them before. But now they were full instead of being empty. Phillips and then Gorman tapped them one after another. They were all full, up to the very tops. Phillips wasted no time in speculating about what they contained. The rubber hose was unintelligible. The packing-cases could not be opened. It was at all events possible to find out what the cisterns contained. Phillips turned on one of the taps. A thin, strongly smelling liquid streamed out.
“I know that smell,” said the Queen. “It’s—it’s——”
It is extraordinarily difficult to recognize a smell in such a way as to say definitely what it belongs to. Phillips and Gorman sniffed. Like the Queen they knew the smell but could not name it. It was Gorman who fixed it first.
“Petrol,” he said.
“Of course,” said the Queen. “I knew I recognized it.”
“That’s it,” said Phillips. “I was thinking of Elliman’s Embrocation; but it’s petrol, of course.”
“There must be gallons of it here,” said Gorman. “Thousands of gallons.”
Phillips, stretching his arms wide, began to make rough measurements of the cisterns.
“Now why on earth,” said Gorman, “should the Emperor want to store up huge quantities of petrol in this cave?”
It seems odd now that any one could possibly have failed to guess what the petrol was for and why it was there. But early in 1914 very few people were thinking about a war with Germany. Gorman, as a politician, must have heard some talk of such a possibility; but no doubt he regarded all he heard as part of the game that politicians play. Gorman is a man with the instincts of a sportsman. He thought, without any bitterness, of the war threat as a move, not a very astute move, on the part of an imperialist party anxious for office. It was comparable to those which his own party played. TheQueen and Phillips had never thought about European politics at all.
And nobody, at that time, had guessed at the part which submarines were to play in war. Civilians, even well-informed men like Gorman, regarded submarines as toys, chiefly dangerous to the crews who manned them. Phillips probably knew how they were propelled. Gorman did not. He had never given a thought to the subject. Like most of the rest of us he associated petrol only with motor-cars or possibly with flying machines. It did not connect itself in his mind with submarines.
“That Emperor!” said Gorman. “I’m hanged if I understand.”
“The Emperor?” said the Queen. “Why should the Emperor be mixed up with it?”
“Why should the Emperor be mixed up with the island?” said Gorman. “Why should the Emperor be mixed up with you? Why should the Emperor be mixed up with anything? I don’t know. I can’t guess. But it was the Emperor who sent the stuff here.”
Phillips was a young man of practical mind, very little given to inquiring into causes and reasons. But he had a thoroughly British respect for the rights of property and the privileges of ownership.
“Anyhow,” he said, “he’s no earthly right to dump his stuff here without asking leave. Salissa isn’t his island.”
From the tap which he had already turned on the petrol was flowing freely. It trickled down amongthe stones, and some of it had already reached the sea. It was spreading, a smooth, thin film across the water of the cave.
“I vote we run it all off,” he said.
He looked at the Queen and then at Gorman.
“If a man puts his cow on my lawn,” said Gorman, “I suppose I’ve a right to turn it out again.”
That was approval enough for Phillips. He walked deliberately along the line of cisterns, turning on the taps as he went.
“Hold on a minute,” said Gorman. “We don’t want the stuff flowing over the Queen’s shoes. She must get into the boat.”
A few minutes later the water of the cave was entirely covered with petrol. The air was acrid with the smell of it. The Queen held her handkerchief to her nose.
“Let’s get out of this as quick as we can,” she said.
The next fortnight was something of a disappointment to Gorman. He admits that. He had made his choice between Ireland and Salissa. It certainly seemed as if he had chosen wrongly. I remember—everybody remembers—how exciting Irish affairs were during the latter half of July, 1914. The country was like a pot, full of water on the verge of boiling. Every day an event of some sort formed like a bubble far down in the depths of Irish life, rose rapidly, and burst on the surface with a little splash. The bubbles were large or small, sometimes no more than pinheads in size, but they were evidences that the boiling point was very near. The surface of the water, that region where governing persons and leaders of public opinion air themselves, was already agitated with odd-looking swirls, sudden swayings, unaccountable swellings, all very ominous of imminent turmoil.
There were landings of arms here and there, furiously denounced by the people who had run their own cargoes the week before or intended to run them the next week. There were hurried gatherings of committees which sat in private conclaves and then issued manifestos which nobodyread. Minor officials were goaded into orgies of fussiness. Major officials, statesmen, escaped when they could, to the comparative calm of suffragette-haunted public meetings in England. A Buckingham Palace Conference set all sorts of people arguing about constitutional precedents. It was recognized on all sides that a settlement of the Irish question must somehow be reached. Gorman, if he had stayed at home, would have been in the thick of it all. It is perhaps wrong to say that he would have enjoyed himself thoroughly; but life would have been an interesting and exciting thing. Salissa remained provokingly dull and uneventful.
Gorman went to the cave again, on the day after he had first seen the tanks and run von Moll’s petrol to waste. He went by himself. The Queen and Phillips took no further interest in the mystery for the moment. They went off together early in the day and did not return until evening. Even Gorman could not blame them. It was their last day together. It was gloriously fine. The island, with its white cliffs, its golden-sanded coves, its vineyards, its pleasant, shaded groves, was a paradise for lovers. And theIda—Captain Wilson insisted on that—sailed the next day, carrying Phillips away with her.
Gorman achieved very little by his second visit to the cave. He took with him several tools, a short axe, a screw-driver and a hammer. He forced open some of the packing-cases which were piled near the cistern. They were filled with steel bars of varioussizes, steel wrought into various shapes and odd-looking coils of copper wire. Gorman knew little of engineering or mechanics. He was merely puzzled by what he saw. It seemed to him that von Moll had used the cave as a storehouse for uncompleted machines of a complicated kind. What the machines were he did not know. Why von Moll, acting no doubt by the Emperor’s orders, should have dumped them there was beyond guessing.
Though Gorman was disappointed he found life on Salissa pleasant enough. He was exceedingly comfortable, thanks to Smith’s devotion to duty. He had many long talks with Donovan, which he enjoyed, for Donovan was always amusing and stimulating. He saw a great deal of the Queen, helped her to make plans for the future of the island, listened when she talked about Phillips. There was a mixture of shyness with frank simplicity in the way she spoke about her lover which Gorman found very attractive. Sometimes he went out with Kalliope’s lover in the largest island boat and watched the casting of nets. Once or twice he tried to get into intimate conversation with Smith, hoping that the man, caught off his guard, might drop a hint that would give some clue to the meaning of the cisterns, the petrol, the machinery and the Emperor’s curious interest in the island. But Smith took shelter behind the manner of a good servant, the most impenetrable of all defences. Gorman never got anything out of him except adeferential “Yes, sir,” or, in reply to some leading question, “Don’t know, sir, I’m sure.” Or perhaps, “Indeed, sir!” in a tone of respectful surprise.
Gorman was at that time inclined to think that he had made a mistake in not going home on theIda. Apart from the exciting movements of Irish affairs about which he could only speculate, he felt sure that it was in London, not on the island, that the most important developments of the Salissa mystery would take place. He wanted to know what Steinwitz was doing, and whether Konrad Karl was still enjoying his spendthrift holiday in Paris. He would have liked to be in a position to watch the fussy activities of Sir Bartholomew Bland-Potterton. Later on I was able to tell him something, not of Steinwitz or Konrad Karl, but about Sir Bartholomew. It was impossible to live in London during the latter part of July without perpetually bumping against Bland-Potterton. He was like the ball on a rapidly spun roulette board. He seemed to be flung about from place to place with extreme rapidity in an utterly irregular manner. It was impossible to guess where he would be or in what direction he would move. I came across him one day in Cockspur Street. He was signalling wildly for a taxi-cab. He grasped my arm with his left hand and shook it with frenzied vehemence.
“Just off to the Foreign Office,” he said. “Can’t wait to talk now. Haven’t a minute. See you later.”
There was no reason why he should have stopped to talk to me even if he had not been going to the Foreign Office. I should certainly not have tried to detain him. Bland-Potterton bores me. I did indeed see him later, though I certainly did not want to. It was at a reception, a gorgeous but uncomfortable affair in Ellesmere House. Bland-Potterton was in a corner with a highly decorated foreigner who looked like a stage brigand. I found out afterwards that he was the Megalian ambassador. Bland-Potterton was talking to him with intense earnestness.
Another day he dashed at me in the smoking-room of the club. I was half asleep at the moment and desired nothing in the world so much as to be let alone. But Bland-Potterton woke me by whispering in my ear. He might just as well have spoken in the ordinary way. There was only one other man in the room and he was quite asleep. Besides, Bland-Potterton’s whisper carries further than most men’s conversational voices.
“Have you,” he hissed, “any news from Gorman? A letter? A message? Anything?”
“No,” I said, “I haven’t. Why the deuce should I? Is he gun-running, or threatening to vote against the Government, or likely to be arrested?”
“No, no, no. Nothing of that sort. Nothing to do with Ireland. It’s this unfortunate business with the Emperor. But I mustn’t say any more. The Embassies are nervous, you know.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Which Embassies?”
“The—the—the—well, practically all except the Chinese.”
“Wonderful people the Chinese,” I said. “So calm. We ought to imitate them more than we do.”
Bland-Potterton did not think so. He went on fussing. He rushed about London, creating small whirlpools behind him as if he had been a motor-boat. I had the greatest difficulty at times in not being sucked into his wake.
All this Gorman would have enjoyed hugely. I felt sorry that he was missing it. However, in the end he had his compensation.
One day during the last week in July—Gorman is no more to be relied on for an exact date than Donovan or the Queen—a steamer arrived in Salissa. She was a remarkable looking steamer and flew a flag which neither Gorman nor Donovan had ever seen before. She had two small guns, mounted one on the fore-deck and one right aft. She had a smart, well-cared-for look, as if she were a yacht, or belonged to some navy. But she was very old. Gorman says that she reminded him of the pictures of the royal yacht in which Queen Victoria came to Ireland to open Kingstown harbour at the very beginning of her reign. She was a paddle steamer. She had an exaggerated form of fiddle bow, a long bowsprit and two tall masts on which sails might easily have been set.
Gorman is nothing of a sailor and is almost totally uninterested in ships. This steamer musthave been very old-fashioned indeed to have struck him as being odd. She arrived in the harbour at midday and splashed about a good deal with her paddles as if she were rather pleased with herself and thought she had a right to the admiration of the islanders. There was only one modern thing about her. The splayed-out wires of a Marconi installation stretched between her masts.
Gorman was sitting with Donovan when the steamer arrived. They had spent a pleasant hour discussing, in a desultory manner, whether a nation gains or loses by having a titled aristocracy. Donovan preferred the British to the American system. Statesmen, he pointed out, must make some return to the rich for the money which they provide to keep politics going. It is on the whole better to give titles than to alter tariffs in return for subscriptions to party funds. The subject was not a very interesting one and both men were pleased when the arrival of the steamer gave them a new topic.
“Seems to me,” said Donovan, “that Daisy might gather in some revenue by charging harbour dues. This is the second ship, not reckoning theIda, which has put in here since I arrived.”
“I don’t know that flag,” said Gorman. “Not that that means anything. I don’t suppose there are half a dozen flags that I do know.”
“There was some mention made of an Emperor,” said Donovan. “Daisy seemed to think that onemight come nosing round, thinking to buy the island. Perhaps that’s him.”
“Hardly in that steamer,” said Gorman. “She looks as if she’d been built a hundred years ago. One of the first ever launched, I should think.”
“Well,” said Donovan, “I’m not an expert in the habits of European Emperors; but I’ve always been told that the state coach in which the King of England goes to open Parliament dates back quite a bit in the matter of shape. An Emperor might feel that he owed it to his historic past to sail the ocean in the nearest thing he could get to the ark of the patriarch Noah.”
The argument was sound; but Gorman was not inclined to think that the Emperor was paying a visit to Salissa in person. He was just going to say so when Smith came on to the balcony. He carried a pair of field glasses in his hand, which he laid on the table beside Donovan’s chair.
“Beg pardon, sir,” he said. “I brought up the glasses thinking you might want to look at the strange steamer.”
“Do you know the flag, Smith?” asked Gorman.
“No, sir, can’t say I do. But she looks like a foreigner. Not English. Shall you want anything more, sir?”
Gorman did not at the moment want anything which Smith would supply. He wanted information, but it was useless to ask for that. Smith, who seemed uninterested in the steamer, left the balcony.
Donovan gazed at the steamer through the glasses.
“Well,” he said, “if it’s not an Emperor, it’s the next thing. That’s our little friend Konrad Karl standing on the deck.”
He handed the glasses to Gorman.
King Konrad Karl stood beside the gun on the after-deck of the steamer. He looked neat and cool. He was dressed with care in well-fitting light grey clothes, a soft grey hat and white shoes. The glasses were powerful. Gorman could even see that he wore a pale mauve tie.
“I’m pleased to see that monarch,” said Donovan. “He seemed to me less starched than most members of your aristocracies when I met him in London. Where’s Daisy? She’ll be sorry if she misses the opportunity of welcoming a fellow monarch to her shores.”
“I’m afraid,” said Gorman, “that she’s off at the far side of the island. She told me this morning that she was going over there to plan out an electric power station. There’s a waterfall somewhere. I haven’t seen it myself. The Queen’s idea is to make use of it to light the island.”
Donovan took up the glasses when Gorman laid them down. He watched the steamer.
“The King is wasting no time,” he said. “He’s coming ashore right now. They’re lowering a boat. I wonder what brings him here.”
“He’s probably come to persuade you to give the island back to him, re-sell it.”
“That deal,” said Donovan, “is closed. I’ll be obliged to you, Gorman, if you’ll make that plain to him.”
“I expect the Emperor has sent him.”
“I’d expect some pretty lively bidding,” said Donovan, “with the Emperor and a king in the ring, if the island was up for auction. But it’s not. I’m not going back on my bargain. I’m very well satisfied with Salissa as a place of residence. I feel I might live a long time on Salissa. Come to think of it, there’s no reason why any one should ever die here. It’s worry and annoyance preying on the human heart, which kill men.”
A boat put off from the steamer’s side as Donovan spoke. It rowed towards the palace steps. King Konrad Karl sat in the stern.
“Gorman,” said Donovan, “it will prolong my days if you go down and meet that king. Make it plain to him that it’s no kind of use his trying to talk me round, because I’m not going to listen to him. He’s welcome to stay in the palace as long as he likes. But he’s not to worry me. If he seems any way determined on talking business, you quote the certificate of that doc.”