"Another man dashed forward and struck the whistler to the ground.""Another man dashed forward and struck the whistler to the ground."
"We had better see into this," Varney cried. "If this is some cunning game of some gang of thieves——?"
"It is nothing of the kind," Jessie said tranquilly. "That is Mr. Charles Maxwell. We had better go and see if he has succeeded. I will tell you presently what it all means. If he has only obtained possession of that letter without the thief knowing that the robbery was intentional!... Come along!"
Varney followed, greatly excited. In the shadow of an alcove seat Maxwell stood with a small black envelope in his hand. He advanced coolly to Varney.
"This was intended for Mazaroff," he explained. "It was sent to him by Countess Saens. I fancy that I have managed this without yonder tool suspecting anything. This young lady will tell you all about it presently. Let us open the letter."
The letter contained nothing worse than a visiting card, with only a few words written on it. As Maxwell held it up to the light the others could see perfectly:—
"I am sending this by a sure hand. The key of the situation lies with General Maxgregor. Follow him up without delay, for time is all against us."
Maxwell turned over the card thoughtfully and studied the neat handwriting thereon.
"We are dealing with one of the cleverest women in Europe," he said. "See how wonderfully she recovers her mistakes and picks up the tracks again. But I don't see that Maxgregor can have anything to do with it. What do you say, doctor?"
"I should say that Maxgregor had a great deal to do with it," Varney replied. "If he were not a deadly foe to these people here, there would have been no attempt to shoot him as there was to-night. Do you think that he has been tracked back to his lodgings?"
"I should say not," Jessie put in. "I was very careful about that. I told you all about the fair woman in the lane, and the way I prevented her from following the General when he went away in the ill-fitting evening dress of the king. But there might have been spies who——"
"I don't think so," Varney interrupted. "Evidently these people have found out that Maxgregor blocks the way. Depend upon it that the report has gone out to the effect that the king has left here—or so Countess Saens thinks. She calculated that Maxgregor is still here, because the messenger is sent to Mazaroff at the house. If they knew that Maxgregor was lying wounded at his lodgings, they would work at their leisure and there would have been no occasion to send that letter here."
"Which must not miscarry," Maxwell suggested. "If it does they will never think that the whole affair is an accident. My idea is that Mazaroff must have that letter and never imagine for a moment that we have read it. We can see that Maxgregor comes to no harm."
Varney was disposed to regard the suggestion as a good one. But before doing anything he would like to discuss the matter with Lechmere. Maxwell's face fell.
"In that case I will stay here till you have finished," he said. "I don't feel much like facing anybody at present, though I am as innocent of this business as a child."
"What nonsense!" Varney cried. "This is no time to stand on ceremony. Lechmere is a man of the world and a friend of yours. He is not in the least likely to condemn you until the charge is proved. I appreciate your feelings, but an empire is at stake."
Without another word the doctor slipped away and returned presently with Lechmere. He nodded in his cool, collected way at Maxwell as if nothing had happened.
"I have no doubt we shall get to the bottom of this business between us," he said. "Varney has been telling me what has happened. I am quite of your opinion, Maxwell, that Mazaroff must have that letter. When he has read it he shall be watched and followed."
"But how to get it into the fellow's hands without suspicion?" Maxwell asked.
"That is easy enough. I suppose you acted on the spur of the moment, but you were foolish to tear that envelope open without steaming it. Fortunatelythe envelope seems to have many counterparts in Lord Merehaven's study, and luckily it is a different texture to the correspondence card on which the message is written. Amongst my many gifts is a fair talent for copying the handwriting of other people. I'll get this fixed up. When the thing is done one of the guests shall hand the letter to Mazaroff and say that he had picked it up in the garden. I think I'll select a lady for the part. Stay here for a moment."
A little later on, and somebody touched Mazaroff's arm as he was watching a game of bridge in the card room. He turned to see a pretty girl standing by and smiling into his face. She held a letter in her hand.
"I fancy this is for you, Prince Mazaroff," she said. "I picked it up in the garden. On the whole, I came very near to having an adventure over it."
Mazaroff glanced at the envelope and his eyes gleamed. Then quite leisurely he tore off the ends and read the message. He smiled in a careless way, as if the message were of no importance.
"I am sorry there was any danger," he said, "especially as the note is so trivial. Where does the adventure come in?"
"You have destroyed my romance," the girl laughed. "I suppose it was the messenger who brought this letter for you, and not a burglar after all. I expect the messenger made a mistake and came into the garden by the door leading from the lane. Anyway, a gardener pounced upon him and the man fled. It was quite thrilling to look at, I assure you. When I had recovered from my fright I saw that letter on the grass. Then the real solution of the mystery burst in upon me."
Mazaroff laughed as if he enjoyed the story. His face grew a little grave.
"I should not tell anybody if I were you," he said. "It isn't many women here who have your pluck. If they know they will fight shy of the garden, and many a promising flirtation will be spoilt. And flirtations very often lead to marriage, you know."
The girl laughed in her turn and flitted away. Lechmere stood by the doorway awaiting her.
"You did it very well," he said. "You are a born actress, Miss Cheylesmere. Oh, yes, the joke develops; you shall play your part in it. Now, I want you to keep an eye upon Mazaroff, and if he leaves the house let me know at once."
Lechmere strolled off, pleased with the way in which events were going, and quite certain that Mazaroff had not the slightest idea what had happened. A pretty scheme was evolving itself in his mind. He went back to the study, where the others were awaiting him.
"So far so good," he said. "Mazaroff has received his letter without guessing what we know of it. At the present moment he is hunting all over the place for Maxgregor, ignorant of the fact that Maxgregor has gone long ago. Mazaroff will ask Lady Merehaven if the General has gone, and she will naturally say no, as the General did not wish her good-night. Mazaroff will be quite certain that Maxgregor would never commit such a social slip, so that I confidently hope that he will continue his hunt."
"But surely there is a much more important thing to do?" Jessie exclaimed. "Mr. Maxwell, have you forgotten whom we saw in the drawing-room with Countess Saens just now?"
"I had forgotten," Maxwell admitted. "Miss—er—Harcourt told me that the King of Asturia was here. She went on to say that he was not only here, but in such a condition that he would have to stay all night and be conveyed home in a cab. Why was he shamming?"
"Shamming!" Varney cried. "I'll stake my professional reputation that the king was not shamming. He has had some near shaves during the time he has been under my care, but never has he been nearer to death's door than he was to-night. I sincerely believe that it was only the administration of a very powerful drug that saved him."
"I know, I know," Jessie cried. "I saw a good deal of it myself. When I left him the king was unconscious. And yet not half an hour ago I saw him in the Countess Saens's dining-room."
Varney and Lechmere smiled incredibly. They both shook their heads.
"Impossible!" the former said. "Quite impossible, my dear young lady. For the last hour, or nearly an hour, the King of Asturia has been in this house clothed and in his right mind. It was I who brought him downstairs. It was I who produced his majesty to the utter confusion of Mazaroff and Gleikstein, the Russianchargé d'affaires. You must have been utterly mistaken."
"It was no mistake," Maxwell put in. "I have seen the king often enough here and elsewhere. I am prepared to swear in any court of justice that within the last half hour I have seen the King of Asturia in close companionship with Countess Saens in her own house."
Varney and Lechmere looked a little bewildered. There still appeared to be cards in the game ofwhich they knew nothing. Varney was about to speak when Lechmere touched his arm and indicated two figures that had just entered the study.
"To prove that you two are mistaken," he said, "look there. If you know the King of Asturia so well, perhaps you will tell me who that is?"
"The king," Maxwell cried. "And the queen. And yet I am ready to swear.... You don't think that he might have slipped out and——"
"No, I don't," Lechmere said curtly. "As a matter of fact, his majesty is being too carefully watched for that. He has been here all the time, I assure you."
"It's like a dream," Jessie said. "The king is in two places at once. And seeing thatthatis the king, who was the man we saw in Countess Saens's dining-room?"
The question was asked a great deal easier than it could be answered. Only Lechmere smiled.
"I fancy I could give a pretty shrewd guess," he said. "The countess has been inspired by a discovery that she has made to-night, and a double of the king might prove very useful under certain circumstances. And in spite of what this young lady says as to the way she baffled the hired spy in the lane, I fancy the countess has an inkling of the truth. We have pretty well established the fact that the king started out this afternoon with certain papers in his pocket."
"Probably an abdication of his throne in the interests of Russia," Maxwell said.
"Precisely. He was hesitating as to whether he should sign or not. He goes to some gambling hell and gets exceedingly intoxicated there. The idea was probably to force a signature out of him as soon as he was in a fit state to hold a pen. Then a vast amount of money would have changed hands. The king would have been invited to drink again, and perhaps have recovered without having the least idea where he was for the next few days. In a word, he would have disappeared. In four and twenty hours all Europe would have heard of the abdication. Now, where are those papers now? The king certainly had them in his possession when he was rescued from the gambling hell."
"I wish you had looked," Maxwell said. "If I had known this earlier!"
"Unfortunately, nobody knew of it," Lechmere proceeded. "Only our enemies. And when Maxgregor went off from here in the king's dress clothes, he took the papers in the pockets. If Madame Saens has an idea of what has happened, she knows this. Hence her note to Mazaroff. As a matter of fact, our friend the General is in considerable peril."
"In which case somebody ought to go to him at once," Jessie exclaimed.
Lechmere announced his intention of doing so without delay, but Maxwell objected. It would be far better for Lechmere to stay here and keep an eye on Mazaroff. And Maxwell was supposed to be out of the way, nobody would give him a second thought; therefore he was the best man for the purpose. Varney was warmly in favour of this suggestion, and Lechmere had no further objection to offer.
"Let it go at that," he said. "And the sooner you are off the better. There is one great point in our favour, these people can do nothing very harmful so long as those papers are missing. I mean the Foreign Office papers stolen from Countess Saens's bedroom. If we could get them back——"
"They must be got back," Varney said. "The best I can do is to go down to Scotland Yard and report the loss without being too free over the contents of the documents. Once those are back in our hands, our people can afford to be blandly ignorant of what theMercurysaid to-night."
"And I should be free to hold up my head again." Maxwell murmured. "But I am wasting time here."
Maxwell disappeared into the darkness and madehis way by the back lane into Piccadilly. The streets were quiet now, and very few people about. It was no far cry to the chambers occupied by General Maxgregor, and no time would be lost by going to the house of Countess Saens. Maxwell paused before it a moment. The dining-room blinds were still up, and the lights gleaming inside. But so far as Maxwell could see the room was empty. He lingered as long as he dared in the hope of something happening. He was just turning away when the front door opened and a man came out. In the passing flash of the street lamp Maxwell recognized the man who he had mistaken for the King of Asturia. The likeness became no less strong under Maxwell's close scrutiny.
The man stopped on the doorstep and lit a cigarette, and then he pulled his hat over his eyes and turned up his coat collar, warm as the night was. A hansom crawled along with the driver half asleep on his perch. In a strong German accent the man on the pavement called to the driver.
"Fleet Street!" he said. "No191B, Fleet Street! Office of theEvening Mercury, you know. Wake up!"
Maxwell felt half inclined to follow. But he thought of the possible danger to Maxgregor, and he was forced unwillingly to abandon his intention. Acting on the impulse of the moment, he ran up the steps of the house and tried the door. To his surprise the lock turned in his hand. At the same moment the blinds in the dining-room were pulled down by the countess herself, and the lights switched off. Maxwell stood with the door just opened; he saw the figure of the countess herself mounting up the stairs. He could hear distinctly theswish of her skirts. Then there was another click, and the hall lights vanished. Countess Saens was going to bed, having forgotten to lock the front door! That all the servants had gone to bed Maxwell felt certain, for the area quarters were all in black darkness.
"Astonishing how careless these clever women are sometimes!" Maxwell muttered as he took his way down the road. "I suppose the servants generally see to that, and her ladyship has entirely forgotten a thing that never comes within the scope of her duties."
Maxgregor's place was reached at length, and Maxwell was glad to see the lights burning. A sleepy porter had not the slightest idea whether the General was in or out. He was just going to bed himself; he never sat up after midnight, and if the gentlemen were out after this without their keys it was their own fault. Maxwell cut short this tirade by going upstairs. He walked straight into Maxgregor's sitting-room. It was a dark room on the first floor with folding doors. On the other side of the folding doors the General was stretched out on the bed. He looked somewhat haughtily at the intruder.
"This is an unexpected honour," he said. "I have met you once or twice, Mr. Maxwell, but that does not give you the right to come into my bedroom in this fashion. In the light of recent events——"
"For Heaven's sake don't take that tone!" Maxwell cried passionately. "It is impossible not to understand what you are alluding to. And it is quite futile just now to protest my innocence. That I am innocent; that sooner or later you will have to apologize for your suspicions is inevitable. Meanwhile,I am here at the request of Mr. Lechmere and Dr. Varney to warn you of your danger. Cleverly as your escape was managed, it has been found out. Let me tell you what has happened?"
The General bowed coldly. He looked on the speaker as the cause of all the trouble. He was not going to accept a mere protestation of innocence in this way. And yet there was a ring of sincerity in what Maxwell said. He was here, also, of his own free will, and his news was serious.
"So that accursed woman has hit the right nail again," he growled. "That letter you speak of means mischief to me. I wonder if the countess knows that I am wounded? I dare say she does. I might have been murdered in my bed if you had not come."
"You would have been murdered," Maxwell retorted. "That is absolutely certain. Are you very ill?"
"No; it was merely a flesh wound in the shoulder. The bullet has been extracted. I lost blood, and I am feeling rather weak at present, but in a day or two I shall be quite myself again."
"How did you manage to keep the thing so quiet?"
"I sent for a doctor friend of mine. He was with me in the first Asturian campaign—a fellow who has a fortune, and loves doctoring as a pastime. He knows a lot about the Balkan business. I asked him to keep this matter a secret, and he has done so. Is there anything else I can tell you?"
"It seems to me that there is a good deal that you can tell me," Maxwell replied. "When you walked off with the king's clothes you probably went away with papers that may be used with great effectagainst Russia if they fall into proper hands—our hands, that is. If you don't mind, I shall be glad to turn out the pockets of that coat."
"That is an excellent idea," Maxgregor said. "What did I do?—oh, I know. The porter took the whole suit down to be brushed; as I don't keep a man he acts as my valet. If you would not mind going down into the hall and asking the fellow?"
Maxwell vanished at once. But the hall porter had departed for the night, so the occupant of another set of chambers said as he opened the outer door with his latchkey. At the same moment a figure bolted past the door, a figure with coat collar turned up and hat pulled down. It was the double of the King of Asturia. Maxgregor's face grew stern as he heard.
"Let us anticipate events," he said. "Put out the lights in my sitting-room and close the door. When you have done that put out the light here also. There is a way into the corridor out of this room without going through the sitting-room. Place the key of the sitting-room door on the outside."
Maxwell crept back presently, having accomplished his task. For half an hour or more the two sat in the pitch darkness saying not a word to each other. It seemed a long time, but the watchers knew that something was going to happen and stifled their impatience. Presently Maxwell felt that a hand was clutching him by the arm. Maxgregor was whispering something in his ear.
And under the folding doors a long slit of light filtered into the bedroom. Somebody had turned up the light in the sitting-room!
It was getting late by this time. Gradually the guests were thinning and the splendid rooms were taking on a deserted appearance. Jessie sat in one of the corridors hidden away behind a bank of palms and azaleas, and longed for the time when she could rest. From head to foot she was aching with fatigue. She had not been used to excitement lately; the close atmosphere of the Bond Street establishment and the want of regular exercise in the pure air had told upon her. Now that the excitement had passed away she realized how tired she was.
She laid her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. So utterly exhausted was she that she did not seem to care what happened. And there would be much to be done in the morning. If only Vera Galloway could be restored to her proper place, Jessie vowed that nothing should prevail upon her to carry on the adventure. She slept just for a moment. She might have stayed there till daylight, only Ronald Hope came along and found her.
At the sound of a human voice Jessie became quite alert and vigorous again.
"How you startled me," she said. "I was asleep. Is there anything fresh, any new complication?"
Ronald dropped into the seat by Jessie's side. He was looking just a little grave and stern. It was possible to detain Jessie there for some little time.
"There is nothing fresh," he said. "I have a few words to say to you, Jessie. Everybody is going, and only a few of Lady Merehaven's intimate friends remain."
"If you are one of them you will not be expected to leave just yet," Jessie smiled. "But why look so serious, Ronald? Have I done anything?"
"Upon my word, I don't know," Ronald said in some perplexity. "I don't like it, Jess. If you look at it from a proper point of view you have no business to be here at all. Lady Merehaven is a dear friend of mine. What would she say if she knew everything? As a matter of fact, she is bound to know everything sooner or later."
"But you can't blame me," Jessie protested. "Look at my position. I was quite desperate. I had been dismissed from Bond Street for no fault of my own; I had a sister practicallydepending upon me; it was useless in the circumstances to try and find employment elsewhere. I was face to face with something very like starvation, my dear Ronald."
Ronald's face softened, but the perplexed frown on his face was still there.
"Oh, I know it," he said eagerly. "I see your position entirely. At the same time, it is quite wrong. I am looking at the social side of the question. And the worst of the affair is that youmustgo on now till Vera Galloway comes back. I have been trying to find some way to achieve that without delay. If it can be managed, you must promise never to change your identity again."
Something like tears rose into Jessie's eyes. The dull, tired feeling was coming over her again.
"Don't blame me, dear," she whispered. "Thinkof my position. I had not met you this afternoon; I did not dream that you still cared for me. And yet I fancy that I would have done the same in any case. A good and noble girl comes to me in great trouble; she asks me to help her out of a grave difficulty to save one she loves. To help her I do this. And she has more or less succeeded. Between the two of us we have gone far to save a nation. Tell Lady Merehaven if you like, but do not spoil everything in the moment of victory."
"I don't want to," Ronald said. "It would be ridiculous to speak just yet. But any moment some unexpected accident may find you out. It may come before bedtime. And what would happen to you then? I am very jealous for the good name of my future wife. Dr. Varney——"
"Dr. Varney is standing by me nobly, and he will see that I am safe," Jessie said. "Dear old boy, don't be afraid. Trust me a little longer, and I am quite sure——"
"My darling, I trust you implicitly," Ronald exclaimed. He bent forward and kissed Jessie's trembling lips. "Only I am so miserably anxious, so fearful lest—— But somebody is coming."
Somebody came down the corridor, pushing the azaleas carelessly aside from time to time. The newcomer was evidently looking for somebody.Then the grey face of Lechmere appeared, white and excitedas Ronald had never seen him before. He paused before the others.
"Then the grey face of Lechmere appeared white and excited.""Then thegreyface of Lechmere appeared white and excited."
"Miss—er—Galloway, I have been looking for you everywhere," he said. "It is of the utmost importance that——"
"Oh, dear!" said Jessie with a little broken laugh. "Please don't tell me that I have to do anything elseto-night. I am utterly worn out. If I could go straight to bed——"
"So you may as far as I am concerned," Lechmere said curtly. "I beg your pardon, but I fancy I have made a discovery of importance. That man whom you took to be the King of Asturia—I mean the man you saw in the Countess Saens's dining-room. What became of him?"
"Really, I cannot tell you," Jessie said. "Let me think. I fancy Mr. Maxwell said something about him. Yes, that was it. He said that the man you mention drove to the office of theMercury. Mr. Maxwell would have followed him, only he could not spare the time."
Lechmere nodded as if pleased about something, but the stern look was still on his face.
"I fancy that is all that I need bother you about at present," he said. "And I don't think that we shall need your services any more to-night, my dear young lady. If you can contrive to see Dr. Varney on your ride before breakfast in the morning, you will be doing everybody a service."
Lechmere darted away as hurriedly as he had come. Evidently he had work of importance before him.
"He has given me one useful piece of information," Jessie said as soon as Lechmere had gone. "If what he remarks is correct, Miss Galloway is in the habit of riding before breakfast. Well, I shall be able to fulfil that part of the programme, Ronald. It will be delightful to be on the back of a horse again, even in a borrowed habit, which I sincerely hope will fit me."
Ronald looked at the mass of chiffon and the quivering fall of drapery before him and smiled.The dress might have been made for the wearer, so perfectly did it seem to fit her.
"This is quite another matter," Jessie said. "One can do wonders with a little lace and a bow or two of chiffon. But a close-fitting riding habit is quite another thing. I dare say I shall manage. There is only one thing that really fills me with terror."
"I should like to know what that is," said Ronald.
"Why, Countess Saens. I am quite sure that she knows what has taken place—at least, she suspects, and will find out dual identity, or she would never have tried to gain admission to the hospital to-night. I am perfectly sure that she will make another attempt in the morning. She is clever and unscrupulous, and she is certain to get her own way. In the accident ward of a hospital there is always a case or two that needs identity, and there will be the chance of the countess. She professes to have missed somebody, and she will be able to walk through the accident ward. That is all she requires. And I am quite certain that she will do this thing in the course of the morning. Don't you agree with me?"
Ronald was fain to agree with what Jessie said. Perhaps some scheme for baffling the countess was already in the air, as Lechmere would not have suggested that early morning visit to Varney.
"I have been thinking the matter out," Jessie went on. "Why could not Miss Galloway be removed to a private ward? If Dr. Varney called at the hospital he could see the patient and drop a hint to that effect. You see what is uppermost in my mind, Ronald. A private ward affords chance of escape, also chance for me to take Miss Galloway's place and let her come home."
"You are a friend in need," Ronald said as he kissed the red lips again. "It was a lucky thing for Vera Galloway when she thought of you. But there are risks even in this scheme. Suppose the maid who was present when the robbery at the Countess Saens's took place comes forward and identifies you, what then? You will be charged with burglary, and perhaps convicted. The police will find out all about you—your name will figure largely in the newspapers."
Jessie hesitated a little before she replied. Her head fell forward, and she fell almost asleep on Ronald's arm. Nothing seemed to matter to her now; if only she could have a good night's rest.
"I don't seem to care," she murmured. "I don't fancy that the countess would go that far. It isn't as if she stood any chance of recovering the stolen papers. And she would have to give a description of the missing documents, which would not suit her book at all. On the whole, I am prepared to take any risk so that I can spare Vera Galloway further misery."
And Ronald had nothing further to say. It was good to know that he had the love of a girl like this. She should carry out her resolution, and he would maintain a loyal silence for the present.
With a new object uppermost in his mind Lechmere left Merehaven House and took his way into Piccadilly. The roads were almost deserted now, save for a solitary foot-passenger and a dingy night cab. One of these crept along presently, and Lechmere ordered the driver to take him to Fleet Street. In contrast with the West End there was bustle and animation enough in the street that never sleeps. It was near to the hour when the great morning papers went to press; there were lights everywhere, and the hoarse rattle of machinery. Lechmere came at length to the offices of theMercuryand demanded to see the editor. The request was an unusual one at so late an hour, and the clerk asked if the visitor had an appointment.
"I have no appointment at all," Lechmere said. "But at the same time I am going to see the editor. Give my card to Mr. Hunt, and say that I will not detain him many moments."
There was something in Lechmere's manner that caused the clerk to take the card without further protest. Lechmere had before now forced himself in times of emergency on the great ones of the earth, so that he was not going to be baffled by a newspaper editor, important functionary as the latter was. He waited some little time before the clerk returned.
Mr. Hunt was very busy, he said, and was sorry he could not see the gentleman. Perhaps he would like to call later on, or send up the nature of his business? Some very important news had come in late, and in the circumstances it was impossible for the editor to grant an interview to anybody.
Lechmere said he would call again, and turned for the door. But he had no intention of being put off in this way. He paused as a rush of business distracted the attention of the clerk. In a corridor leading to a flight of steps two jaded-looking reporters were talking eagerly.
"Is it a fake or a real thing?" the first one said. "I've just come back from Westminster—scene in the House, don't you know—and Gregg would not even look at us. Said we had a real good thing on."
"Then you didn't get to the bottom of what it was?" the other asked eagerly.
"No, I didn't. Something about the King of somewhere and a row in the office. Anyway, the whole of the staff up in the composing-room are working with closed doors, so that no hated rival shall get a sniff of what is going on. We are evidently in for a big sensation."
Lechmere waited for no more; he gripped his opportunity with both hands. He advanced along the corridor to where the two men were talking, and asked what floor Mr. Hunt's office was on. The two men looked at him with something of admiration on their faces. Hunt was a martinet in his office, and difficult of access at all times.
"Second floor on the right," one of the reporters said with a wink at his companion. "Don't knock, but walk right in. Hunt is always glad to see visitors at this hour. It is a refreshing change after the grindof the night. He'll be quite pleased to see you."
Lechmere grimly expressed his thanks, though the sarcastic force of the words and the wink were not lost on him. He was here to see Hunt, and he was going to do it at any cost. He made his way up the staircase and along to the second floor, where a door with the name of Hunt in large letters attracted his eye. The door of the room was shut, but Lechmere walked in.
The room was empty for the moment. The floor was littered with paper and proofs; on the desk a slip of galley proof lay. The heading attracted Lechmere's attention, and he whistled. Then he sat calmly down to await Mr. Hunt's return. He had no undue trial of his patience, for a moment later the editor of theMercurybustled into the room.
There was a pleased smile on his face; he seemed to be on the best of terms with himself. But the smile faded away, and the mean, eager face grew anxious as Hunt detected the presence of his visitor.
"Now this is really too bad, Mr. Lechmere," he protested. Lechmere did not fail to notice the agitation of the speaker's voice. "Of course, I had your card. I sent a message down for you. If you had been the king I would not have seen you to-night. I never see anybody after twelve o'clock. I repeat, if you had been the king I should have had to refuse you an audience."
"Sounds exceedingly impressive, not to say regal," Lechmere remarked in a dry tone, and without the slightest suggestion of an apology. "What king do you happen to mean?"
"Why, the King of England, of course," Hunt puffed. "Any living king, as a matter of fact."
"Any king in theAlmanach de Gotha—with the exception of the King of Asturia, eh?"
The question was couched in a tone of easy badinage, but its effect on Hunt was wonderful. The face grew grey and his hands trembled. If he had been accused of some crime he could not have looked more agitated. He tried to bluff, but he could only stammer something incoherent.
"Really, I don't know what you mean," he said. "The King of Asturia, you say?"
"My words were quite plain, Mr. Hunt. I came here to-night determined to see you and determined not to be bluffed by all the clerks in your office. Your paper has gone to press, and therefore you must have a few minutes to spare. You need not be afraid. Your composing-room door is locked, and the present item of news destined for your readers is not likely to leak out. Will you be so good as to let me have an advanced copy of the paper?"
"Certainly not," Hunt said. "This is an outrage. If you do not leave my office——"
"Sit down," Lechmere said sternly. He might have been speaking to an unruly hound. "You are not going beyond that door without we have an explanation. The King of Asturia was here to-night. If you deny it, I shall give you the lie from that printed proof on the table before you."
Hunt glanced at the long galley slip and wriggled. All his dignity had vanished.
"I am not going to deny it," he said. "The King of Asturia has been here. He came in a cab. I did not send for him, he came of his own free will. He gave me certain information——"
"I have not the slightest doubt of it," Lechmere said drily. "Unfortunately, his majesty has made for himself in London the sort of reputation which is coveted only by a certain class of music-hallfrequenter and the haunter of the typical Strand bar. There have been occasions when his majesty has exceeded the bounds in the way of intoxicating liquor. Did you see any signs of it to-night?"
Hunt intimated that he had. He was palpably uneasy and uncomfortable. Every admission that he made Lechmere had literally to drag from him.
"The description sounds convincing," Lechmere said. "But suppose I was in a position to tell you that the King of Asturia had not been here in Fleet Street at all?"
"Impossible!" Hunt cried. "I saw his majesty; he sat in that chair for an hour. A man in my position is not likely to make mistakes like that. And he gave me certain information that I propose to make a sensation of. What that information is you will know with the rest of the general public when you get yourMercuryat breakfast time."
Lechmere nodded. Beyond the door he could see something in the guise of a foreman printer with a damp news sheet in his hand. He knew at once that here was an early copy of the paper; that early copy he had made up his mind to possess. He rose as if satisfied with his interview.
"Very well," he said. "I will wish you good-night. You have done a foolish thing, and, unless I am greatly mistaken, you are the victim of one of the most mistaken cases of identityeverplayed off on the editor of a great newspaper. But the fault is on your own head. Good-night."
Lechmere passed out, closing the door behind him. The printer stood there, evidently waiting for him to go. Lechmere silently drew his purse from his pocket and extracted a ten-pound note. This he held up in the glaring light of the passage andpointed to the paper. The printer perspired profusely. Then, with a sudden spasmodic gesture he folded up the paper and placed it in Lechmere's hand, at the same time snatching convulsively for the money. The whole transaction did not take five seconds.
Calm and easy in his triumph, Lechmere walked leisurely down the stairs. Once in Fleet Street he stood under the friendly light of a lamp and opened the paper. As he did so he started. Well in hand as he usually kept himself, Lechmere was surprised to-night.
There it was for anybody to see who had an eye at all; the fifth page was filled with it:—
"The King of Asturia and his people. His majesty visits theMercuryoffice and speaks freely. Does not care for the responsibilities of State, and has made up his mind to abdicate. Has already signed the declaration to that effect. Prefers Piccadilly to the Balkan service. One of the most amazing romances in the history of Europe."
"Good Heavens!" Lechmere cried. "So that is the game! What a lucky thing I came down here! Of all the audacious things that ever happened, this is the most audacious of all."
He crushed the paper in his hand and hurried breathlessly westward at the top of his speed.
The editorial staff of theMercuryhad certainly done their work very well. No detail had been spared to make the report absolutely complete. Everybody was reminded that recently there had been a great deal of friction in that corner of the Balkans known as Asturia. It was well known that for many years Russia had coveted that fair province. Up to now the crown of the King of Asturia had been quite safe. But with the advent of the present monarch things were entirely different. King Erno had very early in his career given evidence that he did not appreciate the full measure of responsibility. He was too fond of gaiety and pleasure; he had no patriotism. His people were a stern, hard-living race, and they did not tolerate the gaiety of the new court.
The queen was all very well, but she was only the consort, after all. It was useless for her to be ever on the spot whilst the king was dissipating his fortune and spending the money ground from his people by extra taxation in London and Paris. And latterly eyes had been turned to Vienna, where dwelt Prince Alix, who was known to covet the throne. At any moment there might be a glaring tragedy, and Prince Alix might find himself with the crown. That Prince Alix was notoriously a friend of Russia mattered little at the present juncture.
Lechmere read all this as he hurried along Fleet Street. He also read a lot of information that was true, and more that was false. Evidently theMercurypeople cared for nothing beyond the sensation of the hour. But after all this came the sting of the thing. The King of Asturia had that night gone down to theMercuryoffice and demanded audience of the editor. He had been very wild and violent, and the intimation that he was hopelessly intoxicated was not very carefully concealed. The king wished it to be understood that he had done with Asturia. He had not the slightest intention of going back to his capital any more. His abdication was signed, and doubtless by that time a deputation was on its way to Vienna to offer the throne to Prince Alix. Altogether, it was perhaps the most sensational report that ever appeared even in an American paper. It was certain to create a great commotion, and set all the courts of Europe by the ears.
"Well, of all the amazing audacity!" Lechmere mutteredashe raced along. "Nothing more daring had ever been done in the history of political intrigue. I wonder if Hunt suspects the truth. Not that it would make any difference to him so long as he could shift the responsibility afterwards, as I daresay he will be prepared with proofs that he was justified in what he did. There is only one way to get even with this thing."
Lechmere arrived at length at the office of theDaily Herald. The paper in question had very little taint of the modern spirit about it. There was no chance, for instance, that it would ever be published for less than a penny. TheHeraldhad no very great reputation for enterprise, but it wassound and safe, and everything therein would be accepted as true. No newspaper in the kingdom carried more weight, no journal had a greater reputation for veracity.
TheHeraldhad not gone to press yet. There was no great hurry, seeing that the feverish rush to capture circulation had never commended itself to the paper's proprietors. There was a sense of decorum about the office that had been lacking in theentourageof theMercury. The place seemed more dignified; there was no noise; all the corridors had felted floors. Even down in the manager's office the same decorum prevailed.
Lechmere knew that he would have no difficulty in seeing the editor of theHerald. In the first place, that gentleman was an old friend of his; indeed, Lechmere had contributed from time to time many articles on foreign politics. Mr. Eveleigh was at liberty, and would see Mr. Lechmere at once. The editor was lying back in an armchair smoking a cigar.
"I have just finished, my dear fellow," he said. "I hope you have something good for me? Nothing wrong? You look actually excited, a most unusual thing for you."
"I certainly have come along at a pretty good pace," Lechmere admitted. "A most extraordinary thing has happened. If this matter is allowed to pass there is no limit to the damage that it may do. Will you be so good as to cast your eye on that, Eveleigh?"
The editor of theHeraldtook theMercuryinhis hand as if he had been contaminated. There was a smile of contempt on his fine face. But the smile faded away, and an interested gleam came into hiseyes as he read. He tossed the paper aside at length.
"Nothing very wonderful," he said. "That is precisely how I should have expected the present ruler of Asturia to behave. It's a fine scoop for Hunt, and one after his own heart. He would set the whole of Europe in a blaze to sell an extra fifty thousand papers."
"Why not? He is an American, and his aim is to make money. He has the excuse that he is not bound by any patriotic scruples. Do you believe that story?"
"It certainly has the impress of truth," Eveleigh said thoughtfully. "Hunt dare not hoax his public. The average Briton would never stand it. Besides, that's Hunt's own writing. He is perfectly certain to have taken the statement down from the royal lips."
"No doubt. Probably with the aid of a stenographer. There are no flies on Hunt, to use a pet expression of his own. Let us assume for the sake of argument that Hunt fully believes that he has had the thing from the principal actor in the drama. But all the same, he didn't. The man who dictated that statement was no more King of Asturia than I am."
Eveleigh looked up brightly. Lechmere was not in the habit of making statements that he couldn't prove.
"As a matter of fact, the king has been at Lord Merehaven's all the evening," he went on. "I left him there a little while ago. This thing has been deliberately got up by the gang of conspirators who are working here in the interests of Russia and incidentally for their own pockets. When the proper time comes I will name all these conspirators to you.I can even give you the name of the man who played the part for Hunt's benefit. They chose their people carefully, knowing that only theMercuryout of all the London journals would publish that without first consulting the Foreign Secretary. Don't you see the game? Every paper in Paris and Vienna and St. Petersburg will get a copy of that interviewin extenso. It will create a perfect furore in Asturia if the lie is not most promptly contradicted. You see what I mean?"
"In the first place, that some clever actor has been playing the king?" Eveleigh asked.
"Yes. It was Countess Saens's idea in the first place. I am afraid that some of our people inspired her with the suggestion. But that is neither here nor there. That lie has to be scotched, and you are the man to do it. After all said and done,thejournalistic English authority abroad is theHerald. Therefore theHeraldis going to print that wild story of Hunt's to-night and comment upon the audacity of the scheme. Also, you are going to proclaim the fact that the real King of Asturia was known to be at the residence of the Foreign Secretary, Lord Merehaven, at the time when he was supposed to be betraying his private affairs to the editor of theMercury. If I were not absolutely certain of my facts I would not ask you to do this, Eveleigh. I want you to make a big thing of this. I want you to assume that Hunt has been hoaxed, and call for the prompt punishment of the criminals. Is there time?"
"Oh, there is plenty of time," Eveleigh said thoughtfully. "No trouble on that score. And I think I can manage it. Sit down for a minute or two while I go and see my chief of staff."
Lechmere sat down fluttering over the pages of theMercury. His restless eye wandered near the column and along the crowded advertisements. Finally his gaze stopped at the agony column. One line there arrested his attention. It was a jumbled cypher, but the training that Lechmere had had in that kind of thing enabled him to read it almost at a glance.
"I thought so," he said. "I felt absolutely certain of my man. So Peretori is in London! I might have guessed that from the first. Well, it seems to me that I am in a position to hoist these people with their own petard. So long as Peretori is not in earnest, well and good. I wonder if there is a telephone anywhere here?"
There was a telephone at the back of the editor's desk, and Lechmere promptly called up Scotland Yard in search of information. After a pause the information came, which Lechmere carefully jotted down in his pocket book. Eveleigh came back with the air of a busy man.
"I'm going to do it, Lechmere," he said. "No thanks needed: it will be a good thing for us. And now I shall be glad if you will go, as I shall be pretty busy for the next hour. I think you will be safe to leave matters in my hands."
Whilst Lechmere was making the best of his way from theHeraldoffice to the chambers in the big block occupied by General Maxgregor, he, it will be remembered, lay perfectly still on his bed watching the light broadening under the door of his sitting-room. It was a thrilling moment for both Maxwell and himself.
"What are you going to do?" Maxwell whispered. "Shall I go and see what the fellow is after?"
"No," Maxgregor replied. "Stay where you are. Unless I am greatly mistaken, I know who it is. Our friend is coming in here to investigate."
Surely enough the double doors were opening and the figure walked in. He came boldly enough with the light behind him into the comparative darkness of the bedroom. He fumbled along the wall for the switch, and presently the bedroom also was flooded with light. Mazaroff stood there, his hands apparently covered with pitch, for they were black and sticky, and he was looking round for the washstand.
"If there is anything you want and you don't see it," Maxgregor said coolly "ring the bell."
Mazaroff gave a startled cry. The man was genuinely astonished, of that there could be no doubt. He looked helplessly from Maxgregor to Maxwell and back again.
"I am exceedingly sorry," he stammered. "I—I have come to the wrong rooms."
"Where did you get the key of my suite from?" Maxgregor demanded.
"Who from?" Mazaroff asked helplessly. "Why, from Barlow—Barlow who occupies the suite that I took for this one. You see, Barlow is a friend of mine. Very unfortunate that the key should fit both outer rooms."
"Very," Maxgregor said drily. "When was it that Barlow gave you the key?"
"Yesterday, or the day before?" Mazaroff explained. "You see, he is away from London. As a matter of fact he wanted to let the suite, and I wanted it for a friend. It's very strange that I should find you here like this. I can only tender you my very sincere apologies."
"Better wash your hands before you go," Maxwell suggested grimly. "Were you looking for the basin?"
"That is it," Mazaroff said hurriedly. "You see, I thought I knew my way about the suite, having been so often in Barlow's rooms. I—I slipped getting out of a cab just now and fell on a newly finished piece of asphalte pavement. May I use your basin?"
Maxgregor grimly intimated that the basin was at the disposal of the intruder, who did not cease to pour out floods of apologies. Mazaroff was pretty much at his ease again by this time. He was quite concerned to see Maxgregor looking so pale. Was he suffering from that old malarial fever again?
"Sprained ankle," Maxgregor said sketchily. "Nothing very much to speak of. As a matter of fact, I have never been in better health in my life. It seems to me——"
Maxgregor paused and broke off with a quicksneeze. The thing was ostensibly done, and served very well to hide an exclamation of surprise. For in the sitting-room, with his finger to his lips, Lechmere stood. He shook his head warningly, and pointed to Mazaroff. Then he crossed the room and took his place behind the heavy curtain before the window. No sooner was he secure of his hiding place than he walked out and signified Maxwell to approach the window.
In a casual way Maxwell sauntered into the sitting-room. He first moved the curtain, and appeared to be looking idly into the street below.
"Good boy!" Lechmere whispered approvingly. "What is that fellow doing here? Said he came here in mistake, for a suite of rooms occupied by a man named Barlow? Didn't come here to murder Maxgregor as you might have been inclined to imagine. Well, I quite agree that Mazaroff has made a mistake and shall be able to prove to you why a little later on. I want you to shut the bedroom door for a time till I give you the signal—a tap of the blind on the window—and keep Mazaroff talking. Make him feel at his ease, if possible. Big events are in the air."
Maxwell sauntered back to the bedroom and pulled the door to behind him. Mazaroff was quite himself again by this time, and stood chatting gaily to Maxgregor. It was no part of the latter's policy to let Mazaroff know that he had been nearly done to death at Merehaven House.
"How did you come by that sprained ankle?" he asked. "You seemed all right just an hour or so ago, when I saw you at Merehaven House."
"That's where I did it," Maxgregor lied coolly. He had no scruples whatever in dealing with a manlike Mazaroff. "Slipped on a confounded banana skin, which, by the way, is a little more dangerous than orange peel. It's a nuisance just at present, when I am so busy with Asturian affairs and the king is such a handful to hold. I daresay some confounded Russian placed that banana skin for me."
"Don't forget that Prince Mazaroff is a Russian," Maxwell laughed.
"Oh, you need not trouble about me," Mazaroff said in his most fascinating manner. "There are Russians and Russians. I am too enlightened and progressive to feel comfortable in my own country, and that is why I spend so much time in England. So far as I am concerned, you have all my sympathy in your efforts to check the Russian influence in the Balkans. What was that?"
From the sitting-room beyond there came the sounds of somebody gently whistling. The thing was natural enough, and yet Mazaroff listened with a certain suggestion of uneasiness. It came to Maxwell, quick as a flash, that here was something that Mazaroff must not see, for a moment at any rate. Lechmere had charged him distinctly to keep Mazaroff talking for a time.
"My man, I expect," he explained. "I told him to come here about this time, and I suppose he is whistling to let me know that he is handy. When anybody is in trouble, as I am at present, it behoves one to be careful. As one accused of betraying diplomatic secrets——"
"Not at all, my dear fellow," Mazaroff said graciously. "Pray do not apologise. There is a great deal too much fuss made over that kind of thing. The sale of diplomatic secrets is a brisk one in myown country, or how would so many of our poor aristocracy live? And you are innocent, of course. The mere fact that Lancing has made away with himself proves that."
Maxwell turned away so that the speaker should not see his face. It was hard work to keep his hands off the ruffian who was one of the main causes of the trouble. Perhaps Maxgregor divined that, for he hastened to change the conversation. Meanwhile, the whistling in the next room went on....
Lechmere carelessly pulled a section of thecurtainaside and looked out. He saw a little man with a clean-shaven face and shrewd eye sitting swinging his legs on the edge of the table and whistling very softly to himself. The little man seemed to be quite at home; he was perfectly cool and collected, save that his face was shining with something that looked like an intense perspiration. He had a small bag with him of which he seemed to be very careful. If he was satisfied with himself, Lechmere grinned with the air of a man who is still more satisfied.
As a matter of fact, Lechmere had discovered all that he desired for the present. He swayed the knot of the blind cord backwards and forwards gently, as if the draught from the open windows was moving it. The knot tapped idly on the panes, and Maxwell's keen ear heard it. The time had come to get rid of Mazaroff. Maxwell opened the door leading into the corridor.
"Excuse me if I ask you to go," he said. "I have some business to settle with Maxgregor, and I have to be on my way to Dover within an hour. It is not very polite of me, but——"
And Maxwell shrugged his shoulders. Mazaroff departed with a graceful apology. He passed along the corridor till he came to the open sitting-room door. He looked in and grabbed for the shoulders of the little man who sat whistling on the table.
"You fool!" he said. "If you only knew how near you have been to betraying everything! But I am to blame as I mistook the room, perhaps because the door was open. Come along at once."
The little man murmured something to the effect that he was ready to do anything for a quiet life, and obediently followed Mazaroff. Lechmere crept from the shadow of the curtain and closed the outer door of the sitting-room. Then he called for Maxwell, who came immediately.
"Is there anything fresh?" he demanded eagerly. "Is there anything that I can do for you?"
"Yes," Lechmere said crisply. "You can do a great deal for me, and you need ask no questions for the present, for I have no time to reply to them. Ask Maxgregor if he has any of his fishing tackle here. If he has, ask him to let me have a long length of salmon line on a reel. The sooner I have it the better I shall be pleased."
"In the bottom drawer of my writing table," Maxgregor called out. "Whatareyou up to now?"
Jessie sat listening in a vague way to a girl who sat chatting by her side. She had not the least idea what the girl was saying, nor, indeed, had she any clue to the identity of the speaker. The talk was a little confidential, and was evidently the continuation of some confidence began at another time. Jessie nodded and smiled, and by instinct looked sympathetic at the right moment.
"And what would you say to Reggie under the circumstances?" the girl asked. "It isn't as if George had behaved badly, because he really hasn't, you know. Vera, you are not listening."
Jessie laughed in a dreamy kind of way. The whole thing was getting horribly on her nerves now. She felt how utterly impossible it would be to keep up much longer. She was utterly tired out; she longed for something to inspire her flagging strength. She began to understand why men drink in certain circumstances. But she was just equal to the occasion.
"I am dead tired, I am half asleep," she said. "And my head is racking. Ask me again, my dear, when I am capable of a coherent thought or two. And as to Reggie, why, what can you do better than trust your own woman's instinct. Have I not always thought that——"
But there was no reason for Jessie to prevaricate any further. Relieved at last from her onerousduties, Lady Merehaven was crossing the room. There was no chance of escape so far as Jessie could see, the guests had dwindled down to a comfortable number including the Queen of Asturia. She would have to wait so long as the king chose to play bridge; it would be folly to leave him there. Lady Merehaven came and dropped into a seat by Jessie's side.
"My dear Ada, money is bid for you," she said to the confidential girl. "Your father is positively fussing for you in the hall. He said something about an early excursion on the river to-morrow."
The girl rose with a pleasant little laugh and kissed Jessie. Evidently there was some very clever friend of Vera Galloway's. As she flitted away Lady Merehaven turned to Jessie.
"I have heard the most extraordinary idea suggested to-night," she said. "I understand from your uncle that the idea emanated from Prince Mazaroff. He said that you were not yourself, but somebody else. It sounds very Irish, you know, but there it is. My dear child, how pale you are. Short-sighted as I am, I can see how pale you are."
"I have a dreadful headache," Jessie said unsteadily. "What did the prince mean?"
"Really, I have no idea. I could see that he was very annoyed about something. He told some queer story to the effect that there was a girl in a Bond Street shop who was the very image of you. The only distant branch of our family whose women are remarkably like ours are the Harcourts. But I understand that they have disappeared altogether. It is just possible, of course, that one of the girls might have come down to service in a shop. Have you heard anything of this?"
"I have been told so," Jessie said boldly."Ronald Hope told me. But why should you trouble?"
"My dear, this is rather a serious business. You heard what happened to Countess Saens. You heard what the countess's maid said. There is no doubt that this girl, who is so very like you, actually committed that robbery. I am going to ask your uncle to enquire into the matter. We shall have the police arresting you for a swindler or something of that kind."
Jessie suppressed a tendency to burst into hysterical laughter. It was fortunate for her that somebody called Lady Merehaven away at this moment, or Jessie's laughter had turned to tears. She crept away through the little room where the bridge players were deep in their game into the conservatory beyond. The king was still playing, and behind his chair was a dark, military looking man with a stern face. It was quite evident that he was on guard over the royal presence. Jessie's mood changed when once she found herself alone. She felt sad and desolate and lonely and utterly beyond her strength. She placed her aching head between her hands and the tears ran down her cheeks.
For a time she wept there quietly. Her eyes were still misty with tears when the noise of rustling skirts attracted her attention. She wiped her face hurriedly, but it was too late to take away all traces of emotion. And as the tears were brushed from the long lashes, Jessie saw the queen before her.
The queen was smiling graciously, but the smile turned to a look of concern. She sat down by the girl's side and slipped an arm round her neck. It was one of the soft, womanly touches that endeared the queen to all who knew her. She was all a woman now.
"What is the matter?" she asked. "I have seen too much trouble in my life not to feel for it in others. And you are so brave and firm as a rule. Let me help you; forget who I am. Let me be as good a friend to you as you have been to me, Vera."
The last word touched Jessie. It seemed horrible to play a part with such a woman as this. And yet the night would have been a bad one for Asturia without the guardian girl from Bond Street. Jessie felt a strong inclination to tell the truth.
"I had better not say, perhaps," she said. "And yet you can help me. There is one thing that I dread—and that is to stay to-night under this roof. Pray don't ask me why, the secret is not all my own. I feel that Idarenot stay."
The queen asked no curious questions; there was a phase of temperament here that puzzled her. Very softly she took Jessie's hand in hers and stroked it.
"I know that nervous restlessness," she said. "Who better? But then with me every shadow hides an enemy. Even my friends are enemies sometimes. So you dread staying here to-night. Why?"
"I cannot tell you, madame." Jessie said in a low voice. "And yet if we were elsewhere I might be tempted to speak the truth. Again, I must be out very early in the morning. If you could help me——"
"Help you! Of course I can help you! What is the use of being a queen if I cannot do a little thing like that? One of my women has fallen ill, and I am rather awkwardly situated. If you will come with me to-night you shall take her place. How would that suit you?"
Jessie gasped with pleasure. The whole burden of her trouble seemed to have fallen from hershoulders. She rose to her feet as if anxious to escape at once. A new colour came into her face. The queen smiled, and pulled the girl down into her seat again.
"You are as impetuous and headstrong as you are courageous," she said. "I cannot go yet. There is something still to be done. A message has to be sent to Captain Alexis, the gentleman who you can see from here standing behind the king's chair. It is his duty not to allow his majesty out of his sight. But you need not fear. I shall make everything right with Lady Merehaven."
"If you only knew what a relief it is to me!" Jessie murmured. "I dared not stay here to-night. I should have betrayed everything. And after being so wonderfully successful so far——"
Jessie paused, conscious that she was saying too much. The queen regarded her with astonishment. A look of haughtiness—pride, something like suspicion, too, crossed her handsome, weary face.
"Evidently there is more here than meets the eye," she said coldly. "I have pledged my word, and I am not going to break it now. Possibly you may have a story to tell me presently."
"I will tell you everything if you will only be kind to me," Jessie exclaimed. "Ah, madame, if you only knew what I had gone through and suffered for you to-night——"
"True," the queen said hastily and with a change of tone. "I had forgotten for the moment. Only I hate mysteries. My life has been poisoned by them for years. Stay here and compose yourself, and I will see Lady Merehaven. Then I will send for your maid and give her instructions what to do. Don't stir from here."
Jessie murmured her thanks. She was only too glad to remain where she was and get a little time to think. At any rate, she was free from the dread of having to pass a night at Merehaven House. It was all very well for her to pose as Vera Galloway when dressed for the part and under the shaded lights. But in the strong light of day in her simple night clothing, and with her hair free, it would be a miracle if Vera Galloway's maid did not detect the difference.
Jessie lay back and closed her eyes with a blissful sense of freedom from danger. Surely it would make no difference if she told the queen everything? After all, she had done as much for Asturia as Vera had done, and perhaps more. She had proved her courage and her devotion, and no girl could have done more. Just for a moment Jessie fell into a quiet doze.