Spalding drew back the curtains with that slightly sacerdotal gravity that distinguished all his professional actions, and then turned towards Tony.
"Mr. Oliver asked me to inform you, sir, that he will not be having breakfast with you. He has to leave the house early on business."
Tony arranged himself more comfortably amongst the pillows. "In that case, Spalding," he said, "I think I shall break my good resolutions, and have a cup of tea up here. I can't face theTimesand a poached egg single-handed."
"Very good, sir," observed Spalding, and retiring deftly to the lower regions, he returned in a few minutes with a tray containing the desired refreshment, a couple of letters, and a copy of theSportsman.
Tony took a sip of the tea, lighted himself a cigarette from the big silver box beside his bed, and then proceeded to investigate his correspondence.
The first letter was of a philanthropic character. It was from a gentleman named Douglas Gordon, apparently of Scottish extraction, offering to lend him any sum from £1,000 to £50,000 on his note of hand alone. Laying it one side he picked up the other, which was addressed in a solid, straightforward handwriting that he recognized immediately as that of his skipper—Captain Simmons of theBetty. Having as yet had no communication from the yacht, except for a wire in reply to his, Tony opened it with some interest.
It ran as follows:
May 7th,S. Y.Betty,SOUTHAMPTON.
DEAR SIR ANTONY CONWAY:
On receipt of your telegram I sent off a reply informing you that we could be ready for sea any day after Thursday next. I trust this duly came to hand, and that it will not be inconvenient to you to wait until the date in question. Not expecting that you would be needing theBettyfor some weeks I had given instructions for one or two small jobs to be done in the engine-room, and the same were in hand at the time of writing.
In connection with this something rather curious has happened, which I feel it my duty to bring to your notice. Two days ago a gentleman came on board and asked to see me. He informed me that his name was Hemmingway, and that he was a friend of yours. He presented one of your cards with instructions written across it, apparently in your handwriting, that he was to be allowed to look over the yacht.
I showed him round, but in the middle of this I was called away to speak with the harbour-master with reference to our moorings. While I was engaged he continued his inspection of the vessel, visiting the engine-room, which at that time was unoccupied. One of the crew saw him go in, but knowing that I had been showing him over the ship, didn't attach any importance to the matter.
Later on, after he had gone ashore, Mr. McEwen discovered, almost by chance, that an attempt had apparently been made to tamper with the engines. Without going into details I may say that if they had been started as they were, the damage would probably have been bad enough to keep us in port for at least an extra week.
I have gone fully into the matter, and it seems impossible that any one else could have been responsible except this gentleman. I thought therefore you ought to hear about it.
I can only suppose that knowing nothing of marine engines he was under the impression that he was performing some sort of a practical joke. If so, and you will excuse my saying so, it seems to me to have been an uncommon stupid and dangerous one. I don't suppose he realizes what would have happened to him if Mr. McEwen or the second engineer had happened to catch him in the act. I fancy he wouldn't have wanted to be funny with any more engines—not this side of the grave.
Everything is now ready for sea, or will be by the date I gave you. The necessary stores are coming on board, and some extra cases have arrived from Harrod's and Fortnum and Mason's, which I suppose you have ordered yourself in London.
Hoping that you are keeping well, and with my respectful regards to yourself and Mr. Oliver,
I have the honour to remain,Yours truly,JOHN SIMMONS.
Tony laid down the letter on the bed, took a thoughtful pull or two at his cigarette, and then, reaching up, pressed the electric bell, which was answered almost immediately by Spalding.
"Has Mr. Oliver gone out yet?" he inquired.
"He left the house a minute or two ago, Sir Antony. I could perhaps overtake him if you wished it."
Tony shook his head. "You had better not try, Spalding," he said. "You might drop dead from heart disease, and that would be very inconvenient."
"Quite so, sir," assented Spalding gravely.
"You can turn on my bath instead," observed Tony. "I have to go to Southampton." He threw back the bed-clothes and prepared to get out. "You might tell Bugg and Jennings that I shall want to see them as soon as I am dressed," he added.
Gathering up the tray, Spalding departed on his errand, and in a surprisingly short time for him Tony had completed his toilet, and was descending the staircase. As he reached the hall the door at the back opened, and Bugg appeared on the threshold. He came forward in that noiseless fashion which had won him his famous soubriquet.
"Mornin', Sir Ant'ny. Mr. Spalding says as you wanted to see me."
"That's right, Bugg," said Tony. "Are you a good sailor?"
"I dunno, sir," observed "Tiger" simply. "I ain't never tried—'cept once at the Welsh 'Arp."
"I am told that it can be very rough there at times," said Tony. He paused, and looked thoughtfully at his devoted henchman. "How would you like to come to South America on theBetty?" he inquired.
Bugg's blue eyes lit up. "Not 'arf, sir."
"Do you know where it is?"
Bugg nodded. "Yes, sir. Where they gets the cocoanuts."
"That's right," said Tony. "Well, we are going next week, at least I hope so. Just four of us. Lady Jocelyn, Miss Francis, Mr. Oliver and myself. There's plenty of room on board for you. Bring a set of gloves, and we can have some sparring on the way over. It's just possible we might be able to fix up a match in Buenos Ayres and pay the expenses of the trip. I believe there are some very rash people there, and they seem to have plenty of money."
Bugg went off, beaming with satisfaction, and leaving the house, Tony made his way up to the garage, where he found Jennings surrounded by various portions of the Hispano's interior. It was an exceptional morning when Jennings did not partially dismantle one or other of his charges.
"It had better be the Rolls, sir," he observed gloomily, on learning that Tony desired to go to Southampton. "Both the others are pulling something sickening. D'you want me to come too, sir?"
"I think it would cheer me up," said Tony. "Besides, wouldn't you like to see the yacht?"
"Just as you please, sir," observed Jennings indifferently. "I don't take much stock in boats meself. The dry land's good enough for me."
Tony seated himself on the running-board of the Peugot, which was also outside in the yard. "You have a happy and contented temperament, Jennings," he observed. "I often envy you."
Not receiving any reply to this compliment, he leaned back against the door of the car, and lighting another cigarette watched Jennings gathering up the fragments of the Hispano with that cold stoicism of one unjustly afflicted by the Fates. He had been enjoying this pleasant spectacle for several minutes, when a sudden sound of footsteps attracted his attention. A moment later Spalding emerged into sight round the corner of the bushes and advanced to where he was sitting.
"A gentleman has called, Sir Antony, and wishes to see you immediately. I told him that I would ascertain whether you were at home."
"That was very tactful of you, Spalding," said Tony. "Who is it?"
"Another foreign gentleman, sir. A Mr. Congosta."
Tony got up at once. "Oh, yes," he said, "I will see him certainly. Where is he?"
"Not knowing the gentleman, Sir Antony, I thought it best to leave him in the hall."
Tony nodded his approval. "We'll be off as soon as you are ready, Jennings," he said. "I may stay the night, so you had better bring your things with you."
Then, accompanied by Spalding, he made his way back down the drive, and re-entered the front door outside which an empty taxi was ticking away with remorseless energy.
Señor Congosta, who was seated in one of the big leather chairs scattered about the hall, rose up at their entrance. He bowed to Tony, who at once came forward and greeted him with a hearty handshake, while Spalding withdrew discreetly through the door at the back.
"I have been expecting to see or hear from you," said Tony in his friendliest manner. "I have all sorts of interesting things to talk to you about."
Congosta cast a rapid glance round the hall, as if to make certain that they were alone.
"Her Royal Highness?" he demanded quickly. "She is safe?"
"Safe as a church," replied Tony. "At least she was when I rang her up last night."
"But she is not with you. She has gone from where she was living?"
"That's right," said Tony reassuringly. "Da Freitas found out the address, so I thought a change of air would be beneficial. She is staying with some friends of mine in Chester Square. They are taking excellent care of her."
A look of relief flashed into the Livadian's face.
"It is well," he said, nodding his head. "I knew that we might trust you."
Tony pulled up a chair. "Sit down," he said, "and let's hear your side of the story. I have been dying to know what's going on behind the scenes."
Congosta glanced swiftly at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Many things have happened," he replied, "but there is not much time for telling them. In a few minutes I must leave you again."
"Well, one can tell quite a lot in a few minutes if one talks quickly," remarked Tony hopefully.
Congosta lowered his voice to a whisper. "The hour has struck," he said. "Even now, while we stand here, the streets of Portriga may be running in blood."
"By Jove!" said Tony with interest. "Whose blood?"
Congosta raised his hands in an expressive gesture. "There will be much fighting. All over Livadia men will die for one cause or the other. It will be the greatest civil war in the history of my unhappy country."
"That's saying something too, isn't it?" observed Tony. He paused to offer his guest a cigar. "How do you know all this?" he asked. "Have you heard from Colonel Saltero?"
"Every day I have news," replied Congosta a little proudly. "We have friends in many places—in the post-office, among the frontier guards, everywhere! It is easy to send a cable of which the government knows nothing."
"Well, what has happened—exactly?" demanded Tony.
Congosta took a long breath. "Da Freitas has given the signal. For three days his followers have been making ready. All through the North they have been arming themselves and collecting together in the principal towns. It is the same with our people in the South."
"But how about the Republican government?" inquired Tony. "Haven't they anything to say to these happy gatherings?"
"They have said what they could," replied Congosta grimly. "Half a dozen of Da Freitas' agents have been seized and shot in Portriga, and yesterday they arrested General Carmel da Silva, our chief supporter and the richest man in Livadia. It was with his money that we were making our preparations."
"That's a nasty knock," said Tony sympathetically. "What are you going to do about it?"
"There is nothing to do," admitted Congosta with a fatalistic shrug. "Fortunately we have a fair supply of arms and ammunition—for the rest we must manage as best we can. In a few days there will be many rifles without owners in Livadia."
"And how about Pedro and Da Freitas?" demanded Tony. "Are they joining in the fun or are they going to sit tight at Richmond and see what happens?"
Again Congosta glanced at the clock. "It is because I want the answer to that question that I must leave you. Two days ago Da Freitas bought or hired Lord Northfield's steam yacht, theVivid. She is lying off the Tower Bridge now, and so far as I know she is ready to sail at any moment. One of my men is watching her, but I dare not trust wholly anybody but myself. It is necessary that our people should be informed the very moment that Da Freitas leaves England."
"Then you think he is going?" said Tony. "You think he has given up the idea of getting back the Princess?"
Congosta indulged in another shrug of the shoulders. "I cannot tell. It may be that the revolution has come against his will—that he is unable to control it longer. Even in that case I do not think he will easily give up his idea of the marriage. It is one thing to overthrow a government: it is another to take its place. It's only as the husband of Don Francisco's daughter that Southern Livadia could ever be persuaded to acknowledge Pedro." He paused. "You are quite sure that you were not followed when you took the Princess away?"
"I am never quite sure of anything," said Tony, "especially with people who purr and smile like Da Freitas does. All the same I think we managed to dodge them. I took her a twenty-mile run in the car first, and she has not been outside the house since she got to Chester Square."
"You have done well," observed Congosta with a kind of stately approval. "Should our hopes be fulfilled your name will be honoured for ever in Livadian history."
"That will be jolly," said Tony; and then, as Congosta gathered up his hat from the table, he added casually: "You will let me know at once, I suppose, if there should be any news. I may possibly be out of town to-night, but I shall be back in good time to-morrow. My cousin, Guy Oliver, will be here in any case. You can speak to him as freely as you would to me."
Congosta nodded; and after shaking hands again warmly in the doorway, entered the taxi, which disappeared rapidly down the drive.
For a moment or two after his visitor had departed Tony remained wrapped in meditation. Then crossing the hall he pressed the electric bell for Spalding.
"I am going to Southampton as soon as Jennings is agreeable," he said. "You might put some pyjamas in a bag for me and shove them in the car."
Spalding departed on his errand, and walking thoughtfully to the telephone, Tony asked the girl at the Exchange for Lady Jocelyn's number. After waiting for several minutes, he was informed by a contemptuous voice that it was engaged, and hanging up the receiver he sat down at an old oak writing-table which filled up one of the bay windows. Then, selecting a piece of paper and a pencil, he wrote the following note to Guy.
MY DEAR GUY:
I wish you wouldn't get up at such ridiculous hours. It's a very unhealthy habit, and apart from that you brush all the dew off the lawn, and leave me without any one to ask advice from. I wanted your advice this morning badly.
In the first place when I woke up, I got the enclosed letter from Captain Simmons. I don't know how it strikes you, but it looks fishy to me—very fishy. I have never heard of any one called Hemmingway, and I have no recollection of writing such instructions on one of my cards. Of course I might have done it when I was slightly intoxicated, but then I haven't been even slightly intoxicated for quite a long time. There are one or two pleasant fools among my friends, but no one I can think of who would be quite such an idiot as to try and break up the engines of theBetty.
The alternative is what you might call an ugly one—Da Freitas! It hardly seems possible, especially in view of my other news which I am going to tell you in a moment, and yet who the devil else could it be? If he has really dropped on to our notion of taking Isabel away, it's a serious business—so serious that I am going to motor down to Southampton straight away and find out all I can. Of course it isn't the least likely that Da Freitas would have shown up in the business himself, but I might get some useful information out of Simmons, and anyway I can at least make certain that everything will be all right for us on Thursday.
My other news comes from Congosta. In spite of all the bitter and unkind things you have said about him, he turned up here faithfully this morning to report progress. It was some report too. According to him the whole of Livadia by this time ought to be up to its ankles in gore. Things began to move two days ago, and although there has been nothing in the English papers yet, the odds are that the entire crowd of them—Royalists, Franciscans, and Republicans—are now pleasantly and usefully occupied in slitting each other's throats.
Of course I asked him at once about Pedro and Da Freitas. They haven't left England yet, but it seems that they have bought Lord Northfield's steam yacht, theVivid—and a beauty she is too—and that she is lying in the Thames ready to push off at a moment's notice.
I admit that this doesn't look as if they could have had anything to do with theBettyaffair, and yet it would a devilish odd coincidence if anyone had tried such a trick. Besides, who on earth would try it? Everybody loves me—apart from Da Freitas and Jennings.
I have told Congosta as much as I thought was good for him. He knows that Isabel is now in Chester Square with some friends of mine, though I haven't given him the actual number. He seemed so pleased and contented I thought it was a pity to drag in anything about our South American idea in case he didn't approve of it. Also of course I haven't said a word to him about Molly. I mention this because if anything exciting happens while I am away, I have told him to roll up and inform you.
Jennings has just appeared outside with the car, and is scowling at me so horribly through the window that I can't write any more. You might, however, ring up Aunt Fanny and Isabel as soon as you come in and give them my love, and let them know what's happened. I tried to get on to them just now, but the girl at the telephone laughed me to scorn.
Your neglected and overworked cousin,
TONY.
Having fastened this up, with Captain Simmons' letter enclosed, Tony handed it to Spalding with instructions that he was to give it to Guy as soon as the latter came in. Then getting into his coat, he sauntered out through the porch and took his place at the wheel of the car, Jennings settling himself sombrely in the seat alongside.
The exact length of the journey from London to Southampton is stated by theMotor Guideto be seventy-four and a half miles. This, however, must be due to an error of measurement on the part of the editor, since with an hour for lunch at Basingstoke, Tony covered the distance in three hours and fifty-two minutes, a feat which is clearly impossible in view of the present speed limit of twenty miles an hour.
He pulled up at that excellent hotel, the Victoria, where he engaged a couple of rooms for the night, and with the aid of a hot bath and a large whisky and soda, removed such portions of the roadway as had accumulated outside and inside his person. Then, leaving Jennings to perform a similar service to the car, he lighted a cigar and started off through the town in the direction of the Docks.
TheBettywas lying out in the Roads, some little distance from the shore. With her graceful lines, her snowy white paint, and her gleaming brass-work, she presented as charming a picture as the eye of an owner could desire to gaze upon. Tony contemplated her with pride for a moment or two, and then availing himself of the services of one of the small cluster of ancient mariners, who had been hovering interrogatively round him, he set off in a dinghy, across the intervening stretch of water.
His advent was soon observed on board the yacht, and by the time he arrived alongside, Captain Simmons was standing at the head of the accommodation ladder waiting to receive him. The skipper, a short, square-shouldered, grey-bearded man with honest blue eyes, greeted his employer with a blend of pleasure and concern.
"Well, Iamglad to see you, Sir Antony, but why ever didn't you let me know you were coming? I'd have had the gig ashore ready for you."
Tony shook hands warmly with him, and then turned to greet Mr. McEwen, the chief engineer, who came shambling up from below with a gleam of welcome showing through a forest of red whiskers.
"I don't like having the gig waiting for me," explained Tony. "It always makes me feel as if I was Sir Thomas Lipton."
They remained chatting for a moment or two, and then moved off across the deck, Tony stopping to exchange a word or two with various members of the crew, who all saluted him with the friendly grin of old acquaintance. It was not often that there was a new hand on board theBetty.
Captain Simmons led the way to his own cabin, where the time honoured ceremony of drinking a toast to the ensuing season having been duly discharged, he proceeded to add some further details to the brief report of his preparations that he had already sent along by post.
"I think you'll find everything nice and shipshape by Thursday, Sir Antony," he finished with a touch of self-pride. "Not knowing exactly where we were bound for I may have allowed a bit too much margin on the stores, but then I wasn't expecting those packages you sent from London."
"It's an error in the right dimension," observed Tony contentedly. "We are thinking of going to Buenos Ayres to start with, and I always find the Atlantic very stimulating to one's appetite."
"Buenos Ayres!" repeated the skipper with interest. "And a very nice run too, sir." He turned to the chief engineer. "Just about twenty days out—eh, Mr. McEwen?"
The latter shifted his cigar to the corner of his mouth, and nodded gravely.
"Aye," he remarked; "though it might have been another tale if we hadna' found out the fule's work that veesitor friend o' yours was up to in the engine-room, Sir Antony.'
"Ah!" said Tony: "that's one of the things I wanted to ask about. What sort of a person was he?"
There was a moment's pause.
"What sort of a person!" repeated the skipper. "Do you mean that you don't know him—that you didn't give him that card?"
"I have never heard of him in my life," said Tony tranquilly.
With a strange noise, such as a tiger would probably make if somebody trod upon his toe, Mr. McEwen turned to the skipper.
"Did I no tell ye that the mon was an impostor?" he demanded excitedly.
Fumbling in his waistcoat pocket, Captain Simmons produced a dirty and crumpled visiting card, which he held out to Tony.
"It's only a chance that I didn't tear it up," he observed rather grimly.
Tony took the card which, despite its dilapidated appearance, had every appearance of being one of his own. He was just able to make out the following half obliterated message scribbled across it in pencil.
Mr. Hemmingway is a friend of mine.Please allow him to look over theBetty.A.C.
"I don't wonder it took you in," he said, with a tinge of admiration. "It's a most artistic forgery."
Mr. McEwen drew a deep breath. "My God!" he said softly; "I'm wishing I'd found him in the engine-room. I'd have broken him in twa."
"It's a pity you didn't," said Tony. "I should probably have been able to recognize one or other of the bits." He turned to Captain Simmons. "What was he like, and what did he do—exactly?"
The skipper, who was a man of slow speech, pondered for a moment before replying.
"He was right enough to look at in a way—well dressed and all that sort of thing. A youngish, darkish sort of fellow—might have had a touch of the Dago about him, but he spoke English as well as you or me. As for what he did—well, Mr. McEwen can tell you that best."
"I'd had the head off one o' the cylinders," burst out the Scotchman, "an' there she was put back in her place, but no screwed down. What did the black-hearted Jezebel do, but drop in a spanner, a nine-inch steel spanner that would ha' jarred the head o' the cylinder to Gehenna if so be we'd screwed her doon wi'oot takin' a look inside."
"Have you any idea who he was, Sir Antony?" inquired the skipper anxiously.
"I think I know where he came from," replied Tony. He got up from his seat, and for a moment or two stared thoughtfully out of the skipper's port-hole.
It seemed evident beyond doubt that the mysterious "Mr. Hemmingway" could have been none other than an agent of Da Freitas, and for the first time since he had light-heartedly entered upon his adventure Tony felt a sudden slight sense of misgiving. There was a touch about this latest effort of the Marquis that suggested unpleasant depths of knowledge and resource on that gentleman's part. It seemed hardly probable that he would have instigated an attempt upon theBetty'sengines, unless he had a very shrewd idea of the use to which that vessel was shortly to be put. If this were so, the situation was some way from being as simple and safe as it had previously appeared, and with a sudden determination Tony resolved to take his companions into his confidence.
"I think you ought to know the facts of the case—both of you," he said. "It's quite on the cards I might be running you into trouble or even danger, and I don't think we included that in our agreements, did we?"
The skipper stroked his beard. "One can't include everything," he remarked; "eh, Mr. McEwen?"
"I'm no sayin' I've any great objection to eether," observed the latter cautiously; "not in good company."
"Well, you shall hear," said Tony; "and then you can judge for yourselves."
In as few words as possible he gave them a brief outline of the situation, starting from his original meeting with Isabel in Long Acre, and bringing the story down to Congosta's visit to Hampstead that morning. As a convincing narrative it gained rather than lost by this compression, for the mere facts, however crudely stated, had a dramatic grip about them that needed no embellishment or elaboration.
Both the skipper and Mr. McEwen listened to him with silent attention. It was a story which any one might have been pardoned for receiving with a certain amount of surprise or even incredulity, but neither of their faces showed any trace of their natural emotions. On the contrary they appeared to accept the entire narrative as though it were the sort of thing that might reasonably be expected to happen to any yacht owner of average experience.
It was Mr. McEwen who was the first to break the ensuing silence.
"I'm thinkin' that ye've done a guid act," he said gravely. "'Tis no business for a young lassie to be stuck up on a throne over a parcel o' murderin' Dagoes."
Captain Simmons nodded his assent. "You can rest your mind easy about the yacht, Sir Antony. There'll be no one else come on board—not till you arrive yourself."
"How about the crew?" suggested Tony. "Ought they to be told anything?"
"I'm inclined to think it would be injudeecious," put in Mr. McEwen. "Not that they would be makin' any deeficulties—they would gae to Hell to oblige you, Sir Antony—but mebbe 'twould gie 'em a sense o' their own importance that's no desirable in a crew. What do you say, Captain Simmons?"
Again the skipper nodded.
"Well, that all seems satisfactory enough," observed Tony cheerfully. "I am sure I am very much obliged to you both." He poured himself out another drink and lifted the glass. "Here's to the voyage," he said, "and may every owner have as sporting a lot of officers as I've got."
"Here's to the voyage, sir," said Captain Simmons, following his example, "and proud and glad to be of any assistance to you."
Very gravely Mr. McEwen reached for the whisky bottle. "Here's to the voyage, gentlemen," he repeated, "and God send that we meet the mon who put that spanner in my cylinder."
* * * * * * *
It was close on eight o'clock by the time Tony returned to the hotel. He had some dinner in the big, sparsely populated restaurant, and then sending out a message by the waiter to Jennings, invited that sunny-souled mechanic to come up and play him a game of snooker in the billiard-room.
With the exception of backing losers, snooker was Jennings' only human weakness, and on occasions when he and Tony were away together at a hotel he would so far relax his dignity as to oblige his employer in this unprofessional fashion. They played two games, both of which Jennings won—a circumstance which caused him so much satisfaction that he received Tony's instructions to have the car ready at eleven the next morning with what only just escaped being an amiable bow.
Despite the somewhat disquieting manner in which his suspicions about the attempt on theBettyhad been confirmed, Tony managed to pass a very comfortable night. He dressed himself leisurely in the morning and strolled down to the dining-room about ten o'clock, where he instructed the waiter to bring him some China tea and a grilled sole.
A copy of theDaily Mailwas lying on the table beside his plate, and in the casual fashion of one who is waiting for breakfast he opened it out in front of him at the centre page. As he did so a series of bold, heavily-leaded headlines leaped into view that brought an involuntary exclamation from his lips.
REVOLUTION IN LIVADIAFIERCE FIGHTING AT PORTRIGAREPORTED FLIGHT OF PRESIDENT
In a second the grilled sole and everything else had vanished out of his mind and he was eagerly scanning the following announcement.
By a cable from Paris received shortly before going to press, we learn that yesterday evening a revolution broke out in Livadia, which appears already to have attained wide-spread proportions. So far, information is scanty, for the telegraph wires over the frontier have been cut, and the cable station at Portriga is in the hands of one or other of the belligerents.
It appears, however, that the revolt started simultaneously in the neighbourhood of Vanessa and also in the Capital. At both places the Royal Standard was raised by a strong party of King Pedro's adherents, and in both instances the Republican government seem to have been taken more or less by surprise. Vanessa is said to be entirely in the hands of the Royalists, who have also succeeded in occupying the greater part of Portriga.
The situation is complicated by another revolt in the South, where the partisans of the late Don Francisco, the Pretender, have also seized the opportunity to assert their claims. A strong force, under the leadership of General Almaida, is reported to be marching on the Capital, where the Republicans and the Royalists are still engaged in bitter and sanguinary street fighting. It is rumoured that the President has already left the country.
From inquiries at Richmond we learn that King Pedro and the Marquis da Freitas are still in England, but in response to numerous invitations they have so far declined to issue any statement to the Press.
All further details available will be found in the first edition ofThe Evening News.
Having read this interesting announcement through slowly and carefully, Tony laid down the paper and sat back in his chair.
So Congosta had been right! Underneath all the rather penny coloured plotting and cheap melodrama that had surrounded Isabel's story, a savagely real piece of European history had been silently coming to fruition. He had never doubted the fact himself, but somehow or other those flaming head-lines in theMailsuddenly brought it home to him with a vivid reality that had hitherto been wanting. It was as if the buttons had come off the foils, and what had hitherto been an entertaining fencing match had turned abruptly into a thrilling and dangerous duel.
With a pleasing sense of elation he drew up his chair, and prepared to face the grilled sole that the waiter was just bringing in.
"You might tell my chauffeur," he said, "that we will start back at half-past ten instead of eleven."
The waiter went out with the message, but a couple of minutes had hardly elapsed before he came back into the room bearing a telegram upon a small tray.
"If you please, sir," he said, "one of the sailors from your yacht has called with this. He is waiting in the hall in case you want him."
With a certain feeling of surprise Tony laid down his knife and fork, and slitting open the buff-coloured envelope, pulled out its contents.
They were brief and distinctly to the point.
Isabel has disappeared; fear the worst; come back immediately. GUY.
Guy must have heard the car turning in at the drive, for as they drew up in front of the house, he flung open the door and stepped out to meet them. He looked white and haggard in the bright morning sunshine.
"You got my wire?" was his first remark.
Tony, who was at the wheel, nodded his head, and climbed stiffly out of his seat. Hardened as he was to rapid driving, he felt something like a momentary reaction now that the return journey had been accomplished without disaster.
"Come into the house, Guy," he said. "You look like an advertisement for Sanatogen."
They entered the hall, where Tony took off his coat and threw it across the back of one of the chairs.
"Now," he said. "Tell me all about it."
"Da Freitas has got hold of Isabel," said Guy, making an effort to speak quietly. "She left Chester Square at nine o'clock this morning, and we have heard nothing of her since."
There was a brief pause.
"Go on," said Tony. "How did it happen?"
"It was my fault," answered Guy with a sort of harsh bitterness, "at least very largely it was. I spent practically all yesterday with Debenham trying to fix up about the Stanley estate. It was absolutely necessary to get the thing settled before we left England. Finally I went back to dinner at his house, and I didn't get home here till nearly one-o'clock. Spalding had left your letter in my bedroom, but somehow or other—I was tired out and half asleep I suppose—I managed to overlook it, I had left instructions I wasn't to be waked up till nine o'clock this morning, and when Spalding came to call me, there was your letter on the dressing-table."
He paused.
"Directly I had read it I went down-stairs and rang up Chester Square. The housemaid answered the telephone, and said that Isabel had just left the house, and that Aunt Fanny was still in bed. When I asked if Isabel had mentioned any reason for going out so early, she said that Spalding had rung up a quarter of an hour before and said that you wanted Miss Francis to come over here in a taxi as soon as possible. Well, of course, I guessed there was something wrong at once. I sent for Spalding, and as I expected, he told me that he hadn't been near the telephone all the morning. I was getting really frightened now, so I told the girl to put me through to Aunt Fanny, who has got another receiver in her bedroom. Then it all came out. Somebody, who pretended to be Spalding, had rung up at about twenty to nine and asked for Isabel. He had said you wanted her here, and that she was to take a taxi along as soon as she could manage it. Isabel evidently hadn't the faintest suspicion that it wasn't all right. Aunt Fanny was asleep at the time, and she wouldn't allow her to be waked up. She had just put on her hat and got into a taxi that was waiting a little way down the Square, and that's the very last that any of us have heard of her." Guy's voice shook, but with an effort he managed to control it. "They've got her, Tony," he added despairingly. "I would have given my right hand to have stopped it, but what's the good now? They've got her, and we shall never see her again."
Tony laid his hand on his cousin's shoulder. "My dear old Guy," he said quietly: "it wasn't your fault. If any one has been to blame, it's me." He took a couple of turns across the room and came back to where Guy was standing. "Hang it," he said ruefully. "I had no idea I was so fond of Isabel."
Guy looked up at him with a rather twisted smile. "I knew you would find it out eventually, Tony," he said. "It's a pity it's happened too late."
"Too late be damned," observed Tony calmly. "Even if Da Freitas has got hold of her, do you imagine I am going to let him keep her? I know now that I want Isabel more than anything else in the world. I have always been accustomed to have what I want, and it's a very bad thing to change one's habits suddenly at my age."
Guy made a kind of hopeless gesture with his hands. "But what can you do?" he demanded. "You have seen the papers this morning—you know what's happening in Livadia? The odds are they will take her straight over there and marry her to Pedro right away."
"Then I shall go over and fetch her back," replied Tony firmly. "I am not going to allow any silly old-fashioned ideas about the sanctity of marriage to interfere with my life's happiness."
Guy opened his mouth to speak, but he was suddenly interrupted by the grinding scrunch of a second motor pulling up abruptly outside the house. Almost at the same moment the bell rang with a prolonged violence that echoed up from the basement.
"I rather think that must be Congosta," said Tony.
He crossed the hall, and pulling back the latch, opened the front door.
The visitor was Señor Congosta, but his most intimate friends might have been pardoned if for a moment they had failed to recognize him. Hatless, dishevelled, and with a long smear of blood at the corner of his mouth, he looked as if he had been taking part in a rather closely contested Irish election.
"So!" he observed, drawing himself up and glaring at Tony, "you have betrayed me."
Tony stepped towards him.
"Don't be silly," he said. "Come along in and sit down."
He thrust his arm through the Livadian's, and before the latter could protest he had brought him to a chair and practically pushed him into it. "You had better have a drink right away," he added. "You look done to the world. Get the whisky, will you, Guy?"
Guy started off to do as he was asked, and before the disgruntled Señor had properly recovered himself Tony turned back to him with a disarming smile.
"Sorry to have been so snappy," he said. "I suppose you have just found out about Isabel, and of course you would think we were scoundrels—naturally."
With an effort Congosta managed to regain his power of speech.
"You know what has happened?" he demanded hoarsely. "You know where she is?"
"I have just heard that she was decoyed away from Chester Square by a false telephone message at nine o'clock this morning. For the moment I have no idea where she is. If I had I shouldn't be sitting here."
"Then you shall know!" gripping the arm of the chair, Congosta bent forward towards him. "She is a drugged and helpless prisoner on theVivid. By now she is half-way down the Thames on her way to Livadia."
There was a second's pause, and then Guy reappeared from the dining-room with the whisky and soda.
"Do you hear that, Guy?" said Tony. "Señor Congosta says that Isabel is on board theVivid, and that they have already started for Livadia."
Guy came up and put down the tray he was carrying.
"I knew it," he said hopelessly. "We shall never see her again—never."
"And whose fault is that?" demanded Congosta, striking the arm of the chair with his fist. "Did you not promise me that she should be safe? Did I not leave the honour of my country in your hands?"
"You did," said Tony, "and we have let you down with a bump."
He splashed some whisky and soda into a glass and held it out to the Livadian, who sat there glowering at them both with angry suspicion.
"Come, Señor," he added persuasively, "drink that up and you'll feel better. Whatever else we do, it's no good quarrelling amongst ourselves."
Congosta, who really did appear to be badly in need of it, gulped off a couple of mouthfuls of the stimulant, and set down the tumbler.
"Now listen to me," said Tony, speaking very slowly and quietly. "I admit that things look queer and I admit that you have every right to feel suspicious. But there has been no treachery. You can get that idea out of your head right away. I moved Isabel to Chester Square because I thought it was the safest place she could be in. We took every precaution, and I haven't the faintest motion how Da Freitas found out her address. It has been just as big a smack in the eye to us as it is to you."
Either the drink or else Tony's unwonted earnestness evidently brought some sort of conviction to the visitor. Once again his shattered faith in the British aristocracy seemed slowly to revive, and rising to his feet, he bowed stiffly to his two companions.
"Gentlemen!" he said. "I spoke hastily. I ask your pardon."
"If there is any apologizing to be done," said Tony, "it's up to me. I have underrated Da Freitas all through in the most fatuous way—and this is the result!"
Congosta reseated himself.
"Please tell me exactly what happened this morning," he said.
"Somebody rang up the house in Chester Square and pretended to be my butler," answered Tony. "He said that I wanted Isabel to come here at once in a taxi. Unfortunately the lady she is staying with was still asleep, and instead of waking her up and asking her advice, Isabel seems to have gone straight outside and got into a taxi that was waiting in the Square. That's the last we have heard of her."
Congosta nodded. "I can give you the rest of the story," he said. "For three days I have rented a little room close to an empty warehouse opposite to where theVividwas lying. There is a wharf just below where any one would start from if he wished to reach the vessel. Always there is someone in that room—I or another—watching and waiting. Last night, late and in the dark, a cart came down with luggage and packages. They took them on board, and I knew then that Da Freitas' plans were ready. Very early this morning they began to get up steam on the yacht. I stayed there, watching from the window, and at ten o'clock a boat put off with four men in it. They were all Livadians—one I knew well by sight. I had seen him at Richmond with Da Freitas. When they got to the wharf, they came ashore and fastened up the boat. They were evidently expecting someone, because two of them took it in turns to watch, while the others went across the roadway to drink."
Congosta paused, and taking out his handkerchief pressed it against his lip.
"Just before midday," he went on, "a big closed car came quickly along the lane and pulled up at the wharf. There was no one about at the moment except the four sailors. I saw Pedro open the door and get out, and then almost before I could realize what was happening there was my Royal mistress, drugged, helpless, hardly able to stand—with the Count on one side of her and Da Freitas on the other."
He stopped again and took in a long breath.
"I think for a little while I was mad. It would have been better, far better, if I had not shown myself. Then I could have got away quickly and something might still have been arranged. But for the moment I was so full of rage and disappointment that I did not know what I was doing. I only remember running downstairs—my mind made up that I would kill Da Freitas. Then I was amongst them; and had it been any one else my knife would have been in his heart before they could have stopped me. But I think that black, smiling devil cannot be surprised. Even as I flung myself at him, he dragged the Princess in front of him, and I could not strike for the fear that I might hurt her. Then in a moment I was beaten to the ground. I fought bravely—splendidly, but what could I do against six men? I must have been stunned by the blow on the head from behind, for I remember nothing more until I came to my senses again in the small wide shop across the street. Someone had found me lying on the wharf, and they had carried me in there thinking that I was dead."
Once more he stopped, and reaching out a rather shaky hand for the tumbler finished off the whisky and soda.
"Are you badly hurt?" asked Guy, who had been listening to the narrative with a mixture of amazement and concern.
Congosta put his hand to his forehead. "It is nothing serious. Only my head aches very much. I think they would have killed me if it had not been for my hat."
"Let's have a look," said Tony. "I know a little about cracked skulls."
He came round to where Congosta was sitting, and bending over the latter's chair, very carefully parted the hair at a place where it was matted with congealed blood.
"It's a nasty bump," he said sympathetically; "but I don't think there is any real damage done. You must have a very good hatter."
"Shall I fetch some hot water and bathe it for you?" suggested Guy, getting up from his seat.
Congosta raised his hand protestingly. "It will wait," he said with a certain grimness. "What we are speaking of will not."
Tony seated himself on the arm of the opposite chair. "Go on," he said. "What happened when you came round?"
"For a little while," continued Congosta, "I could remember nothing. Then suddenly it all came back to me, and somehow the shock seemed to make me strong again. The people in the wine shop wished to send for the police, but I would not let them. Instead I paid them to get me a taxi. I had made up my mind that first I would come to you, and that I would find out the truth. I could see from the window that the yacht had already moved from her moorings, and I knew that it was now too late for anything except to warn my friends in Livadia. That—and to be revenged upon you, if you had betrayed me."
There was a pause.
"It's horrible to be so helpless," said Guy with a sort of groan. "Is there nothing that we can do? I suppose there would be no chance of getting them held up for an hour or two at Southend?"
"What for?" asked Tony languidly.
"There's—there's this assault upon Señor Congosta."
The latter shook his head. "It would be useless," he said. "I know well that your government will be only too pleased that they have gone. The police would not be allowed to interfere even if they wished to."
"But we must do something," exclaimed Guy almost fiercely.
Tony got up from his seat. "I know what I'm going to do," he said. "I am going to follow them to Livadia."
For an instant both of them stared at him without speaking.
"But how do you expect to get there?" demanded Congosta incredulously. "The steamers from England are stopped, and all the frontier is in the hands of Da Freitas' soldiers. No one will be allowed to enter the country until the Revolution is over."
"That doesn't matter to me," said Tony. "I have a private yacht of my own."
The news seemed to produce a remarkable effect upon Congosta.
"A private yacht!" he repeated, rising abruptly to his feet. "And you mean what you say? You mean that you will sail for Portriga now—immediately—at once?"
"Well, say to-morrow morning," suggested Tony. "That will give us time to get on board first."
By now all Congosta's headache and exhaustion seemed magically to have vanished.
"My friend!" he ejaculated fervently, "my dear Sir Antony! You may yet be of the truest service to my unhappy country."
"But look here!" broke in Guy, who had also risen from his chair and was gazing from one to the other of them. "This is all very well, but what on earth's the use of it? Even if we got to Portriga you don't suppose we should have the faintest chance of being able to do anything!"
"I don't like looking too far ahead," said Tony. "It shows a lack of trust in Providence."
Congosta wheeled round excitedly to Guy. "Señor!" he exclaimed. "I assure you that you may yet save Livadia." He turned back to Tony. "You have seen this morning's paper? You know the truth about what has happened?"
"I have seen theDaily Mail," said Tony guardedly.
"So! That is right, what they have written, but there is later news." He thrust his hand into his breast pocket, and dragging out some papers, selected a crumpled cable form, which he opened with shaking fingers. "Even now General Almaida is in Portriga. He holds the whole town south of the river."
"Do you mean that you're in communication with them?" demanded Guy. "I thought all the wires had been cut."
"We were not without our preparations," returned Congosta with a vindictive smile. "The way is still open. It will not be closed so long as General Almaida is undefeated."
"And how long is that likely to be?" asked Tony.
Congosta drew himself up.
"Señor!" he replied dramatically. "It rests with you."
There was a short pause.
"Well?" said Tony encouragingly.
"There are two things in which our brave army is lacking—ammunition and money. If we can help them with these——"
Tony nodded. "What's the idea—exactly?" he asked.
Congosta took a step forward, his dark eyes gleaming with excitement. He began to speak in a low, rapid voice.
"A week ago, by the instructions of General Almaida, I gave an order to one of your English houses for a supply of cartridges. The money was to have been sent to me, and we had arranged a plan for getting them safely across. Had the revolution not broken out they would now be on their way. As it is—!" he made a quick expressive gesture with his hands—"The money has not come, and even if I could pay there is no vessel that could take them to Livadia."
He paused for breath.
"We haven't a cargo license for theBetty," said Tony, "but I don't know that it really matters."
Congosta came nearer still. "You will do it," he gasped. "You will lend us this money? You will take the cartridges on your yacht?"
Tony nodded again. "Why, of course," he said. "It's the least I can do after losing Isabel in that careless fashion."
With an exclamation of joy Congosta seized hold of his hand, and commenced wringing it violently up and down.
"My friend," he exclaimed with tears in his eyes. "How can I ever thank you?"
"But Good Heavens!" interrupted Guy, drawing in his breath. "Do you realize what this means? It's—it's—filibustering—piracy—buccaneering——"
"Is it?" said Tony—"what fun! I have always wanted to be a buccaneer ever since I was thirteen." He disentangled himself with some difficulty from the clutches of Congosta. "Don't worry, Guy," he added, "you needn't be mixed up with it in any way."
"What!" For a moment Guy's indignation rendered him almost speechless. "Do you suppose I am thinking of myself? Do you imagine I shall desert you—now—at this time?"
"There is not the danger that the Señor fancies," broke in Congosta with a kind of feverish eagerness. "Listen! I will explain!" He turned to Tony. "You have heard of Braxa?"
"I don't think so," said Tony regretfully. "You see I was educated at Eton."
"It is a fishing village—a small fishing village and harbour twenty miles south of Portriga. The people there are different from most of my countrymen. They are all fishermen, and they do not concern themselves much with politics."
"It sounds just the sort of quiet and sensible place one would like to visit," observed Tony.
"So! You understand what I mean!" Congosta's excitement became almost painful to witness. "You are on a voyage of pleasure! You come into the harbour in your yacht. My people will be expecting you. In an hour the cartridges will be on shore, and then—" he paused and the same vindictive smile gathered in his eyes, "there may yet be a little hitch in the clever plans of the Marquis da Freitas."
"It's a great idea," said Tony admiringly. "So simple and safe! Why we needn't even land if we don't want to."
"But what would be the good?" began Guy.
He got no further, for he suddenly caught sight of his cousin's face, as the latter looked round at him, and its expression dried up the question that he was about to utter.
"These cartridges," inquired Tony, turning back to Congosta with his previously serene air. "How long do you think it would take to get them to Southampton?"
"There need be no delay," replied the Livadian. "It is only a question of the money. As soon as they are paid for I can arrange for them to be sent down on motor lorry. They would go to-night."
Tony nodded approvingly. "And how about your message to Livadia? It won't be an easy thing to explain. None of your people have ever heard of me except Colonel Saltero, and I don't think I impressed him very favourably."
Congosta dismissed the objection with a wave of his hand.
"You may leave that to me," he said. "I assure you that before he left England Colonel Saltero was convinced of your good faith. I shall arrange that it is he who will meet you at Braxa to receive the cartridges."
"But won't you be coming with us?" asked Guy.
Congosta shook his head. "I must stay in London," he answered regretfully. "It is General Almaida's wish. Should our party win it is necessary that there should be someone here to obtain recognition from your government."
"Quite so," said Tony; "quite so." He lighted himself a cigarette, and took a couple of thoughtful paces up and down the hall. Guy did not speak again, but watched him with a strained apprehension that showed itself visibly in his face.
"Tell me," said Tony, coming back to where Congosta was standing. "Could you get a message through to any one in Portriga?"
Congosta looked faintly surprised. "I cannot say. It is possible. It would depend perhaps upon what part of the town they were in." He paused. "Why do you wish to know?"
"I am a little bit anxious about a friend of mine," said Tony frankly. "He has been running a motor company in Portriga for the last two years, and from what he has told me I am afraid that he has made one or two rather awkward enemies—business enemies, you know. They are not the sort of crowd to miss a chance like this, and just in case he was in difficulties, I should like him to know that theBettywas coming to Braxa. Then if he wanted to slip out of the country quietly he could."
Congosta accepted the explanation in what appeared to be perfectly good faith.
"I understand," he said. "You shall give me your friend's name and address, and then if our people can reach him you may be sure that he will get your message."
Tony walked across to the writing-table and seated himself in the chair.
"That's good," he said cheerfully. "One doesn't like to leave a pal in the lurch—especially in Livadia."
He took a sheet of paper from the case in front of him, and in his best handwriting copied out the following address.
SEÑOR JAMES DALE,Garage Anglais,Praca D. Porto,Portriga.
"I think it would be simplest," he said, "if you just told him that theBettywas expected at Braxa in two days' time. He would probably like to see me, even if there's nothing the matter."
Congosta took the paper and glanced at its contents.
"If the thing is possible it shall be done," he repeated.
Tony put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his cheque book.
"And now let's get to work," he observed. "I shall be pretty busy if we are going to sail to-morrow morning, so I think I had better leave the cartridge business entirely to you. I will give you an open cheque on my bank, and you can cash it on your way back."
Congosta nodded his approval. "That will be the easiest plan," he said. "Then I can also make the arrangements for sending them off."
"'Steam yachtBetty, Southampton,' will be enough address," continued Tony, writing the cheque as he spoke. "I will wire my captain instructions to be on the lookout for them." He blotted the slip and handed it to Congosta. "I don't know what they will come to," he added; "I have made the cheque out for four thousand."
Congosta gazed with surprised awe at the little piece of pink paper in his hand.
"Four thousand pounds?" he repeated slowly. "But it will not be so much as that!"
"Never mind," said Tony, getting up from his chair. "Ask for the rest in gold and bring it back here. We can take it along with us. If your people are as hard up as you say, I daresay a few English sovereigns will come in useful. They are a wonderfully effective weapon with Royalists as a rule."
Congosta folded up the cheque reverently, and put it away in his pocket. Then he picked up his hat.
"Señor!" he exclaimed with a tremble of emotion in his voice. "Again I offer you the thanks of my country. It is only in England that such splendid generosity is possible."
"There's nothing to thank me for," said Tony cheerfully. "It's my own stupidity and carelessness I'm paying for—that's all." He accompanied Congosta across the hall and opened the front door for him. "We shall expect you back here some time this afternoon," he added.
The Livadian nodded.
"I shall return as soon as I have arranged about the cartridges," he said. "It is best that I should not send the message until we know for certain what time you will be able to start."
Once more he clasped Tony's hand and shook it fervently, and then, after giving some instructions to the driver, he stepped into the waiting taxi, and was whirled off down the drive.
Tony came back into the hall, and closed the door. As he did so he caught sight of a note lying at the bottom of the letter-box, and taking it out discovered that it was addressed to himself.
"And now," broke out Guy, who had apparently been restraining himself with difficulty; "perhaps you'll tell me if you are really in earnest."
Tony slit open the envelope and pulled out its contents.
"Of course I'm in earnest," he answered. "I was never so—" He paused abruptly, and his lips screwed themselves up into a sudden low whistle of amused amazement. "By Jove, Guy!" he exclaimed; "look at this!"
He held out the sheet of note-paper, and then thrusting his hands into his pockets, watched his cousin's face as the latter read through the following missive.
MY DEAR SIR ANTONY CONWAY:
I much regret that I was unable to find time to say good-bye to you before leaving England.
You have a proverb I believe in your delightful language to the effect that he laughs loudest who laughs last. You will now be able to appreciate its profound truth.
Always yours sincerely,DA FREITAS.
Guy read it through and then looked up with a sort of incredulous bewilderment.
"When did this come?" he asked.
Tony shrugged his shoulders. "My dear Guy—I don't know any more about it than you do. I suppose someone must have put it in the letter-box while we were having our pleasant little chat with Congosta."
"But—but—" He stared at it again in frowning uncertainty—"Good Heavens, Tony!" he exclaimed, "do you mean to say that Da Freitas took the trouble and the risk of sending you this while he was actually—?" He broke off as if unable to complete the sentence.
"Looks like it, doesn't it?" said Tony cheerfully. "My respect for the Marquis increases every hour—in fact I'm beginning to feel quite fond of him."
Guy's lips tightened into an expression of restrained exasperation.
"Look here, Tony," he began with forced calmness. "For goodness' sake let's get this thing quite clear. Did you really mean what you said to Congosta?"
Tony took back Da Freitas' note, and put it carefully in his pocket.
"I meant most of it," he replied. "I am going down to Southampton to-night, and I shall start for Livadia the moment theBettyis ready to sail."
Guy knew him well enough to understand that for once he was speaking in absolute sincerity.
"You mean to fight then? You are going to join this man—what's his name—General Almaida?"
There was a short pause.
"Somehow or other," said Tony, "I am going to get Isabel back. It's no good asking me exactly how I shall do it, because at the present moment I don't know. The only thing I have quite made up my mind about is that I shall either come back with her, or else I shan't come back at all." He looked up smilingly at Guy. "Now you understand what I meant when I said I didn't want to drag you into it."
A faint flush mounted into Guy's naturally pale face.
"Do you think I am a coward, Tony?" he inquired very deliberately.
"Of course not," returned Tony. "Any man who has a cold bath as you do every morning must be brave. Still that's no reason why you should run a quite unnecessary risk of getting shot—especially as you have disapproved of the whole business ever since the start."
"Who could help disapproving of it?" burst out Guy feelingly. "It's the maddest and most impossible affair in which any sane person was ever mixed up." He paused as if to recover himself. "All the same," he added quickly, "I should like to come with you, Tony, if you think I could be of any use."
Tony patted him approvingly on the shoulder. "Any use!" he repeated. "Why, my dear old Guy, I would rather have you with me than the Seven Champions of Christendom. I am sure you would be a lot more reliable in a really tight corner."
"Have you got any sort of a plan at all?" inquired Guy a little hopelessly.
"Well, I've an idea," said Tony. "It's hardly a plan yet, but it may be by the time I get back."
"You're going out?"
Tony nodded. "I shan't be long, and meanwhile you can fix up the arrangements here. In the first place I want you to get on to Simmons on the telephone. You had better ring up the Grand Hotel, Southampton, and say you're me, and ask them very prettily and nicely if they'll send round someone to fetch him from the yacht. Tell him that we are coming down to-night or early to-morrow morning—you and I and Bugg—and that he must be ready to start directly we arrive. Say that we have changed our minds about South America and that we are going to Braxa instead."
Guy stepped to the table and made a note of these instructions.
"Anything else?" he inquired.
"Nothing more," replied Tony. "Just see that Spalding packs our things, and that Jennings has the car ready—the Rolls of course. Any spare time you have after that I should devote to making your will."
He picked up his coat off the chair on which it was lying.
"Where are you going to?" asked Guy.
There was a short pause while Tony lighted himself a cigarette.
"I am going to a matinée," he said, "at the Gaiety Theatre."
For a moment Guy stared at him in amazement.
"A matinée!" he repeated. "What on—" Then suddenly light seemed to dawn on him. "Why, of course, that girl—Molly Monk—I had forgotten her." He paused. "Do you think she can be of any help?"
Tony walked to the door. "She might lend us a sheet of note-paper," he said. "Anyhow I mean to ask her."
If there is one profession in this world more likely than the rest to induce a certain slight cynicism with regard to human motives, it is probably that of being stage door-keeper at the Gaiety Theatre. When therefore a quarter of an hour later, Tony presented his card at the open pigeon-hole with a request that he might see Miss Monk immediately on a matter of urgent importance, the uniformed gentleman inside contented himself with a weary smile.
"I'll send it up, sir," he remarked, "but between ourselves it ain't no good. The Guv'nor don't allow visitors in the dressin' rooms—not while the show's on."
Tony, who had been fingering a sovereign, laid it down beside the card.
"What a pity!" he replied thoughtfully.
At the sight of the gold piece the janitor's world hardened face lit up with an expression that was almost beautiful.
"I'll take it up meself, sir," he observed hastily, climbing down from his stool. "Of course if it's a matter o' urgent importance—" He emerged from his rabbit hutch, card in hand, and pushing open a swing-door disappeared from view up a winding flight of stairs.
After a decent interval he returned with the air of one who has triumphed over great odds.
"S'orl right," he remarked in a confidential whisper. "She's orf now, sir. You foller me, sir."