"What's that?" inquired Tony.
"The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Aunts," said Lady Jocelyn.
A slight but natural reluctance on the part of the Peugot to leave such a select neighbourhood, delayed Tony for several minutes outside the house. At length, however, he managed to persuade the big car to start, and just baffling a masterly attempt at suicide by a passing terrier, he set off on his return journey to Hampstead.
He did not go direct to Mrs. Spalding's, but continued his way straight up Haverstock Hill and across the Heath to his own house. Here he got out and handed the car over to the care of Jennings, who came sauntering down from the garage in his usual sombre fashion.
"You can put her away, Jennings," he said, brushing the dust from his sleeve. "If I want anything to-night I shall take a taxi. This perpetual dashing about in high-powered cars is apt to induce arrogance."
Jennings received this statement with an unmoved expression, and leaving him to carry out his instructions, Tony entered the hall. He walked across to the stick rack in the corner, where he proceeded to select a large and particularly heavy Irish blackthorn from the numerous specimens that it contained. He weighed this thoughtfully in his hand, and then, apparently satisfied with its possibilities, he lighted himself a cigar and strolled off down the drive and out across the Heath in the direction of Mrs. Spalding's house.
Latimer Lane, which was the name of the secluded little road in which the Spaldings' house was situated, presented a most restful appearance as Tony entered it from the upper end. Except for a solitary cat sunning herself in the gutter, there was no sign of life throughout its entire length. If any sinister-looking gentlemen were really lurking in the neighbourhood, they had at least succeeded in concealing themselves with the most praiseworthy skill.
With his blackthorn in his hand Tony sauntered peacefully along the pavement. There was nothing about his appearance to suggest that he was taking any unusual interest in his surroundings. His whole demeanour was as free from suspicion as that of the cat herself, who merely opened one sleepy eye at his approach, and then closed it again with an air of sun-warmed indifference.
He turned in at the gate of Mrs. Spalding's house without so much as a backward glance, and strolling up the garden path, knocked lightly at the door. It was opened almost immediately by Bugg, whose face lit up with that same sort of simple-hearted smile that Ney used to assume at the appearance of Napoleon.
"It's all right, sir," he whispered exultingly, as soon as the door was closed again. "'E's still there, an' 'tother bloke too!"
Tony hung up his hat, and with tender care deposited his blackthorn on the hall table.
"That's splendid, Bugg," he said. "Where is Miss Francis?"
With a jerk of his thumb, Bugg indicated the basement.
"She's dahn there along o' Mrs. Spalding, sir."
The words had hardly left his lips, when Isabel, slightly flushed and looking prettier than ever, emerged from the head of the kitchen stairs.
"Oh," she said, "you have just come at the right time. Mrs. Spalding and I have been making some scones for tea."
Tony looked at her in admiration. "What wild and unexpected talents you have, Isabel," he remarked.
She laughed happily. "I can make very good scones," she said. "That was one of the extra and private accomplishments that Miss Watson taught me." She paused. "How soon would you like to have tea?"
"Do you mind putting it off for a little bit?" said Tony. "I have got something I want to speak to you about first." He turned to Bugg. "Go out into the yard behind, Bugg," he said, "and have a nice careful look at the back wall. I want to know if it's fairly easy to climb and what there is the other side of it."
With that invaluable swiftness of action that distinguishes a successful welter-weight, Bugg wheeled round and shot off on his errand. Isabel gazed after him for a moment in surprise, and then turned back to Tony with a slightly bewildered expression.
"Is there anything the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing the least serious," said Tony reassuringly. "I am thinking of entertaining a couple of old friends of ours who are too shy to call in the usual way."
A sudden look of understanding flashed into Isabel's face, and taking a quick step forward she laid her hand lightly on Tony's arm.
"You mean those men—those two men?" she whispered. "Why—are they outside? Have they found out where I am?"
Tony patted her hand. "There's nothing to be frightened about, Isabel," he said. "At least not for us."
She drew herself up proudly. "I'm not frightened," she said, "not a bit. I told you I should never be frightened again as long as I had you to help me." She took a long breath. "What are you going to do?" she asked. "Kill them?"
Tony laughed. "I think we ought to find out first what they want," he said. "There's a sort of prejudice in this country against massacring people at sight."
"I—I forgot we were in England," said Isabel apologetically. "I have heard father and the others talk so much about killing people, it doesn't seem nearly as serious to me as it ought to."
"Never mind," said Tony consolingly. "We all have our weak points." He leaned over and tipped off the ash of his cigar into the umbrella stand. "According to Bugg," he added, "our two friends have been hanging about outside the house ever since Tuesday."
Isabel opened her eyes. "Since Tuesday!" she repeated. "But why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to worry you. I knew you would be quite safe with Bugg here, so I thought it was better to wait until I had made up my mind what to do." He paused. "Whoever these two beauties are it's quite evident that what they're really yearning for is another little private chat with you. At least it's difficult to see what else they can be after unless they are going in for a fresh air cure."
Isabel nodded her head. "It's me all right," she observed with some conviction.
"Well, under the circumstances," pursued Tony tranquilly, "I propose to give them the chance of gratifying their ambition. I always like to help people gratify their ambition, even if it involves a little personal trouble and exertion."
Isabel's amber eyes lit up with an expectant and rather unkind pleasure. "What are you going to do?" she asked again.
"It depends to a certain extent on Bugg's report," replied Tony. "The idea is that he and I should go out by the front gate, work our way round to the back, and make a quiet and unobtrusive re-entrance over the garden wall. We should then be on the premises in case any one took it into their heads to call during our absence."
Isabel laughed joyously. "That's a lovely idea," she exclaimed. "I do hope——"
She was interrupted by the sudden reappearance of Bugg, who came rapidly up the staircase in the same noiseless and unexpected fashion that he had departed in.
"Well?" said Tony, throwing away the stump of his cigar.
"There ain't nothin' wrong abaht the wall, sir," replied Bugg cheerfully. "One can 'op over that as easy as sneezin'."
"What is there the other side of it?" asked Tony.
"It gives on to the back garden of the 'Ollies—that big empty 'ouse in 'Eath Street."
"How very obliging of it," said Tony contentedly. He turned to Isabel. "It's no good wasting time, is it?" he added. "I think I had better go straight down and tell Mrs. Spalding what we propose to do. She ought to know something about it, just in case we have to slaughter any one on her best carpet."
Isabel looked a little doubtful. "I hope she won't mind," she said.
"I don't think she will," replied Tony. "I have always found her most reasonable about trifles." He turned back to Bugg. "Better find a bag or something to take with you when you go out," he added. "I want you to look as if you were on your way back to Goodman's Rest."
Bugg saluted, and making his way downstairs, Tony tapped gently at what appeared to be the kitchen door. It was opened by Mrs. Spalding who at the sight of her visitor showed distinct traces of surprise and concern.
"Why ever didn't you ring, Sir Antony?" she inquired almost reproachfully.
"It's all right, Mrs. Spalding," he replied in his cheerful fashion. "I came down purposely because I want to have a little private talk with you." He moved aside a plate, and before she could protest seated himself on the corner of the table. "You remember what I told you a couple of days ago about the house being watched?"
"Indeed yes, sir," said Mrs. Spalding. "They are still hanging about the place according to what Bugg says. I am sure I don't know what the police can be up to allowing a thing like that to go on in a respectable neighbourhood."
"It's scandalous," agreed Tony warmly. "As far as I can see the only thing to do is to take the matter into our hands. The men are probably a couple of ruffians employed to watch the place by Miss Francis' guardian."
Mrs. Spalding nodded her head. "I shouldn't be a bit surprised, sir. Them foreigners are up to anything."
"It must be put a stop to," said Tony firmly. "Of course I could insist upon the police taking it up, but I think on the whole it would be better if we tackled the matter ourselves. One doesn't want the half-penny papers to get hold of it, or anything of that sort."
"Certainly not, sir," said Mrs. Spalding in a shocked voice. "It would never do for a gentleman in your position."
"Well, I have thought of a plan," began Tony, "but the fact is—" he paused artistically—"well, the fact is, Mrs. Spalding, I should hardly like to trouble you any further after the extremely kind way in which you have already helped us."
The good woman was visibly affected. "You mustn't think of that, Sir Antony," she protested. "I am sure it's a real pleasure to do anything I can for you and the young lady—such a nice sweet-spoken young lady she is too."
"Well, of course, if you really feel like that about it," observed Tony; and without wasting efforts on any further diplomacy, he proceeded to sketch out the plan of campaign that he had already described to Isabel.
"It's quite simple, you see," he finished. "We pop back over the garden wall and through the kitchen window, and there we are. Then if these scoundrels do turn up and ask for Miss Francis, you have only got to let them in and leave the rest to us. I don't think they will bother us much more—not after I've finished with them."
For a respectable woman, who had hitherto led a peaceful and law-abiding life, Mrs. Spalding received the scheme with surprising calmness.
"You will be careful about the climbing the wall, won't you, sir?" she observed. "It's that old, there's no knowing whether it will bear a gentleman of your weight."
"Oh, that's all right, Mrs. Spalding," said Tony reassuringly. "I shall allow Bugg to go first."
He got down off the table, and after once more expressing his thanks, made his way upstairs again into the hall.
He found Isabel standing at the door of the sitting-room just as he had left her.
"Well?" she asked eagerly.
"There are no difficulties," said Tony. "Mrs. Spalding is all for a forward policy."
As he spoke there was a sound of footsteps above them, and Bugg descended the staircase carrying a small bag in one hand and his cap in the other.
"I think we may as well make a start," continued Tony. "Don't hurry yourself, 'Tiger.' Just paddle along comfortably, and whatever you do keep your eyes off the opposite side of the road. You can either take the bag back to Goodman's Rest, or else leave it in the bar at the Castle. Anyhow meet me in a quarter of an hour's time in the back garden of the Hollies."
Bugg nodded his head. "I'll be there, Sir Ant'ny," he replied grimly.
Tony pushed open the door of the sitting-room. "We had better wait in here, Isabel," he said. "We mustn't be seen conspiring together in the hall when Bugg goes out, or it might put the enemy on his guard."
A few seconds later the peace of Latimer Lane was suddenly disturbed by the banging of Mrs. Spalding's front door. Whistling a bright little music hall ditty to himself, Bugg came marching down the garden path and passed out through the gate into the roadway. He paused for a moment to extract and light himself a Woodbine cigarette, and then, without looking back at the house, set off at a leisurely pace in the direction of the Heath.
For ten minutes a deep unbroken hush brooded over the neighbourhood. If there were any human beings about they still remained silent and invisible, while the solitary cat, who had glanced up resentfully as Bugg passed, gradually resumed her former attitude of somnolent repose.
Then once more the door of number sixteen opened, and Tony and Isabel made their appearance. The latter was wearing no hat, and her red-gold hair gleamed in the sunshine, like copper in the firelight. They strolled down together as far as the gate, where they remained for a few moments laughing and chatting. Then, with a final and fairly audible observation to the effect that he would be back about six, Tony took his departure. He went off to the left, in the opposite direction from that patronized by Bugg.
Turning lightly round Isabel sauntered back up the garden. The front door closed behind her, and once again peace—the well ordered peace of a superior London suburb, descended upon Latimer Lane.
* * * * * * *
At the back of the house Mrs. Spalding was standing at the kitchen window, which she had pushed up to its fullest extent. Her eyes were fixed anxiously upon the summit of the wall which divided her miniature back yard from the adjoining property. It was a venerable wall, of early Victorian origin, about twelve feet in height, and thickly covered with a mat of ivy.
At last, from the other side came a faint rustle, followed almost immediately by the unmistakable scrape and scuffle of somebody attempting an ascent. Then a hand and arm appeared over the top, and a moment later Bugg had hoisted himself into view, and was sitting astride the parapet. He paused for an instant to whisper back some hoarse but inaudible remark, and then catching hold of the ivy swung himself neatly and rapidly to the ground.
There was another and rather louder scuffle, and Tony followed suit. He came down into the yard even quicker than Bugg—his descent being somewhat accelerated by the behaviour of a branch of ivy, which detached itself from the wall, just as he had got his full weight on it.
"Yer ain't 'urt yerself, 'ave ye, sir?" inquired the faithful "Tiger" with some anxiety.
Tony shook his head, and discarded the handful of foliage that he was still clutching.
"One should never trust entirely to Nature, Bugg," he observed. "She invariably lets one down."
He stopped to flick off the dust and cobwebs from the knees of his trousers, and then leading the way across the yard to the kitchen window, he scrambled in over the sill.
"I am afraid I have thinned out your ivy a bit, Mrs. Spalding," he remarked regretfully.
"It doesn't matter the least about that, sir," replied Mrs. Spalding, "so long as you haven't gone and shook yourself up."
"I don't think I have," said Tony. "I feel extraordinarily well except for a slight craving for tea." He paused. "No sign of the enemy yet, I suppose?"
Mrs. Spalding shook her head. "It's all been quite quiet so far, Sir Antony."
"Well, I think we had better go upstairs and arrange our plans," he observed. "We may have plenty of time, but it's just as well to be on the safe side. There's a strain of impetuosity in the foreign blood that one has to look out for."
He moved towards the door; and followed by Mrs. Spalding and Bugg—the latter of whom had climbed in through the window after him—he mounted the flight of stone stairs that led up into the hall.
"I suppose Miss Francis is in her bedroom?" he said turning to Mrs. Spalding.
She nodded her head. "Yes, Sir Antony. She went up directly she came back into the house."
He took a step forward and stood for a moment contemplating the scene with the thoughtful air of a general surveying the site of a future battle.
"I think your place, Bugg," he said, "will be half-way up the staircase, just out of sight of the front door. I shall wait in the sitting-room, and Mrs. Spalding will be downstairs in the kitchen." He paused. "What will happen is this. When the bell rings Mrs. Spalding will come up and open the door. Directly she does, our friends will probably force their way into the hall and ask to see Miss Francis. They will know she is upstairs, because as a matter of fact she is sitting in the window reading a book."
"Am I to let them through, sir?" inquired Mrs. Spalding.
"Not without a protest," said Tony; "but I expect as a matter of fact they will simply push past you. People like that have very bad manners, especially when they are pressed for time. In that case all you have got to do will be to fall back to the kitchen stairs and leave the rest to us."
Bugg sighed happily. "An' then I s'pose I comes dahn and we shoves it across 'em, sir?" he inquired.
"That's the idea," said Tony, "but there's no need to be rough or unkind about it. All I want to do is to get them into the sitting-room in a sufficiently chastened frame of mind to answer a few civil questions. It oughtn't to be difficult unless they have got revolvers."
"Revolvers!" repeated Mrs. Spalding in some distress. "Oh, dear, dear! You will be careful, won't you, Sir Antony?"
"I shall," said Tony: "extremely careful."
He walked to the hall table and picked up the blackthorn that he had left lying there. "I don't think I shall want this," he remarked, "but perhaps——"
He broke off abruptly, as a faint sound from outside suddenly reached his ear.
"Listen!" he said softly. "What's that?"
There was a moment's pause, and then quite clearly came the unmistakable click of the front gate.
Swiftly and quietly Tony stepped back to the sitting-room door.
"Here they are!" he announced with a cheerful smile. "Take it coolly: there's heaps of time."
Considering the abrupt nature of the crisis, it must be admitted that both Mrs. Spalding and Bugg rose to the occasion in the most creditable fashion. In three strides the latter had disappeared up the staircase, while if Mrs. Spalding was a shade less precipitous, it was only because she was not so well fitted by nature for sudden and violent transitions.
Tony waited until they were both out of sight, and then with a final glance round the hall he stepped back into the sitting-room. He closed the door after him until only the faintest crack was visible from outside, and having placed his blackthorn carefully in the corner, he stood there in easy readiness, his hand resting lightly on the door knob.
For perhaps thirty seconds the steady ticking of the hall clock alone broke the silence. Then the sound of a slight movement became suddenly audible outside the house, and a moment later the sharptang, tangof a bell went jangling through the basement. With a contented smile Tony began to button up his coat.
He heard Mrs. Spalding mount the stairs and pass along the hall passage outside. There was the sharp snap of a bolt being pushed back, and then almost simultaneously came a sudden scuffle of footsteps, and the loud bang of an abruptly closed door.
"Pardon, Madame," said a voice. "We do not wish to alarm you, but it is necessary that we speak with the young lady upstairs."
For a complete amateur in private theatricals, Mrs. Spalding played her part admirably.
"You will do nothing of the kind," she replied with every symptom of surprised indignation. "Who are you? How dare you force your way into a private house like this?"
"You will pardon us, Madame," repeated the voice, "but I fear we must insist. We mean no harm to the young lady: on the contrary we are her best—her truest friends."
Mrs. Spalding sniffed audibly. "That's as it may be," she retorted. "Anyhow, you don't set a foot on my staircase; and what's more, if you don't leave the house immediately I shall send for the police."
There was a brief whispered consultation in what sounded like a foreign language, and then the same voice spoke again.
"We dislike to use force, Madame; but since you leave us no choice——"
Once more came the quick shuffle of steps, followed in this case by the crash of an overturning chair, and then with a swift jerk Tony flung open the door, and strode blithely out into the hall. He took in the situation at a glance. True to her instructions Mrs. Spalding had retreated to the head of the kitchen banisters, where one of the intruders had followed as though to cut her off from further interference. The other was bounding gaily up the staircase, apparently under the happy impression that the road was now clear before him.
Tony just had time to see that the man in the hall was the shorter of the two, when with an exclamation of anger and alarm that gentleman spun round to meet him. As he turned his right hand travelled swiftly back towards his hip pocket, but the action though well intended was too late to be effective. With one tiger-like spring Tony had crossed the intervening distance, and clutching him affectionately round the waist, had pinned his arms to his sides.
"No shooting, Harold," he said. "You might break the pictures."
As he spoke the whole staircase was suddenly shaken by a crash upstairs, followed by the heavy thud of a falling body. Then, almost simultaneously, the head of "Tiger" Bugg protruded itself over the banisters.
"All right below, sir?" it inquired with some anxiety.
Tony looked up. "If you have quite finished, you might come down and take away this revolver," he replied tranquilly.
That Bugg had finished was evident from the immediate nature of his response. He leaped down the stairs with the activity of a chamois, and darting in behind Tony's struggling captive, fished out a wicked looking Mauser pistol from that gentleman's hip pocket.
"'Ere we are, sir," he announced cheerfully. "Loaded up proper too from the look of it."
Tony released his grip, and the owner of the weapon staggered back against the wall gasping like a newly landed fish.
"Give it to me," said Tony holding out his hand, and as Bugg complied, he added in that pleasantly lazy way of his: "If you haven't corpsed the gentleman upstairs, go and bring him down into the sitting-room." Then, turning to his own late adversary, he observed hospitably: "Perhaps you wouldn't mind joining us, sir. I am sure we shall all enjoy a little chat."
The stranger, who was gradually beginning to recover from Tony's bear-like hug, scowled horribly. He was not a prepossessing looking person, for in addition to a cast in his left eye, his swarthy and truculent face was further disfigured by the scar of an old sword cut, which seemed to have just failed in a laudable effort to slice off the greater part of his jaw. All the same there was a certain air of force and authority about him, which redeemed him from absolute ruffianism.
Beyond the scowl, however, he made no further protest, but followed by Tony and the Mauser, marched along into the sitting-room, where he folded his arms and took up a defiant posture on the hearth-rug.
There was a sound of banging and bumping from the staircase, and a moment later Bugg entered through the doorway, half carrying and half pushing the semi-conscious figure of the other invader.
"I 'it 'im a bit 'arder than I meant to, sir," he explained apologetically to Tony; "but 'e's comin' rahnd now nice an' pretty."
He deposited the convalescent carefully in the easy-chair, and then stepped back as though waiting further instructions.
It was the cross-eyed gentleman, however, who broke the silence.
"In my country," he observed thickly, "you would die for this—both of you."
Tony smiled at him indulgently. "I am sure we should," he said; "but that's the best of Hampstead; it's so devilish healthy." He paused. "Won't you sit down and make yourself comfortable?" he added.
There was something so unexpected either about the request or else the manner of it, that for a moment the visitor seemed at a loss what to do. At length, however, he seated himself on the edge of the sofa, still glowering savagely at Tony with his working eye.
It was at this point that his friend in the chair began to emerge into something like intelligent interest in the proceedings. After blinking vaguely and shaking his head once or twice, he suddenly raised himself in his seat, and looked round him with a slightly bewildered air. His gaze finally came to rest on the barrel of the Mauser pistol which happened at the moment to be pointing in his direction.
His gaze finally came to rest on the barrel of the Mauser pistol. "Feeling better?" inquired Tony kindly. An obvious train of recollection flashed across the stranger's face. "I remember now," he muttered. "Something struck me--something on the stairs."His gaze finally came to rest on the barrel of the Mauser pistol. "Feeling better?" inquired Tony kindly. An obvious train of recollection flashed across the stranger's face. "I remember now," he muttered. "Something struck me—something on the stairs."
"Feeling better?" inquired Tony kindly.
An obvious train of recollection flashed across the stranger's face, and with an instinctive movement he raised his hand to his jaw.
"I remember now," he muttered. "Something struck me. Something on the stairs."
"That's right," said Tony encouragingly. "It was Bugg's fist. Very few people can take a punch in the jaw from Bugg and remember the exact details."
The stranger looked at Tony with some curiosity. He had a more refined and intelligent face than his companion, while from the few words he had spoken his foreign accent appeared to be less pronounced.
"I presume," he said, "that I am addressing Sir Antony Conway?"
Tony nodded. "You at least have the advantage of knowing whom you're talking to."
There was a moment's pause, and then the man on the sofa laughed aggressively.
"It is an advantage that you possibly share with us," he growled.
Tony turned on him. "Except for the fact that you appear to belong to the criminal classes," he said, "I haven't the foggiest notion who either of you are."
With what sounded distressingly like an oath the cross-eyed gentleman scrambled to his feet, but a slight change in the direction of the Mauser pulled him up abruptly.
It was his friend who relieved the somewhat strained situation.
"You forget, Colonel," he said suavely. "If Sir Antony Conway is not aware who we are, our conduct must certainly appear to be a trifle peculiar." He turned back to Tony. "If you would grant us the privilege of a few moments' private conversation I fancy we might come to a better understanding. It is possible that we are rather—how do you say—at cross purposes."
"I shouldn't wonder," replied Tony cheerfully. "Do you mind going out into the hall for a minute, Bugg? I am sorry to leave you out of it, but one must respect the wishes of one's guests."
It was the first occasion on which Bugg had ever received an order from Tony that he had hesitated over the immediate fulfilment.
"It ain't as I want to 'ear wot they says, sir," he explained apologetically. "It's leavin' you alone with the blighters I don't like."
"I shan't be alone, 'Tiger,'" said Tony. "I shall have this excellent little Mauser pistol to keep me company."
Bugg walked reluctantly to the door. "I'll only be just in the 'all if you want me," he observed. "You'll watch aht for any dirty work, won't ye, sir?"
"I shall," said Tony: "most intently."
He waited until the door had closed, and then seated himself on the corner of the table, with the Mauser dangling between his knees.
"Well, gentlemen?" he observed encouragingly.
"Sir Antony Conway," said the taller of the two. "Will you permit me to ask you a perfectly frank question? Are you aware of the identity of this young lady, in whose behalf you seem to have interested yourself?"
"Of course I am," said Tony.
"And may we take it that in coming as you thought to her assistance you acted from—" he paused—"from entirely private motives?" He waited for the answer with an eagerness that was plainly visible.
Tony nodded. "I never act from anything else," he remarked.
The tall man turned to his companion. "It is as I suggested, Colonel," he observed, with an air of quiet triumph.
The other still glared suspiciously at Tony. "Have a care," he muttered. "Who knows that he is speaking the truth."
The tall man made a gesture of impatience. "You do not understand the English nobility, Colonel." He turned back to Tony. "Permit us to introduce ourselves. This is Colonel Saltero of the Livadian army. My name is Congosta—Señor Eduardo Congosta. It is a name not unknown among Livadian Loyalists."
Tony bowed bravely to the pair of them. "I am delighted to meet you both," he said. "I can't profess any great admiration for your distinguished monarch, but perhaps I don't know his finer qualities."
"Our distinguished monarch," repeated the Colonel darkly. "Of whom do you speak, Sir Antony?"
Tony raised his eyebrows. "Why—Peter of course," he said. "Pedro, I should say. Have you more than one of them?"
Colonel Saltero, who was still upon his feet, scowled more savagely than ever. "That miserable impostor," he exclaimed. "I——"
"You misunderstand us, sir," put in the smoother voice of Señor Congosta. "The person you refer to has no legitimate claim to the throne of Livadia. Like all true Loyalists we are followers of his late Majesty King Francisco the First."
It was a startling announcement, but Tony's natural composure stood him in good stead.
"Really!" he said slowly. "How extremely interesting! I thought you had all been exterminated."
Señor Congosta smiled. "You will pardon my saying so, Sir Antony, but an accurate knowledge of Continental affairs is not one of your great nation's strong points." He paused. "Our party is more powerful now than at any time during the last fifteen years."
"But how about the government?" said Tony. "Surely they don't look on you any more affectionately than on Pedro and his little lot?"
"The government!" Señor Congosta repeated the words with the utmost scorn. "I will be frank with you, Sir Antony. The Republican government is doomed. Too long has that collection of traitors battened on my unfortunate country. It needs but one spark to kindle the flame, and—" With a sweep of his arm he indicated the painful and abrupt fate that was awaiting the President of Livadia and his advisers.
"I see," said Tony slowly. "Then your somewhat original method of calling is connected with State affairs?"
Señor Congosta spread out his hands. "There is no point in further concealment," he observed. "I think you will agree with me, Colonel Saltero, that we had better tell this gentleman the entire truth."
That Colonel grunted doubtfully, as though telling the entire truth were not a habit that he was accustomed to approve of, but the reply, such as it was, seemed good enough for his companion.
"For some time past," he said, "the Loyalists of Livadia have only been waiting their opportunity. The Republic is rotten—rotten to the core. It must soon fall like a bad fruit, and then—" he paused—"then will come the chance for which we are ready."
"And for which," added Tony, "the Marquis da Freitas is also eminently ready."
Congosta's eyes gleamed. "So!" he said softly. "You know him?"
"Not intimately," said Tony: "just well enough to know that he is likely to be around when the prizes are given out."
Congosta nodded his head. A malevolent expression had crept into his face that made him look almost as sinister as the Colonel.
"It is with Da Freitas," he said slowly, "that we have to settle. With Da Freitas and one other. Until a month ago everything had been arranged for. We knew that here in England the usurper was plotting and planning for his restoration. We knew that he had many friends in the army and navy—that any moment the revolution might break out. But we were prepared. The very moment trouble came we intended to strike—and strike hard."
He stopped.
"What were you going to do?" asked Tony with interest.
"We should have seized the Palace before Da Freitas' hirelings and traitors were ready, and proclaimed Francisco's daughter as the rightful heir to the throne."
There was another pause.
"It was a good idea," said Tony; "but I gather there has been a slight hitch somewhere."
"We were betrayed," said Congosta sullenly. "We made the mistake of trusting to a coward and a fool. It is the price that one always pays for such mistakes."
"Who was the gentleman?" asked Tony innocently.
"It was the King's brother-in-law—the Count de Sé. He was left guardian to the Princess Isabella under his late Majesty's will. All along he has pretended to work with us; and then, a month ago, he came secretly to England and betrayed the whole of our purpose to Da Freitas."
There was a sulphurous snort from Colonel Saltero, as though the mere mention of the incident were altogether too much for his feelings.
"We should be thankful," went on Congosta bitterly, "that the Princess is still alive. Da Freitas is not particular when his own interests are at stake. Had it suited him—" he made an expressive gesture with his hands. "As it is he seems to have thought the Count's plan equally effective—and perhaps healthier for himself. Why should not Pedro marry the Princess? Then when the revolution came there would only be one claimant to the throne of Livadia, and all our plans would be flung to the ground."
"It seems to me," said Tony thoughtfully, "that the Count de Sé is what we call a dirty dog in this country. All the same I don't quite see what he was driving at. Surely it would have suited his book better for Isabella to be queen in her own right."
"He was afraid," said Congosta scornfully. "He is a coward, and he was afraid there would be fighting, and perhaps failure. He has no heart for such things. It seemed to him better to live under the shelter of Da Freitas."
"He will not live long," growled the Colonel ominously.
"As soon as we learned what had happened," continued Congosta, "we had a council at Portriga, and it was decided that the Colonel and I should come to England. We have friends and agents here and it was not difficult to find out where the Count was living. I took a room at Richmond, and for a week I watched and waited in the hope of speaking with the Princess. I was convinced that she knew nothing of what was happening in Livadia—that she probably believed her father's friends were dead or powerless. The first day I discovered she was there, but as for speaking with her—" he shrugged his shoulders—"there was an old hag of a French woman who never left her—who watched her like a cat. Then at last came the evening when she left the house—alone. At first I was on my guard; I feared that Da Freitas might have learned I was in Richmond; that he was using this means to draw me into a trap. It was only when she got to the station and hid in the waiting-room that I began to suspect she was running away. I did not speak with her then; I did not wish to alarm her. I knew she was going to Waterloo, because I had listened when she asked for her ticket. So while I waited I sent off a telegram to Saltero to meet me there, and I too came up to London in the same train."
He paused again, half out of breath from the rapidity with which he had been speaking.
"I think I have a good working idea of the rest of the story," said Tony. He slipped off the table and stood up facing his two prisoners. "I owe you an apology," he added, "both of you. I am afraid that in our anxiety to assist the Princess, Bugg and I have been rather unnecessarily strenuous."
Congosta rose to his feet and bowed gravely. "Sir Antony Conway," he said. "You behaved as I should expect an English nobleman to behave under the circumstances. Neither Colonel Saltero nor myself bear you any ill will for the slight inconvenience we have suffered."
The Colonel, who seemed to be a man of less expansive habit, grunted again, but Tony did not allow this apparent lack of enthusiasm to damp the graciousness of Congosta's speech.
"Gentlemen," he said, "you have been frank with me, and I will be equally frank with you. When I came to the assistance of Princess Isabella, I had not the remotest notion who she was. I acted on the impulse of the moment, as I suppose any one else would have acted. Out of gratitude for this very slight service, the Princess was good enough to take me into her confidence. When I found that she was being forced into a marriage for which she had the strongest possible dislike, I naturally determined to put a stop to it. I have my own reasons for not regarding Pedro as a suitable husband for her, apart altogether from the fact that she hates the sight of him. If it will relieve your minds in any way I can assure you that she will be quite safe from him as long as she will do me the honour of accepting my assistance."
It was the Colonel's turn to answer. "That is well," he said. "We are obliged to you for what you have done, but the affair cannot remain so. We must speak with the Princess. She must be informed of the high destiny that awaits her."
"That is a point," said Tony politely, "on which I am not quite in agreement with you, Colonel. The Princess has placed herself under my guardianship and I should be neglecting my duty if I encouraged her to mix herself up with an attempted revolution. I consider it a very unhealthy profession for a girl of her age."
The Colonel glared at him. "Sir!" he stammered. "Do you dare to thrust yourself in between the throne of Livadia and its Divinely appointed occupant?"
"Oh, no," said Tony cheerfully; "I don't go as far as that. When you have managed to make the throne vacant, I shall be very pleased to advise the Princess to step into it. Until then she is much happier and safer in Hampstead."
"I am inclined to think that Sir Antony Conway may be right, Colonel," broke in the voice of Señor Congosta. "The Princess's welfare must be our first consideration. To take her to Livadia at present is out of the question, and I don't know any place where she would be safer from Da Freitas than in this house. We have had personal proof of the excellence of Sir Antony's arrangements. As for her being identified in any way with our plans—" he paused—"well, the Republican government has been recognized by England, and it would be madness on our part to give them any avoidable cause for complaint."
There was still a doubtful frown upon the Colonel's brow.
"I do not approve of the situation," he said stiffly. "It is not fitting that the future Queen of Livadia should be living in this house—unchaperoned and unprotected."
With a solemn face Tony drew himself up to his full height.
"Sir!" he said. "You forget that you are addressing a member of the English nobility."
The magnificence of the retort seemed to have a temporarily paralysing effect upon the Colonel, and before he could recover Señor Congosta, who was evidently the directing brain of the two, had taken the matter into his own hands.
"It is well spoken," he said with another low bow. "Sir Antony Conway—on behalf of my country, permit me to express the confidence and gratitude with which we accept your assistance."
Guy sat in his chair, and for a moment surveyed the admirably kept garden of Goodman's Rest with a thoughtful frown. Then his gaze travelled back to Tony and Isabel.
"We are in an extraordinary situation," he observed slowly.
It was just at half-past ten in the morning, and they were all of them sitting on the lawn at the back of the house, in a pleasant blaze of spring sunshine which streamed down out of a cloudless blue sky. Tony, who was smoking a cigar, had just finished giving his cousin a full and spirited description of his interview with Congosta and Saltero, for by the time he had returned to the house on the previous evening, Guy, who had been suffering from a slight headache, had already gone to bed.
"I don't see anything so very extraordinary about it," said Tony placidly. "Everybody seems to me to be behaving in a most natural and reasonable manner. In fact I am just a bit disappointed. I always thought that people who went in for revolutions and that kind of thing were much more mysterious and exciting."
"Well, I don't know what you want!" retorted Guy. "You appear to have got both the Royalists and the Franciscans on your track, and as far as sticking at trifles goes, I shouldn't imagine there was much to choose between any of the parties in Livadia."
"You must remember that you are speaking of Isabel's native land," protested Tony reprovingly.
"Oh, he can say what he likes about Livadia," said Isabel. "It's all true."
"And anyhow," went on Guy, "if we mean to get out of this business safely and successfully we must look at things exactly as they are and not as they ought to be. As far as I can see the whole affair is more like a cheap melodrama than anything else, but that doesn't mean there isn't a very real danger for people who choose to mix themselves up in it." He paused. "What was your final understanding with these—these people?"
"Oh, we parted the best of friends," said Tony cheerfully. "At least Congosta and I did. The Colonel was a little bit stuffy at not being allowed to see Isabel, but I put that down to his military training. A good soldier never likes to be baulked in his object."
"Yes, yes; but what are they going to do?" persisted Guy. "You must have come to some sort of an arrangement."
"We came to a very good arrangement," said Tony. "I am to continue looking after Isabel and keeping her away from the fascinations of Peter, while they go on with the job of getting the throne ready for her. The Colonel is on his way back to Livadia already."
"And what about the other man—Congosta?"
"Congosta is staying on in England for the present. I have got his address at Richmond. He says it's necessary that someone should be here in order to keep an eye on Peter and Da Freitas. I don't suppose he altogether trusts me either."
"I daresay he doesn't," observed Guy drily.
"He probably agreed to the arrangement because he hadn't any immediate choice in the matter. I shouldn't imagine that we could depend on him in the least."
"I don't know," said Tony. "He seems to have a great faith in the virtue and nobility of the English aristocracy. I think he must be a reader of Charles Garvice."
"Have you made any plans yourself?" asked Guy.
Tony took a thoughtful pull at his cigar. "Well, I have got one or two ideas that I was talking over with Isabel last night. In the first place I think I shall tell Aunt Fanny all about it. It's just the sort of thing that would appeal to her thoroughly; and then she would be an excellent chaperone if we happened to want one."
Guy pondered over the suggestion for a moment. "I think you are right," he admitted half reluctantly. "We certainly ought to have someone for—for Isabel's sake," (it was the first time he had dropped the more formal Miss Francis) "and I suppose Aunt Fanny is the only possible person. All the same the fewer people who know anything about it the better."
"I don't propose to tell any one else," said Tony, "except Molly. Oh, it's all right," he added, as Guy directed an embarrassed glance towards their companion; "I told Isabel all about Molly last night. She has survived the shock splendidly."
"I am not a child, Cousin Guy," said Isabel with dignity.
"But is it necessary to bring this—this young woman in?" objected Guy.
"Of course it is," said Tony, "and I wish you wouldn't refer to her in that dreadful way. It sounds as if she wore black cotton gloves. Molly's our Chief Intelligence Department. It's only through her that we can get any idea of what's going on at Richmond, and apart from that she is the best friend we could possibly have. She regards Peter as her private property—a poor thing, but her own—and she doesn't mean to lose him without a good scrap. She's got grit and nerve, Molly has; otherwise she wouldn't be playing lead at the Gaiety."
"Very well," said Guy resignedly. "I suppose that if one goes in for this sort of thing one must get help where one can. When do you propose to see her?"
"Now," said Tony; "if she's out of bed. I am going to motor down there right away." He got up from his chair. "You will be careful while I am away, won't you, Isabel?" he added. "Bugg is on duty all right, but I think it would be safer for you to stop in the garden unless you want to go back to the house. One doesn't know what Da Freitas may be up to."
"Isabel will be quite safe," said Guy with some spirit. "I will remain with her myself if she will allow me to."
"That will be very nice," said Isabel graciously.
Tony tossed away the stump of his cigar. "I believe that Guy will end by being the most reckless adventurer of the lot of us," he said gravely. "It's generally the way when people take up a fresh hobby late in life."
Isabel gave one of her little rippling laughs, and before Guy could think of an adequate retort, Tony had sauntered off up the path in the direction of the garage.
Amongst the hobbies of Miss Molly Monk that of early rising—as Tony knew—occupied a comparatively modest place, and he was accordingly not surprised on reaching her flat to learn from Claudine, the French maid, that her mistress was still in bed.
"Is she awake?" he inquired.
"Mais oui, M'sieur," replied Claudine. "She 'ave 'er morning chocolate. I just take it in to 'er."
"Well, will you go and give her my love," said Tony, "and tell her I should like to see her as soon as it could be happily managed."
Claudine conducted Tony to the little drawing-room, and then tripped demurely away down the passage to deliver her message. She was not absent for long, as thirty seconds could hardly have elapsed before she re-entered the apartment.
"If M'sieur will follow me," she announced. "Madem'selle will receive him."
She led the way to Molly's bedroom, and pushing open the door which was already ajar, ushered Tony into a charming atmosphere of cream walls, apple green hangings, and a huge brass bedstead.
In the bedstead was Molly. She was sitting up against a little mountain of white pillows, with a Japanese kimona thrown lightly round her gossamer nightdress, and her red hair streaming loose over her shoulders. She was sipping chocolate, and looked very cool and attractive.
"Hello, Tony," she said. "I hope you don't mind being received in this shameless fashion. It's your own fault you know for coming so early."
She extended a slim white hand and wrist, and Tony having implanted a kiss on the latter, seated himself comfortably on the end of the bed.
"I am not seriously annoyed, Molly," he replied. "I find that my naturally Calvinistic principles are becoming broader as I get older." He looked at her with an approving glance. "Besides," he went on, "at one time it was all the fashion to receive distinguished visitors in bed. Madame du Barry—a very highly connected French lady—made a hobby of it."
"Did she—the saucy puss!" said Molly. She pushed across a tortoise shell cigarette case that was lying on the silk coverlet in front of her. "You can light up if you like," she added. "I am going to have one myself in a minute."
Tony took advantage of her permission, and leaning back against the brass rail blew out a little spiral of grey smoke.
"I came at this indelicate hour," he observed, "because I promised I would look round directly I had anything to tell you."
Molly sat up in bed. "Oh," she exclaimed eagerly, "have you heard from that friend of yours—the one in Portriga?"
Tony shook his head. "Not yet; there hasn't been time." He paused. "I don't know that it's altogether necessary to go to Portriga for news though. One seems to be able to pick up a certain amount of Livadian gossip in London."
Molly put down her cup of chocolate on the tray beside her. "Tony," she said, "what have you heard?"
"It's a long and poignant story," said Tony. "Are you in any hurry to get up?"
"Do I look like it?" She reached across the bed for the cigarette case. "Wait a moment till I've got a light; then I shan't interrupt you."
She struck a match, and drawing in a mouthful of smoke, leaned back against the pillows.
"That's better," she observed contentedly. "Now fire ahead."
The art of telling a long story well is a regrettably rare one, especially amongst people who are chiefly addicted to the habit. Tony, however, undoubtedly possessed it to a certain extent, and in the present case he enjoyed the additional advantage of having already practised upon Guy. Starting from his meeting with Isabel in Long Acre, he recounted in that pleasantly unhurried fashion of his the whole of the spirited events which had led up to his present visit. He concealed nothing—not even his deception of Isabel in connection with the pawning of her brooch, for if Molly was to be accepted as an active ally, it was obviously necessary that there should be no half measures about the matter. Besides, Tony, who preferred his own judgment to any one else's, considered Molly to be one of the most trustworthy people he had ever met.
She was at all events an irreproachable listener. Lying back against the pillows, her hands clasped behind her head, she followed his narrative with an absorbed interest that showed itself plainly in her eyes. She made no attempt to interrupt him or to ask questions—indeed with the exception of occasionally knocking off the ash of her cigarette into the breakfast tray, she remained as motionless and silent as a Kirchner picture.
"And that," observed Tony in conclusion, "is as far as we've got to at present. At least it's all I know for certain. Of course I may get back to find that Guy and Isabel have been murdered in the garden." He rose from the bed, and crossing to the fireplace tossed away the stump of his cigarette, which he had allowed to go out. "Well, what do you say, Molly?" he added cheerfully. "Are you prepared to come in with us, and do your bit in saving Peter from bigamy?"
Molly sat up in bed, her blue eyes gleaming with a brisk and businesslike determination.
"I should think I was," she observed crisply. "If any one imagines I've taken all the trouble of training and educating Peter for nothing, they're making a fat mistake." She shook back her hair with a resolute gesture that spoke volumes for her sincerity. "Tony," she said, "you're a brick. I really don't know how to thank you."
"There's nothing to thank me for," said Tony. "I have taken up the case in the interests of European morals. I don't approve of a young man marrying, when he already has a wife in the sight of Heaven."
"Not only in the sight of Heaven," returned Molly with spirit. "In the sight of the Registrar of Chelmsford as well."
There was a brief pause. "Good Lord!" said Tony slowly. "Is that a fact?"
Molly half jumped up in bed, and then sitting down again, pulled up the counterpane.
"I can't get out," she said, "this nightdress isn't respectable. Just go to the dressing-table, Tony—there's a dear—and open that top drawer on the right. You'll find a jewel-case inside—a brown one."
Tony did as he was commanded, and took out a small Russia leather box, with Molly's initials in gold stamped upon the lid.
"Here you are," she said, holding out her hand. "Now give me that little bunch of keys by the brush."
She opened the box, and rummaging inside extracted a slip of paper, which she unfolded and glanced through before handing it to Tony.
"How about that?" she inquired with a sort of dispassionate triumph.
Tony took the document, and sitting down again on the foot of the bed, spread it out in front of him. It was the ordinary registrar's form of marriage certificate, dated at Chelmsford six months previously, and it set out in the restrained but convincing style adopted by such authors, that on the date in question Mary Monk, daughter of John Monk, game-keeper, and Pedro da Talles, son of Pedro da Talles, gentleman, had seen fit to enter into the bonds of Holy Matrimony.
Tony read it through with an interest that he seldom devoted to current literature, and then looked up with an expression of deep admiration.
"You're a wonderful person, Molly," he said.
She shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, I'm not under any mistaken ideas about its value," she replied coolly. "I know it wouldn't cut any ice in Livadia—and I expect it's about equally useless here. You see in the first place Pedro isn't allowed to marry any one except a Royalty, and then of course this paper's all out of order. You see we had to keep it dark who Peter really was, or of course the news would have been all over the shop. Fortunately no ordinary person in England knows his family name, so there wasn't much chance of anybody spotting the entry. The only thing was we couldn't describe his father as a king—that would have busted the show hopelessly—so we had to put him down as a gentleman. I expect that's enough to make it illegal by itself."
"I should think so," said Tony. "It's certainly a very misleading description, judging by popular rumour." He paused. "What made you do it, Molly, and how did you manage to bring it off?"
"Oh, it was easy enough," replied Molly a little contemptuously. "I believe I could make Peter do almost anything. He's frightfully fond of me in his way." She leaned forward and picked up the paper. "I don't really know why I bothered about it," she added thoughtfully. "I think it was partly just to show myself I could, and partly—" she stopped and laughed—"well, Granddad used to be a churchwarden at Helbeck, you know, and right underneath everything I think I've got some secret strain of lower middle-class respectability."
"I am glad it hasn't hampered your taste in nightdresses," said Tony. "That would have been a tragedy." He helped himself to another cigarette. "Well, you're going to come in with us and battle for your rights, then?" he added.
"Every time," observed Molly with decision.
"I know where I am now, and that will make all the difference. Up till to-day I have sort of been fighting in the dark."
"Have you seen Peter again?" inquired Tony.
Molly nodded. "He was here yesterday. He wouldn't tell me anything, but I could see he was nearly worried out of his life. I don't believe it's entirely about this girl—I am sure from the way he spoke that things are coming to a head out in Livadia."
"I expect they are," said Tony. "You can't work up a revolution and then postpone it like a mothers' meeting. Isabel's disappearance must have made Da Freitas as mad as a wet hen. It's come just at the wrong moment."
"Is this girl really so like me?" asked Molly.
"Wonderfully," said Tony; "considering how rare beauty is. She has got brown eyes instead of blue, but any one who was short-sighted or a little intoxicated might easily mistake her for you. Probably that's why Peter wanted to kiss her that night after dinner."
Molly looked a little sceptical. "Peter will kiss anybody," she said, "especially when he's had a drink or two." She paused. "Still, I don't think I like her being quite so like me," she added thoughtfully.
"It can't be helped," said Tony. "I expect Heaven had some of the material left over, and didn't want to waste it."
"Oh, I'm not worrying really," replied Molly.
"I've become a sort of habit to Peter. He would be absolutely lost without me now. He said as much himself yesterday, and he's not given to making pretty speeches. You see I'm the only girl he has ever known who was really fond of him for his own sake. All the rest have been absolute rotters."
"He doesn't deserve his luck," said Tony severely. "It's incredible that any one could be so stupid as to prefer sitting on a throne in Livadia to stopping in London and making love to you."
"Oh, it's not his fault," protested Molly. "It's all that old pig Da Freitas. Peter knows perfectly well he is not fit to be a king. I have told him so again and again, and in his heart he absolutely agrees with me. He always makes a mess of things if I'm not there to look after him."
Tony got up from the bed. "It's really a work of pure benevolence that we're engaged on," he observed. "We might almost christen ourselves the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Peter, and appeal for a public subscription." He picked up his hat off the chair. "Well anyhow, Molly," he added, "from to-day we shall consider you one of us, and keep you posted up in everything that goes on."
"Right-oh," replied Molly cheerfully, "and the same here. I am quite sure that if Peter is going to do anything very desperate he'll let me know about it in spite of Da Freitas. Anyhow, it won't be my fault if he doesn't."
"I don't suppose it will," said Tony.
He bent down and implanted a kiss just under her chin, which Molly considerately elevated for the purpose, and then, after having bestowed half a sovereign upon Claudine who glided out into the hall to open the front door for him, he clambered back into his car and set off on the return journey.
Having arrived home he drove up to the garage, and leaving the car in the care of Jennings, walked down the path on to the lawn where he had left Guy and Isabel. The chairs they had been sitting on were still there, but there was no sign of their late occupants. Thinking that perhaps another botany lesson was in progress, Tony strolled on round the garden, but except for a white whiskered gentleman who was doing something mysterious with a spade, the place seemed to be deserted. He returned to the house, and entering the morning-room by the open French window rang the bell for Spalding.
"They have gone across to number sixteen, Sir Antony," replied the latter in answer to his inquiry. "Miss Francis wished to return before lunch, and Mr. Guy told me to inform you that he and Bugg had walked across with her. They will be back by one o'clock."
There was a pause.
"I suppose you heard about our little entertainment there yesterday?" said Tony.
Spalding inclined his head. "Mrs. Spalding informed me of the facts, sir. They appear to have made a considerable impression upon her."
"Mrs. Spalding was magnificent," said Tony. "It's quite impossible to frighten her."
"Quite, sir," agreed Spalding. "I have observed that myself, sir."
"I hope you don't object, Spalding," said Tony. "I don't think we did any harm to your property."
"That's perfectly all right, sir," replied the butler. "I trust that you will consider yourself quite at home there. The house is fully insured."
"Thank you, Spalding," said Tony. "You are always very obliging."
Spalding acknowledged the compliment with another grave bow, and picking up the current copy of theAuto Car, which contained a description of the last Brooklands meeting, Tony sauntered out again on to the lawn.
Here he established himself comfortably in a basket-chair, and after lighting a pipe, opened the paper at the article in question. It was enriched with several complimentary references to himself and his driving, and Tony, who liked to hear agreeable sentiments expressed about any one that he was fond of, read it through with appreciative interest. He had just finished, and was lying back in the sunshine in a pleasant state of contentment with the Universe, when the French window opened and Spalding came down on to the lawn, carrying a small silver salver, containing a couple of visiting cards. He advanced to where Tony was sitting.
"Two gentlemen have called, sir, and would like to see you."
Tony took out his pipe and shook off the ash on to the grass.
"What are their names, Spalding?" he inquired.
The butler glanced at the cards as if to refresh his memory.
"They are two foreign gentlemen, Sir Antony. The Marquis da Freitas, and the Count de Sé."
There was a moment's pause, and then in a leisurely fashion Tony knocked the remaining tobacco out of his pipe, and put it away in his pocket.
"How jolly!" he observed. "What have you done with them?"
"I have shown them into the library, Sir Antony."
Tony got up from his chair and pulled down his coat.
"Do I look respectable, Spalding?" he asked. "I shouldn't like to receive such distinguished visitors with any suggestion of slovenliness."
Spalding inspected him carefully, and then stepping forward removed a small piece of white thread from the knee of his trousers.
"There is nothing the matter now, Sir Antony," he replied.
Tony walked leisurely up the steps into the house, and crossing the morning-room and the hall, opened the door of the library.
Da Freitas and the Count, both irreproachably dressed in frock coats, were standing on the hearth-rug.
"Hulloa, Marquis!" observed Tony. "This is awfully nice of you to come and look me up. A sort of burying of the pugilistic hatchet, eh?"
With an affable bow the Marquis accepted his proffered hand.
"It is my hope that we shall always be good friends," he replied in that smooth purring voice of his. Then indicating his companion, he added: "May I have the honour of presenting you to the Count de Sé?"
Tony shook hands in turn with the Count, who in contrast with the urbane Da Freitas appeared nervous and ill at ease.
"How do you do?" said Tony. "I suppose it's my imagination, but d'you know I can't help feeling I have seen you before somewhere."
For a moment the Count seemed at a loss how to reply, and before he could recover himself the Marquis da Freitas had taken up the gauntlet.
"You are right, Sir Antony. You made the Count's acquaintance in Richmond Park the day before yesterday. It is that meeting to a certain extent which is responsible for our visit."
With an air of pleased remembrance, Tony turned back to Isabel's guardian.
"Why, of course," he exclaimed. "How stupid of me! I say, I hope you didn't hurt yourself when you fell off the car?"
The Count drew himself up. "It is through a miracle that I was not killed," he replied with some stiffness.
Tony nodded sympathetically. "I know," he said. "That's the danger of a clay soil. It gets so hard in hot weather."
A sudden tinge of colour appeared in the Count's parchment-like face, and once again the soothing tones of Da Freitas broke in upon the conversation.
"I expect," he said suavely, "that we have all been more or less under a misunderstanding. I am quite sure that when matters are explained this little Comedy of Errors will settle itself."
"I shouldn't wonder," said Tony. "But won't you both sit down and have a cigar? There's no reason we shouldn't be comfortable while we are talking."
He took a box off the mantelpiece and held it out in turn to his two guests. Da Freitas helped himself, and after a second's hesitation the Count followed suit, as though the tempting appearance of the cabanas that it contained had proved too strong for his contemplated refusal.
It was Da Freitas who reopened the conversation. Having seated himself on the broad leather-covered couch against the wall, he took an appreciative pull at his cigar, and then removed it carefully from between his thick lips.
"I suppose," he said, "that you are aware who the young lady is that you have apparently been good-natured enough to assist?"
It was the identical question that Congosta had opened with, and Tony answered it in much the same fashion.
"Why, of course," he said. "When I make new friends I am always most careful about their antecedents."
The Marquis looked up at him sharply, but Tony's face remained absolutely expressionless.
"As you may imagine," continued the former, "it was a cause of infinite relief to the Count and myself to learn that her foolish escapade had had no more serious consequences." He paused. "We should be interested to learn how and under what circumstances you became acquainted."
"We were introduced by a mutual acquaintance in Long Acre," said Tony.
The Marquis raised his eyebrows. "Ah, indeed!" he replied courteously. "I had no idea that Isabella had any acquaintances in London. That was one thing that made us so extremely anxious about her."
He paused again as though giving Tony an opportunity to be a little more communicative—a thoughtful attention which the latter appeared to overlook.
"I suppose," he continued with a good-natured laugh, "that the dear foolish child has been telling you of the terrible tragedies of a high destiny. She is incredibly romantic as you have doubtless seen. It's a charming weakness in a young girl, but"—he shrugged his shoulders—"well, sometimes we poor elders are forced to appear unsympathetic in order to be kind."