Next morning, shortly before five o'clock, he rose and continued his journey, catching a London train at Westbury, reaching Bath at eight o'clock, and Bristol thirty-five minutes later. Before leaving the station he secured the luggage he had sent on ahead, and then once more departed in quest of an hotel. This accomplished, he was at liberty to go in search of a vessel. From the collection of advertisements in the coffee-room, it would appear that there was no place on the face of the habitable globe that could not be reached from that port. He could find nothing, however, to suit him. The United States did not appeal sufficiently to his sense of the romantic; South Africa had another and still more vital objection; Canada was impossible, for the simple reason that he had already visited it, and was exceedingly well known there. He wanted to find a vessel on which there would be no possible chance of his being recognised, and for this reason also the big liners were unsuitable. Leaving the hotel, he went into the town, scanned the wharves, and entered into conversation with men who had their dealings in great waters. At last, and quite by chance, he happened upon the very vessel he wanted. She was theDiamintina, a steamer of some three thousand tons, engaged in the South American trade. Her steam was already up, and, as Max was informed, she was to sail that afternoon for Rio de Janeiro. He inquired the name of the agents, and as soon as he had discovered their address, set off in search of the office post-haste. The clerk who did him the honour to inquire his business informed him that he was quite right in supposing that she would sail that afternoon, and went even so far as to add that she had sufficient accommodation for half a dozen passengers, four of which were already booked. The chance seemed too good to be lost. Brazil was the country he had always had a desire to visit; now he paid the money demanded of him and received his ticket in exchange. An hour later he had made his way on board and the voyage to South America had commenced. Max stood at the port bulwarks as the vessel steamed slowly down the river, and watched the shore slip past with what was almost a feeling of wonderment at his position. At last he might consider himself freed from his past life. He had a hundred pounds in the belt that was safely clasped round his waist, ten pounds in his pocket, and when that was gone he would have nothing to depend upon, save his health and his determination to succeed. By nightfall they were out in more open water, and a brisk sea was running. Fortunately, Max was an excellent sailor, and enjoyed rather than disliked the active motion of the steamer. To his surprise, when the dinner-bell rang at six o'clock, he, the captain, and one solitary passenger were all who sat down to table. They were the only three to sit down at subsequent meals during the voyage. The captain was inclined to be agreeable, and Max's fellow saloon passenger was the Señor Francisco Moreas, and he was, by his own account, an old resident in Brazil. Be that as it may, and I am certainly not in a position to contradict it, he had seen more of the world than the average man. His age must have been between forty and forty-five; his appearance was that of a typical Spaniard, debilitated partly by fever and partly by his own excesses; he was tall but sparely built, boasted keen, hawk-like eyes, a nose that at first glance reminded one of the same bird's beak, a small and carefully-trimmed moustache, and last, but not least, exceedingly small hands and feet, of which he was inordinately proud. The fingers of the former, which were dirty, were invariably ornamented with rings.
The captain, who, as I have already said, had laid himself out to be agreeable to Max, found an occasion to invite him to the chart-room alone. Once there he spoke his mind freely and to the point.
"I want to give you a hint, Mr. Mortimer," he said, for that was the name Max had assumed. "I must put you on your guard against our friend Moreas."
"I am exceedingly obliged to you for the trouble you are taking," Max returned, as he seated himself on the chart locker. "What has he done that you should warn me against him?"
The captain sank his voice a little as he replied.
"I have known him for a good many years. He is a notorious gambler, and, as far as my observation goes, I can say that I have seen him win a good deal oftener than he loses. When I say that he is a dead shot with a revolver, and that he is not above calling a man out and putting a bullet into him before breakfast, you will understand that I've gone out of my way to tell you something that might land me in difficulties if he came to know of it."
"I am obliged to you," said Max. "You may be quite sure I shall respect your confidence. I will be on my guard for the future."
"I'm glad to hear it," the captain replied and added: "I've noticed that you've been playing cards with him lately."
Max admitted the soft impeachment. He might have added that he had lost more than he cared to remember. He felt certain in his own mind, however, that Moreas had obtained the money honestly, and in common fairness he felt compelled to say so to the captain.
"I don't doubt it," the other answered. "He is not such a fool as to try anything else while it is possible for him to get it by straightforward play. But if you must play with him I should advise you to keep your eyes and wits open. It is not in my interest to say so, for if you find him out you will come to quarrelling, and then possibly to blows, and at that point it will be my duty to step in. But I don't want to have to do it. As a rule, we carry very few passengers on this boat, but I can tell you that I have seen some funny scenes on board her now and again, and Moreas has figured conspicuously in more than one of them."
As it transpired, the captain's warning reached Max just in time. Another day and it might have been too late. The incident I am about to relate took place on a warm morning. They were nearing the Equator, and Max was stretched on the poop skylight, reading, when Moreas made his appearance. The latter offered him an excellent cigar, and after they had been smoking for a time proposed a game of ecarté. Max, who, I regret to say, was an inveterate gambler, immediately assented, not, however, without thinking of the captain's warning. His companion immediately produced a pack of cards. The steward, on being appealed to, brought a small folding table from below, whereupon the game commenced. For some time they played with varying success, then Max, contrary to custom, began to win. They doubled the stakes and played again. Once more Max won. They played another hand, still with the same result. An ominous look flashed into Moreas' eyes, but it was gone again as quickly.
"I am glad to see that your luck has turned at last, Señor," he said, with a suspicion of a sneer about his lips.
"Fortune must smile some time or other," retorted Max coolly. "It would be hard indeed if I were always to have the same luck that I've had of late. It is your deal, I fancy."
Moreas accordingly dealt, and they played the next hand. Suddenly Max laid down his cards, back uppermost, and leant across the table.
"Forgive me, Señor," he said, "but I feel sure there is some little mistake. We have played two rounds, and I see that you still have four cards in your hand."
The remainder of the pack was lying at the Spaniard's elbow, and Max noticed a suspicious movement of the other's sleeve a few seconds before. Had he not spoken when he did, the other would have rid himself of one of his cards without delay.
"Carambo! so I have," he said, with a well-simulated astonishment. "I must offer you ten thousand apologies, Señor, for having unwittingly made such a mistake. I do not know how it occurred."
As he said this he fixed his beady eyes upon Max's face, as though to give him warning that if he had anything to say on the subject it had better be of a conciliatory nature.
"I feel sure of that," Max answered good-humouredly, for he had not the least intention of quarrelling with him. He only wanted to let the other see that he was quite aware of his man[oe]uvres, and that they must not be attempted in the future. "Are you tired or shall we play another hand?"
"I think a little rest, Señor, would be acceptable," Moreas responded. "It is so hot under this awning. I will ask you for my revenge another time."
With that he rose and lit a fresh cigar. Going to the companion hatch, he called to the steward to bring a couple of bottles of beer and some glasses on deck. When these arrived, he insisted that Max and the captain, who had just arrived on the poop, should join him. To all appearances he was as calm and as friendly as usual, but there was still a gleam in his eyes that spoke for the smouldering fire in the brain behind.
"It is too hot," he said, spreading his arms abroad. "How shall we amuse ourselves? We have read, we have played, and now we have drunk beer. What else is there for us to do?"
Then, as if an idea had struck him, he continued:
"I wonder if our good friend, the captain, here, would permit us to have some pistol practice. There would be no danger, believe me, if we shoot over the stern."
Max understood what was in his mind. Though he had pretended to do so, the other had not forgotten the incident of the cards, and now he was going to give him, in case he should be inclined to spread the report abroad, an exhibition of his powers with the pistol. It was a hint delicately administered.
"I don't know that I ought to allow it," said the captain doubtfully; "but seeing that we have no ladies aboard, and that you promise to fire over the stern, we will risk it. Don't shoot each other, and don't keep it up too long, that's all I ask."
Moreas gave his promise and immediately disappeared below, to appear a few moments later, carrying in his hand a revolver, a piece of string, and a dozen medium-sized apples. Reaching the deck, he made one of the apples fast by the string to the wire rope that carried the awning. When this was done it hung midway between the awning and the taffrail, and afforded an excellent target.
"Have you done much shooting with the revolver?" Moreas inquired of Max, as he returned from placing the fruit in position.
"A little," the other replied.
"In that case shall we say thirty paces?"
"Whatever you like," said Max.
The distance was accordingly measured, and a chalk line drawn upon the deck.
"Shall we bet on the shot," remarked Moreas, taking a box of cartridges from his pocket and carefully filling the chambers of the revolver.
"Why not?" answered Max, still with the same imperturbability. "What shall it be? Name the sum."
"Let it be whatever you please," returned his polite adversary. "Since we are loaded with English gold shall we say half a sovereign?"
"Half a sovereign will suit me admirably," the other replied. "Perhaps you will commence?"
Nothing loath, Moreas toed the line, and, when he had examined the revolver to make sure that it was in working order, fired. The bullet hit the apple dividing it as neatly as if it had been cut with a knife.
"Bravo!" said Max. "I owe you half a sovereign."
The Spaniard handed him the revolver, and he, in his turn, took his place at the line. As boys, Max and I had been keen pistol shots, and I was quite prepared when I reached this part of his narrative to find that he had imitated Moreas' example and destroyed the target. To my surprise, however, he chronicled a miss.
"I owe you a sovereign," he said, handing the revolver to his adversary.
"You will come to it directly," the other replied patronisingly.
Once more Moreas toed the line and fired. He missed his mark, however, by some inches. An oath in Spanish escaped his lips as he handed the revolver to Max. The latter had recovered his presence of mind by this time, and when he pulled the trigger the ball pierced the apple in the centre.
"A good shot," said one of the men behind him, and Moreas, who, though he deemed it a fluke, felt compelled to agree.
"We are equal now," said Max quietly.
Again Moreas fired, but this time he hit the apple on its side, causing it to swing backwards and forwards like a pendulum. One cartridge still remained in the revolver. Max waited until the target was ready, then fired and again hit his mark. The shot was a good one, and this time there was no question of chance about it. Moreas changed colour as far as it was possible to do, and began to think that his exhibition was scarcely likely to serve the purpose for which it was intended. Once more the revolver was charged, and out of the six shots fired Max struck the apple three times and Moreas twice. Whether it was the salutary lesson he had received, or whether it was because, as he informed him later, he had taken a great liking to Max, I cannot say; the fact remains, however, that from that moment they agreed most amicably together. That he was aware Max did not trust him very far did not appear to detract from their friendliness. On the other hand, it may have added a spice to it, somewhat as bitters at times improve a glass of sherry. One day he asked Max point-blank what he intended doing when he reached his destination.
"Up to the present I have settled nothing," Max replied. "I am leaving it to chance to decide."
"It's not a bad idea," Moreas answered. "Brazil is a great place for chance. Your life is one long gamble from the time you set foot ashore until theyputyou under ground."
"The picture you draw is not a very cheerful one," remarked Max; "particularly for the confiding emigrant."
"Oh, you need not be afraid," said Moreas confidently. "A man who can shoot as you do will always be able to keep his head above water. And now I am going to make you a little offer, which it may possibly be worth your while some day to accept. My advice to you is to try your luck first in your own fashion, and if you don't succeed, just come to me and see what I can do for you. Will you agree to this proposal?"
"It's extremely kind of you to take so much interest in me," Max returned, "and of course I agree. I should be foolish if I did not. But where and how am I to find you in the event of my being compelled to accept your offer?"
"That is easily arranged. I will give you my address before I leave the vessel." Then he added, with pardonable vanity, "It is scarcely necessary, however; I believe I am fairly well known in Rio."
Next day he handed Max his card, on which his name and address was set forth with many flourishes.
"At least," said Max to himself as he stowed it away in a safe place, "there is something here to fall back upon."
To disembark in a strange port, particularly a foreign one, is, to the thinking man, invariably an interesting experience. The difference in architecture, in costume, in language, and in custom, attracts the attention and, if one may employ the expression in such a case, titillates the senses, like the first taste of a rare wine to which one has yet to grow accustomed.
Of all the cities of South America, Rio de Janeiro is, perhaps, the most cosmopolitan, the most representative, and at the same time the most contradictory. It is up to date, yet in many things it is sadly behind the times; it is beautiful in some respects, yet indescribably hideous in others; taken altogether it is a human abode full of bizarre contrasts, that step out and confront one at every turn. Generous and hospitable in certain directions, it is cruel and treacherous, almost to the borders of fanaticism, in others. To the right one sees a desire to copy Europe, to the left what would appear to be a deliberate attempt to disregard her altogether. It is these little idiosyncrasies that make Rio de Janeiro what it is, namely, one of the most instructive and fascinating cities in the world.
As soon as he had breakfasted on board in the harbour, Max hired a boat and made his way ashore. His luggage had already preceded him to the Custom House. Reaching the quay he set off, by way of the Rua Direita, in search of that building. What a strange collection of humanity he found crowded together in the streets! Faultlessly attired ladies, elegant gentlemen in frock coats and high hats, negroes and negresses, the latter decked out in the gayest colours, deformed, haggard, slouchy soldiers, Italian newspaper boys, cigarette-smoking policemen, clad in brown holland and quaint shakos, all helped to constitute a human jumble of the most varied and interesting description. Following the Rua Direita he entered the Rua d'Ouvidor, the fashionable street, indeed, one might almost say the Bond Street, of the city. Thence he continued his walk by way of the Rua dos Ourives, the Palais Royale of Rio, to the Custom House, where his baggage was examined and be told that he was at liberty to take it where he pleased. Chartering a small tilbury, a species of cab peculiar to Brazil, he drove to the Candido Hotel, in the Larangeiras, where he engaged a room, installed himself in it, and then prepared to look about him. He had considerably less than thirty pounds left in his money-belt; and when he became aware of this fact he could have cursed himself for his folly in having gambled with Moreas on board theDiamintina. It was done, however, and now he had to face the consequences. As he told himself, it was no use crying over spilt milk, and no amount of regret would bring the money back. One thing, however, was painfully certain—he must find some employment without delay. But in what direction was he to look for it? Putting on his hat, and stowing the key of his room away in his pocket, he set off on a tour of inspection. When he reached the principal business thoroughfares he kept his eyes open for an English name. It was some time, however, before he discovered one. Why he should have decided in favour of England, and have rejected Germany and Pannonia, both of whom were of nearer kin to him than the Island of the West, I can only hazard a guess. The fact remains, however, that he did so. When he had selected one that looked promising he entered, and inquired if he might see the merchant. Unfortunately, the clerk informed him, he was not in town that day. He left, and tried another further down the street. This one had already more clerks than was sufficient for his purpose, and could not dream of engaging another. The next was courteous, but equally firm in his refusal. A hundred yards or so further on he discovered a German firm, and, thinking a change of nationality might influence his luck, went in and asked his usual question. Yes; it was quite true that they stood in need of a clerk, but what experience and what references had he to offer? He informed his interrogator that he had none. He had only to add that he had spent the last five years of his life in the English army to have his services declined with thanks, and to find himself in the street once more. His next attempt was with a Portuguese Jew, who offered him employment at a wage that would have meant little else than genteel beggary for him. This post he declined of his own free will. "Things are beginning to look cheerful, I must say," he remarked to himself when he was in the street once more. "If I'm not more successful than this I shall have to fall back on Moreas after all." At last, and just when he was beginning to think that he would give up trying for that day, he found himself face to face with an office, on the window of which, written in gold letters, was "Brockford, Brent, & Kerton, English Merchants and Importers." He determined to go inside once more and try his luck. He accordingly entered the office, and, as usual, inquired for the head of the firm. A clerk, who was entering some figures in a large ledger, looked up and informed him that Mr. Brockford was engaged for a moment, and, having done so, inquired his business.
"To see Mr. Brockford," Max replied curtly. "If you don't think he will be long, I'll wait a few moments."
Five minutes or so later a man emerged from the inner office, and Max was conducted to Mr. Brockford's presence. The latter was a tall, thin man, with a somewhat hatchet-shaped face, clean-shaven cheeks, grey hair, and shaggy eyebrows. According to Brazilian custom, he was in his shirt-sleeves, and equally according to custom, the inevitable cigar was between his lips. Seeing that he had a gentleman, and one who was also a stranger to the country, to deal with, he invited Max to be seated, at the same time pushing a box of cigars towards him.
"What may I have the pleasure of doing for you?" he inquired in English, and with a courtesy that Max attributed to the anticipation of a large order, but which was in reality habitual to him.
"Well," said Max, "to tell the truth, I have come to see you in the hope that you may be able to give me something to do. I arrived from England this morning in the steamshipDiamintina, and as I've not much money, I want to find employment as soon as I possibly can. I've tried a number of offices, but cannot hear of anything."
The other glanced at his visitor's well-cut clothes, elegant boots, and general air of refined dandyism. He was not accustomed to receiving applications for employment from young men who looked like princes in disguise.
"I'm afraid I have nothing to offer you," he said after a momentary pause. "Things are very quiet in Rio just now, and we are more inclined to discharge our clerks than to take fresh ones on. What were you doing before you came out here?"
This was the question Max had been dreading. It had brought him to grief so many times that day.
"I was in the English army," he replied. "I held a commission in a cavalry regiment. I'm afraid I do not know much about business, but I am fairly quick at picking up things, and if you will give me a chance, I fancy you will not find me wanting in diligence."
The other drummed with his fingers on the desk before him, and as he did so he pulled almost savagely at his cigar. It was a trick he had when thinking.
"I don't ask you any questions as to why you gave up the army and came out to take a clerkship in Rio," he said at last; "but if I were you I should keep that part of my history to myself. An officer from a crack regiment seldom develops into a good clerk."
"You are probably right. I must try to remember it. And now to return to my request. Is it quite impossible for you to do anything for me?"
"I am afraid I can do nothing personally," the other replied. "That is to say, I cannot take you into my office, but I rather fancy I can help you in another direction. Do you speak Spanish?"
"I speak Spanish, German, Pannonian, and English, with equal fluency," Max answered, feeling that for once the education of a Crown Prince, in the matter of languages at least, had its uses.
"That is very much in your favour," said Mr. Brockford, "and now, perhaps, you will have no objection to telling me your name? I have not heard it yet."
"My name is Mortimer," Max returned, with a momentary hesitation, that was not lost on his companion—"Max Mortimer."
"Well then, Mr. Max Mortimer, I am prepared to tell you that although I never saw you until a few moments ago, although you have held a commission in a cavalry regiment in England, and have seen fit to give it up in order to take to clerking in Brazil, and last, but not least, although you call yourself Mortimer, which I feel quite certain is not your name, as I say, I am prepared——"
"Pardon me," said Max, interrupting him. "Since you have such a poor opinion of my character, it would perhaps be better that I should look elsewhere for employment."
He had risen and was going to leave the office, when the other signed to him to sit down again.
"Hoighty-toighty," he said, "what is the matter with you now? Why are you so thin-skinned? Surely you are not foolish enough to be offended because I speak my mind plainly to you when you want assistance? Leaving everything else out of the question, it is a poor return you are willing to make me for trying to help you."
Max saw the mistake he had made, and was quick to apologise for his apparent rudeness.
"Forgive me," he said. "I'm afraid I've a hasty temper. To be candid with you, I haven't quite shaken down yet to my lot in life."
Brockford blew a cloud of smoke before he answered.
"I was going to say, when you interrupted me, that although I cannot help you myself, I think I know of a man who may be able to do so. He is a Spaniard, but none the worse for that. His name is Señor José de Montezma. I happen to know that he is in want of an English corresponding clerk. We are on friendly terms, and I shall be very happy to take you along with me and introduce you to him at once; that is, of course, providing you think the position is likely to suit you."
It seemed to Max as if his luck were going to change at last, and, needless to say, he gladly accepted the invitation. Lighting another cigar, the senior partner led him from the office into the street, where they made their way along the pavement in the opposite direction to which Max had come. At length they reached the office of Montezma & Co.
Having requested his companion to wait in the counting house, while he interviewed the head of the firm, Brockford disappeared into the inner sanctum. Five minutes later he reappeared, and invited Max to enter. The latter did so, to find himself in the presence of a fat little man, who he soon discovered was one of the cheeriest and most popular merchants in Brazil.
"My friend, Señor Brockford, informs me that you are desirous of obtaining the position of corresponding clerk in my employment," observed the Spaniard.
"What Señor Brockford says is quite true," Max replied. "If you will give it to me, I will do my best to show you that your confidence is not misplaced."
The other smiled and rubbed his hands.
"On my friend Señor Brockford's introduction, I shall be happy to engage your services," he said, with as much dignity as if he had been conferring upon the other the order of the Golden Fleece.
After the disappointments of the morning Max felt that he had fallen upon his feet indeed.
"I only hope I shall be able to repay you for your kindness," he said. "Doubtless Mr. Brockford has informed you that I have had but little experience in business matters. If you will bear with me for a short time, however, I have no doubt I shall be able, in the end, to give you satisfaction."
"I have not the least doubt of it," the Senhor replied.
The office hours having been explained to him, the salary arranged, and various other minor details settled to their mutual satisfaction, Max and Mr. Brockford left the office together.
"I cannot tell you how thankful I am to you for what you have done for me," said the former when they were in the street once more. "It seems all the kinder for the reason that I am an entire stranger to you."
"One Englishman can never be an entire stranger to another in a foreign country," said Brockford oracularly. "We always feel called upon to do the best we can for each other. Besides——"
He stopped abruptly, as if he had suddenly changed his mind, and did not feel inclined to put his thoughts into words. Five minutes later they had reached his own office.
"You will feel rather lonely on your first night in a new country," he said. "Won't you dine with me, and spend the night at my house? I am a bachelor, and live on the Island of Paquetá. I shall have much pleasure in taking you back with me. No, don't thank me! You can do that later on if you like. You are staying at Candido's Hotel, I fancy you said? In that case, if you take the first turning to the left, and then the next to the right, and afterwards continue straight on, you will reach it. I shall expect to see you at half-past four."
Without giving Max time to accept or decline his invitation, he retired into his office, leaving him free to make his way back to his hotel. This he did with a heart overflowing with gratitude for the kindness he had received.
"I certainly can't grumble at my luck now," he said to himself, as he walked along.
Punctual to the moment he returned to Mr. Brockford's office. This time he entered it with the air of a man who occupied an assured position in the world. Even the clerks, having had evidence before them that their employer was well disposed towards the stranger, treated him in a different fashion to what they had done when he had first made his appearance.
"You are punctual," said Mr. Brockford, as soon as he was admitted to his presence. "It is a good omen in a country like this, where everything is put off to be done at a future date; a business habit of that description cannot be too highly commended. Though I fear, however well we start, we all fall into evil ways in the end. Even our friend Montezma, who is an excellent business man in his way, is no exception to the rule. Now, if you are ready, let us be off."
Then they set off in the direction of the quay. As they passed through the city Max had an opportunity of seeing how well his companion was known. He was occupied almost continually receiving and returning salutations. Reaching the waterside they descended a flight of steps, at the foot of which a neat steam launch was awaiting them. They took their places and were soon steaming down the bay, bound for the Island of Paquetá, one of the loveliest spots in Rio Bay, and ten miles distant from the city.
As Max was soon to discover, Mr. Brockford's residence was on a par with his reputation. It was a charming place in every way, exquisitely quiet and restful after the bustle and excitement of the city. The house itself, a long one-storied building, surrounded by a deep verandah, was comfortably, but not ostentatiously, furnished. In the dining-room were several good pictures, among others a view of Carisbrooke Castle. It was by a well-known artist, and Max stood for some little time before it.
"Is not this Carisbrooke?" he inquired, turning to his host, who was mixing a cool drink at the sideboard.
"Yes, Carisbrooke," the other replied, turning round. "When I was a boy I lived in the Isle of Wight, not a mile from the ruins. Do you know the place?"
"We drove over there one day when I was last at Osborne," said Max, without thinking. "It was one of the jolliest excursions I can remember."
Brockford looked at him sharply. The description of man who talked of staying at Osborne with all the assurance of an old friend did not often come within the sphere of his existence. For the second time he wondered what Max's history could be.
That evening's entertainment was destined to linger in Max's memory for many a long day to come. In his diary I find a note setting forth the fact that he looks upon his acquaintance with Mr. Brockford in the light of one of, if not the best, pieces of good fortune he met with during his life in Brazil. He might well say that. Next morning he returned with his host to the city to enter upon his new employment. The day's work at an end, he was able to call upon his benefactor, in order to inform him that it had not proved so difficult as he imagined it would, and that he felt quite capable of carrying out the work expected of him. By the end of the week he had settled down to his business life, and was feeling moderately comfortable and happy in his new surroundings. A surprise, however, was in store for him.
One afternoon, a month or so after he had entered Montezma's office, a note was brought to him by a diminutive nigger. It emanated from Mr. Brockford, who was anxious that Max should pay him a call on his homeward journey that afternoon, if he could do so without inconvenience to himself. Max sent a reply by the messenger, to the effect that it would give him great pleasure to do as his friend asked; and in due course he arrived at Messrs. Brockford, Brent, & Kerton's place of business. The day's work was over and the clerks were preparing for departure. The senior partner, however, was still in his sanctum.
"I'm glad you've come, Mortimer," he said, as they shook hands, "for I want to have a little talk with you? Sit down, will you? You'll find a cigar in that box."
Max seated himself, lit a cigar, and wondered what was coming next.
"By the way, you're still staying at Candido's, are you not?" the other inquired, in what was intended to be a matter-of-fact tone.
Max replied that he was still occupying his old room, and went on to add that he thought of looking for another elsewhere, as the hotel charges made rather too large an inroad into his slender resources.
"Well, I've a little suggestion to make to you before you do that," said Brockford. "I'm a bachelor, as you know. Now what I am going to propose is that you shall come over and take up your abode with me. I like you; I've already told you that we'd be first-rate company for each other; and if you don't mind putting up with my faddy ways, I fancy we should hit it off admirably together. What have you to say to my arrangement?"
For a moment Max was too overwhelmed to say anything.
"Good gracious!" he cried at last, "do you know what you are offering me? Do you realise what it means to a man like myself, situated as I am now, to be asked to share a home like yours? Mr. Brockford, your kindness overpowers me. I don't know what to say to you."
"Say nothing at all, or, at any rate, only say that you will accept my offer," he answered. "You have no idea what a kindness it will be to me."
"You hide your own kindness too well," said Max. "I do not know how to thank you. And I haven't the pluck to refuse."
"I should not allow you to do so," the other replied. "No, we've settled it very well, I think. Have your things ready to-morrow afternoon, and we'll take them over in the launch with us."
True to the terms of their agreement, Max next day transported himself and his belongings to Brockford's island home. His life for the future seemed all smooth sailing. After the heat and bustle of the city, it was infinitely soothing at night to be able to cross to the island, and to stretch oneself out after a good dinner on a lounge chair in the broad verandah, and do nothing but listen to the sighing of the wind in the palms overhead, and the musical splash of the wavelets on the beach. He was not only bettering himself in this way, but the fact that he was living with a man so highly respected in the city was doing him a large amount of good from a social point of view. It was generally felt that if Brockford were prepared to stand sponsor for him, he might very well be admitted by other well-known men to their houses and to intercourse with their families.
From the moment that Mr. Brockford took Max to live with him the latter's lot in life seemed to change. Hitherto, apparently, no one had been aware of his existence; now scarcely a day passed in which he did not receive some sort of invitation from people who, as a rule, prided themselves upon their exclusiveness. Their favour may possibly have been due to the fact that he was of a different type to that to which they were accustomed. At any rate, his handsome face, charming manners, tall graceful figure, andinsouciantcavalry swagger, possessed a fascination for them which they seemed incapable of resisting. It was not long before he had made himself extremely popular, not only with the English portion of the population, but also with the Spanish.
"Be careful, Mortimer, my boy," Brockford would say to him, when he greeted him on his return from a ball or similar social function. "When you have seen as much of this little corner of the world as I have, you will know how dangerous women can be, and how they have it in their power to mar a man's career at its commencement. Many an excellent young fellow have I seen out here, only too anxious and ready to make his way in the world; then he has fallen in love, been egged into matrimony, only to find himself shelved and done for by all save his wife's relations, as soon as the knot was tied. I don't want that to happen to you."
"You needn't have any fear on my account," answered Max with a laugh. "I'm not very likely to fall in love. I have been inoculated, and I fancy I am proof against the infection."
"No man is proof against it," replied Brockford solemnly. He was well acquainted with the traps and pitfalls of Rio society, and he did not want the man, to whom he had taken such a liking, to make afiascoof his life, just when there seemed a good chance of his succeeding in it. He need not have bothered himself about it just then, however, for another factor had been imported into the problem, and, before the week was over, Max was down with fever. For some time he lay at death's door, but, thanks to his wonderful constitution, he managed in the end to pull through. It was a near enough chance, however, to cause his friends a considerable amount of anxiety.
Indeed, from what I have since learned, there was one period in the course of the fever when the gravest apprehensions were entertained for his safety. All things considered, it was perhaps as well for him that Brockford was with him during his delirium. Although even then, he did not altogether reveal his secret, he said enough to show his friend that, in his old life, he had been something more than the mere cavalry officer he pretended.
"From the very first I felt sure there was some mystery about him," said the latter to himself one evening, when he had left the sick-room for a well-earned rest. "I don't fancy, however, that I have quite got to the bottom of it yet. But there, it's his secret and not mine, and, if he doesn't care to tell me, why should I bother myself?"
So saying, the kindly old fellow returned once more to the sick-room to minister as patiently to the wants of his restless patient as if he had been a nurse all his life. Strangely enough, as Brockford has since told me, it was of myself that Max talked most. "His constant cry," said the latter, "was something to this effect: 'As I cannot win her for myself, I will not spoil Paul's life. No! Paul shall have his chance with her!' and so he would continue for hours at a time. Sometimes he would vary it by informing the world that 'Paul should have her, for he could make her happier than I could ever do.' Then he would suddenly sit up in bed and call wildly for a horse, adding that he had made an appointment to meet the Princess in the Park, and must not, on any account, keep her waiting."
At last consciousness returned, and little by little he grew stronger, until, in due course, he was pronounced to be out of danger. Some time, however, elapsed before he was in a position to return to his duties. He had now been in Brazil upwards of eighteen months, and was beginning to regard himself as an old inhabitant.
On the day that he was sufficiently recovered to be able to return to the office he was invited to dine in the evening at the house of his employer.
It was a jovial party that sat down to dinner. The old merchant kept a liberal table, and he and the Señora, between them, did the honours with regal dignity. The two pretty daughters of the house laid themselves out to be charming, the younger, Estrella, taking care that Max wanted nothing. After dinner they adjourned to the verandah, where a lovely view of the city, stretched out on the plain below, and of the harbour was obtainable. Max was in the best possible spirits, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the society of the pretty Estrella, who was seated beside him, fanning herself, as only a Spanish girl can, with a coquettish lace fan, and airing her scanty knowledge of the English language. The elder sister, Maraquinha, who was an accomplished musician, was playing a variety of dreamy melodies in the room behind them. The Señora had gone to sleep, according to custom, and Brockford and the merchant were smoking like volcanoes, and talking politics, at the further end of the verandah.
When a young man, whose heart has once been shattered, is willing to admit that he has admired another young woman, ever since he set eyes on her, it is only natural to suppose that his heart is still capable of feeling some emotion. Though Max was not in the least in love with the pretty Señorita, he could not but confess that he entertained a sincere regard for her. A great love, such as he had felt for the Princess Ottilie, for instance, could never come to him again; but he asked himself why, if it were true that he had decided never to return to his old life, he should not choose a wife from the people with whom he had thrown in his lot, and settle down to a quiet married life in his new home? Moreover, he was quite aware that Montezma was anxious that his daughters should marry, and he felt confident enough of the old man's liking for himself to be sure that, in spite of the difference in nationality, the union would be far from distasteful to him. On the contrary, it was just possible that—but there he came to a sudden stop. He had got on to dangerous ground, where it behoved him to walk warily.
At last it became time for Brockford and himself, if they wished to get back to the island before midnight, to bid the family good-bye. They accordingly entered the house to take a stirrup cup, and it was then that an event occurred which was destined to cause Max more uneasiness than anything that had happened since his arrival in Brazil, the fever excepted. They were standing beside the table in the dining-room, when Maraquinha, who, as I have already explained, had hitherto been occupied at the piano in the drawing-room, made her appearance, carrying in her hand an illustrated newspaper.
"Señor Mortimer," she cried, with a smile upon her face, "are you aware that we are fortunate enough to possess a portrait of yourself?"
At first Max did not realise the importance of her words. She was of a jocular disposition, and his first thought was that, following her favourite pastime, she had made a caricature of himself.
"I am honoured indeed, Señorita," he said. "I trust the likeness is a flattering one."
"You shall judge for yourself," she answered. "Here it is."
So saying, she opened the paper she had brought with her, and placed it on the table before him. One glance was sufficient to show him that it was a reproduction of an old photograph of himself, taken by a London firm of photographers shortly after he had joined his regiment. Underneath was printed "The Missing Crown Prince of Pannonia."
As Max looked at it, he felt himself grow deadly pale. A great fear lest it should be noticed swept over him, and for a moment, do what he would, he could not recover his self-control. At last, almost by a superhuman effort, he managed to get himself in hand, and, while pretending to look more closely at the picture, said:
"All things considered, it is not a bad likeness, is it? I wonder if I were to go to England, and pretend to be the original, whether they would let me take his place in society. He does not look so tall as I am, but the likeness is certainly remarkable."
"So like that, without a very great stretch of imagination, we might even take it to be the same person," said Maraquinha suspiciously.
"Permit me to see it?" said Brockford, stretching his arm across the table.
The paper was accordingly handed to him, and he studied it attentively.
"What do you think of it?" asked Max, who felt as if a cold hand were being placed upon his heart.
"I'm afraid the likeness doesn't strike me as being such a good one," he answered, more to shield Max, I fancy, than for any other reason. "Judging from this picture, I should say the eyes of the Crown Prince must have been of a different colour to yours, and his hair would certainly not be so dark. However, dark or fair, it is time we were thinking of making a start for the island. Good-night, Señor Montezma; Señora and Señoritas, I have the honour to bid you good-night; your hospitality has charmed us."
Max followed his example, and five minutes later they were on their way back to the beach.
The journey back to the island that evening was a silent one. Max, for one, had more than sufficient wherewith to occupy his mind. The existence of the portrait had come to him as a decided shock. It had roused suspicions in other people's minds that years might not be able to allay. He had begun to think himself free of the old life and to feel convinced that it would never influence him again. And now, here it was, rising like a ghost of the past, to confront him at the very moment when a life of peaceful happiness seemed within his grasp.
When they reached the island they left the launch and walked up to the house, still in silence. For the first time since they had known each other, a dark shadow lay between them. As soon as they reached the verandah, however, Brockford placed his hand upon Max's shoulder.
"You and I have got to have a talk together before we go to bed to-night," he said. "There are things that must be settled once and for all."
"I am at your disposal, of course," Max replied, but not with too much grace. "What is it you want to say to me?"
"There is nothing Iwantto say to you," Brockford answered, with an accent on thewant. "It's what I feel Imustsay, both in your interests and my own. Don't think I am going to pry into your private affairs. My sole desire is to help you, if I possibly can. It's a delicate position for a man to be placed in; for, you see, I have only my suspicions to go upon, and I may give you pain without intending it. I think, however, that those suspicions are strong enough to bear the weight of what I'm going to say to you. The picture you saw to-night came to you as a painful surprise, did it not? And yet it did not astonish me, for I had seen it before. That you were not best pleased to be confronted with it, I gathered from your face, and, as I looked at it, I remembered certain things you had let slip in your delirium. No!" he cried, seeing that Max was about to speak, "let me finish before you begin. I have a young friend, I might even go so far as to say, a dear young friend, who came to me eighteen months ago, in rather an extraordinary fashion. He had been in an English cavalry regiment, he informed me; so, I reflected, had the Crown Prince of whom we have been speaking. He informed me in my own dining-room, by accident I will admit, that he had been a guest at Osborne; I believe the Crown Prince enjoyed a similar honour; the latter, so report says, has black hair and dark eyes, his height is about six feet one, and he is slimly built. If I wanted to carry the coincidence further, I might add that, when my friend, Max Mortimer, was ill, he spoke continually of a certain beautiful princess. 'Paul loves her and I will not stand in his way,' he cried. Now, strangely enough, the Crown Prince has an only brother whose name is Paul. I happen to know this, because the very next morning, while you were still lying at death's door, the newspapers announced the fact that Prince Paul of Pannonia had been betrothed to the Princess Ottilie, daughter of Prince Ferdinand of Lilienhöhe."
Whether Brockford intended his information to come as a surprise to Max I cannot say, but there is no doubt that the news of my engagement took the latter wholly aback. He clutched at the verandah rail, and for a moment seemed stunned by the intelligence. The only explanation I can furnish for his not having heard it before is, that while it was impossible for him to see any newspapers during his illness, he had not bothered to look up the back files afterwards, to see what had been going on in Europe during the time he was cut off from the world.
"That settles it," said Brockford to himself, as he watched him. "He is the Crown Prince, as I thought, and he left England in order that his brother might be in a position to marry the woman he loved. I thought such chivalry had vanished from the world."
A few moments later, when Max had recovered somewhat from the shock he had received, he turned to Brockford and held out his hand, which the other took.
"Forgive me," he said. "I was not quite myself a few moments ago. I am all right now, however. As you say, it is best that we should come to an understanding with each other. What is it you wish me to say or do?"
"Nothing," answered Brockford. "I have been reproaching myself for having said so much already. I am a meddlesome old fool, but I had not the least intention of hurting or offending you. I hope you will believe that. My only desire is to let you see plainly that you possess a friend in me, upon whom you can rely, happen what may."
"I am quite aware of that," returned Max. "You don't surely think I doubted it for a moment. You have proved yourself one of the best friends a man could possibly have, and I should be the meanest hound on earth if I did not remember that, and be grateful to you for it all the days of my life."
"Tut, tut! you must not talk like that," said Brockford. "I did no more for you than I should have done for anyone else. I helped you because I liked your face. But we are wandering away from the point. What I want to say to you is that, come what may, the Crown Prince's secret, if he has one, poor fellow, is quite safe with me. Not a hint concerning it shall pass my lips."
With that the kind-hearted old fellow shook Max heartily by the hand once more, and then, bidding him a hurried good-night, hastened into the house, and was seen no more.
Next morning when he and Mr. Brockford met at breakfast, they conducted themselves towards each other as if no such conversation as that I have described had taken place between them on the previous night. At the allotted hour they crossed the bay to the city and made their way to their respective places of business, parting at the same street corner, and with the usual commonplace farewell.
That week, on the other side of the globe, I received information that Max was alive, and that Rio de Janeiro was the name of his hiding-place.
A few days later Max was walking along the Rua d'Ouvidor, when he heard his name called. Turning round, he found himself, much to his surprise, confronted by Moreas, the man who had accompanied him from England.
"This is well met, indeed," cried the latter, holding out his hand with great cordiality. "You are just the man, of all others, I wanted to see. I was only wondering this morning whether you were still in Brazil, and, if so, where I could find you. Your residence south of the Equator does not seem to have done much harm to your appearance."
Max replied that he thought, on the contrary, it had done him a large amount of good, and, having offered the country this justice, he was prepared to utter a few commonplaces, and then to pass on his way along the street. This, however, was not at all what Moreas desired or intended should happen. He explained at some length that he had only arrived in Rio that morning, and that he was going on to Buenos Ayres in the afternoon.
"In the interval you and I must have a chat," he said. "There is something I want to talk to you about. But that I have had a proper look at you, I had perhaps better not mention it. You seem to be prosperous. Had you been hard up, I was going to propose that you should join me in a little piece of business, which may prove to be worth nothing at all, or, on the other hand, may mean a gigantic fortune for both of us."
"You allow a good margin," said Max. "If I were allowed a preference, I should declare for the million. And pray what is this business?"
"Diamonds," answered Moreas quietly, as leaning across the table and clasping his hands together. "Diamonds such as you have never dreamed of. With the information I have received I tell you I am able to put my hand on the biggest diamond mine on the face of the habitable globe. How I obtained the information doesn't matter just now. I'll tell you about it another day. It is sufficient for the present that I am fully posted. Unfortunately, however, there are others, besides myself, who are acquainted with it. It is of those others that I am afraid. If the truth must be told, and you don't mind a simple pun, I might say it is a case of diamond cut diamond with us. I don't trust them, and I am not at all certain that they trust me. Now, situated as I am, what I want to do is to import another man into the concern, a man whose interests, though they must not be aware of it, will be identical with my own. Two of us would be a match for the whole pack of them. Particularly if I can get hold of a man who can use a pistol as you can. Taken all round, Mortimer, you're just the sort of fellow I want. You'd enjoy a piece of adventure of this kind. We should be away about four months, and I don't think you would be able to complain, when you returned, of having had a dull time of it. Now what have you to say?"
"It is impossible," said Max, though in his own mind he felt that he would have given anything to have been able to take a hand in it. "There was a time when I should have liked nothing better, but I have settled down to a staid business life now, and an affair such as you propose is quite out of the question."
"I am sorry for that," answered Moreas, his spirits visibly sinking as he heard the other's decision. "I had quite made up my mind that, when I told you about it, you would throw everything else to the dogs and go in for it with me. However, there is one good point about it. I have to go south to-day. I shall be back in Rio in about six weeks' time. Nobody knows how you may be situated then. If anything has happened, and it is possible for you to change your mind, all you have to do will be to send a letter to the old address, the same that I gave you eighteen months ago, and it will find me. We shall start as soon after I return as possible. Will you promise to bear this in mind?"
"I will remember it with pleasure," Max replied; "but you may rest assured it will be of no use. I am clinging to respectability like a limpet to his rock, and, so far as I can see now, nothing will shake me from it."
"You don't know how I had set my heart upon having you with me," answered Moreas. "It is at times like this that one wants a good man at one's elbow. I am not going alone with those other fellows; of that you may be very sure. If I did, I'd never come back alive. With you at my side, however, I wouldn't mind if there were a hundred of them."
"You pay me a very high compliment," said Max; "but I am afraid that, unless you can find somebody else to take my place, you will have to do as you fear, that is to say, go on alone."
"Well, I will put my trust in faith," said the other. "Stranger things than that have turned up trumps before now. I've got a very solid belief in my luck, and somehow I've got a fancy that it won't desert me."
"We shall see," replied Max, "and now, if you have no more to say to me, I think I must be going on."
"You're quite sure I can't tempt you?" said Moreas.
"Quite," Max answered. "If I had nothing else to do, I'd go with you to-morrow; but, situated as I am, wild horses would not shift me."
"Well, bear the fact in mind that I shall be back in a month," said Moreas. "And also that the address I have already given you will find me. Farewell, Señor."
"Farewell, andbon voyageto you," replied Max.
Then, with a wave of their hands, they parted, and Max continued his way towards the office for which he had been making when he had met Moreas.
He had been spending the greater portion of the day superintending the removal of some cargo on board a ship in the harbour, and, towards evening, made his way ashore again to meet Brockford. Leaving the landing-stage, he proceeded up the street till he reached the Rua Direita. As he crossed the road he came within an ace of being knocked down by a cab, which was coming at a swift pace towards him. He looked up, as if to expostulate with the driver, and then, as suddenly, turned and fled. Had anyone been near enough to see, he would have told you that his face was deathly pale, and that, when he reached the pavement, he trembled like a man with the palsy.For the person in the cab was myself, his brother Paul!
And yet, by some unhappy chance, I did not see him.
"Good heavens!" he muttered, when he had partially recovered. "Paul is searching for me. What am I to do now?"
In order to make my narrative more clear to you, it is necessary that I should hark back for a short distance and give you an account of my own doings, from the time Max left us up to that never-to-be-forgotten day, when I received the information that he was in Brazil.
Then some eighteen months had gone by, during which period we neither saw nor heard anything of, or from, him. He might have been dead for all we knew to the contrary. In the meantime my engagement to the Princess Ottilie of Lilienhöhe was publicly announced. Of our happiness, and mine in particular, it is not necessary that I should speak. Let me sum it up by saying that if poor Max could have been found, there would not have been a cloud upon our horizon. If the truth must be told, however, I fear the match was not altogether what the Prince of Lilienhöhe himself desired. Max was the Crown Prince, and he would rather have had him for his son-in-law; as, however, for reasons already stated, that was not possible, he was fain to content himself with the next best person, hoping, I suppose, that Max would never appear again, and that, in due course, I should take his place upon the throne. And now let me describe the day on which the information came to us that Max was in Brazil.
It was Christmas Day on which the first really reliable news of Max reached us. I remember that Ottilie and I had been to church alone together, my father and mother not feeling equal to accompanying us. Leaving the churchyard afterwards, we let ourselves into the park by means of a side gate.
"I wonder what Max is doing to-day?" I said to my companion, as we walked along.
"Poor Max!" she answered, and there was a world of sadness in her voice.
"Do you know, Ottilie," I said, "I have a sort of conviction that we shall hear something of him very soon. I don't know why I should think so, but the notion has been in my head for the last few days. Let us hope it may be true."
"God grant it may," she replied. "It would make a different woman of your mother. She is wearing her heart out thinking and grieving about him."
Ottilie and I let ourselves into the house by a side door, and, when we had removed our wraps, proceeded to the Queen's boudoir, where our Christmas mail awaited us. My mother, who had not left her room when we departed for church, received us very graciously. Poor lady, the trials and troubles with which her life had been afflicted were beginning to tell upon her. She seemed to be ageing faster than was consistent with her years. While we were talking, my father entered the room. Time had also laid his finger heavily upon him; his hair was almost snow-white; he walked with a stick, and, as we have been made aware, his heart had not been equal to the work demanded of it for some time past.
When we had saluted him, we sat down to the perusal of our mails. I had opened the greater portion of my correspondence, when I came upon a letter, the handwriting of which was quite unknown to me. Before reading it, I glanced at the signature, but "James Whittadge," or the fact that he was the house surgeon at the famous Samaritan Hospital, told me nothing. I accordingly turned the page and began to read the letter. This is what I found:
"The Samaritan Hospital, London,"24th December, 18——"To H.R.H. Prince Paul of Pannonia."Sir,—"The fact that I have been requested by a patient named Thomas Gulliver, now an inmate of this hospital, to communicate with you with as little delay as possible, must serve as my excuse for my presumption in addressing you direct. In common with all the world, I have heard of your Royal Highness' attempt to discover the whereabouts of your brother, the Crown Prince of Pannonia. I am not aware, however, whether you have since learnt his address; if not, it may be of service to you to know that the man Gulliver, to whom I referred just now, declares that he is in a position to give you important information upon that point. He is extremely reticent upon the subject, and avers that he will say nothing about it to anyone, until he has seen you. Should you deem his story worthy of your consideration, I would take the liberty of suggesting an immediate interview, as I fear the man, who is in an extremely dangerous condition, is scarcely likely to be alive for any length of time."I have the honour to be,"Your Royal Highness' obedient servant,"James Whittadge,"House Surgeon, Samaritan Hospital."
"The Samaritan Hospital, London,
"24th December, 18——
"To H.R.H. Prince Paul of Pannonia.
"Sir,—
"The fact that I have been requested by a patient named Thomas Gulliver, now an inmate of this hospital, to communicate with you with as little delay as possible, must serve as my excuse for my presumption in addressing you direct. In common with all the world, I have heard of your Royal Highness' attempt to discover the whereabouts of your brother, the Crown Prince of Pannonia. I am not aware, however, whether you have since learnt his address; if not, it may be of service to you to know that the man Gulliver, to whom I referred just now, declares that he is in a position to give you important information upon that point. He is extremely reticent upon the subject, and avers that he will say nothing about it to anyone, until he has seen you. Should you deem his story worthy of your consideration, I would take the liberty of suggesting an immediate interview, as I fear the man, who is in an extremely dangerous condition, is scarcely likely to be alive for any length of time.
"I have the honour to be,
"Your Royal Highness' obedient servant,
"James Whittadge,
"House Surgeon, Samaritan Hospital."
When I had finished the letter, I read it aloud to the others. Then there was a silence, which lasted while a man might have counted twenty. My mother was the first to speak.
"Can it be true, Paul, do you think? or is it only another attempt to extort money from us?" she asked, in a choking voice.
"It is impossible to answer that question until we have seen the man himself," I replied. "As far as the writer of the letter is concerned, it seems genuine enough. What do you think I had better do?"
"Would it not be advisable for you to go up to town and see the man at once?" said Ottilie, who, noticing that my mother was trembling, had crossed the room and taken her hand.
"Go to London at once, and see this Gulliver, Paul," said my father. "It is just possible he may have something to tell you. If you delay it may be too late."
"In that case I will go," I replied.
With that, I had a hurried lunch, and was driven to the station.
As good luck had it, a mail boat had arrived in Southampton that morning, and, in consequence, I was able to travel to town by the special train conveying the passengers and mails. It stopped only at Basingstoke; in consequence, Big Ben was striking four o'clock when my cab pulled up before the big doors of the Samaritan Hospital.
Having discharged my cabman, I ascended the steps, and rang the bell. A moment later the door was opened by a porter. He inquired my business in an off-hand manner, and, when I informed him that I wished to see a patient named Gulliver, told me to step inside, and sit down in the hall while he made the necessary inquiries.
"What name shall I say?" he asked, giving me very plainly to understand by his look that he reserved the right to say whether he would believe my statement or not.
"You might tell Dr. Whittadge that Prince Paul of Pannonia is here, in response to a letter he received from him this morning," I said.
The man's eyes opened, and his mouth followed suit. In a moment his manner had entirely changed.
"I beg your Royal Highness' pardon," he said apologetically, and then, with delightful ingenuousness, added, "I didn't know it was you. If your Royal Highness will be kind enough to step this way to the secretary's office, I will go in search of Dr. Whittadge at once."
I accordingly followed him down the stone corridor to a comfortably furnished apartment, where I waited while he went off on his errand. By this time I was as nervous as any schoolgirl. So much depended upon the next half-hour, that I could scarcely contain my impatience or my anxiety. I paced up and down the little room, examined the photos of various benefactors that decorated the walls, and then rejoiced, as my ears caught the sound of a business-like step on the stones outside. A moment later the door opened, and a tall, gentlemanly man, who I rightly guessed was none other than Doctor Whittadge, entered the room.
"Have I the honour of addressing Prince Paul of Pannonia?" he inquired, closing the door behind him.
"That is my name," I answered. "I received a letter from you this morning, informing me that a patient named Gulliver under your charge, declares that he knows the whereabouts of my brother."
"That is so," the doctor replied. "The man states that he has not only seen your brother, but has spoken to him. He will not, however, reveal the name of the place, or say anything more concerning it, to anyone save yourself. If you would care to see him, I will conduct you to the ward. I must ask, however, that you will make the interview as short as possible, for the man is in a highly dangerous condition.
"He is a sailor, and was badly injured two days ago by a fall from the rigging of a ship. If your Highness is ready, shall we proceed upstairs?"
"By all means," I answered.
Then without delay he led me upstairs to one of the principal wards.
"Gulliver is in here," he said in a whisper. Beckoning one of the nurses to him, he said something to her in a low voice, after which, inviting me to follow him, he led the way towards a bed at the further end of the room. A screen had been placed before it, and, when we approached, a nurse was feeding the sick man from an invalid cup. He proved to be a rough-looking fellow, between thirty and forty years of age.
The doctor felt his pulse, and then, placing a chair beside the bed, invited me to seat myself.
"Gulliver," he said, bending over him and speaking in a low voice, "this is Prince Paul of Pannonia, whose brother's whereabouts you profess to be able to reveal."
"So I can, sir," said the sick man feebly, turning his head and staring at me. "I know where 'e is, or ought to be, at this 'ere moment. But afore I gives it away, I want to know what I'm a-goin' to git for my information. That's only business, I reckon."
He paused for a moment to recover his breath.
"It isn't for meself I cares," he continued, "but the doctor 'ere tells me I'm a-goin' to slip me cable before long, and that bein' so, who's a-goin' to pervide for the missus and the kids?"
He gazed fixedly at me, as if he were waiting for an answer to his question.
"If your information is really valuable," I replied, "I shall be very happy to pay you a substantial price for it. But you must be able to convince me first that it is genuine. Have you any definite sum in your mind?"
"Well, sir," the man returned, "if I puts you on his track, I reckon it's worth a 'undred quid to yer, isn't it?"
"I will pay you a hundred pounds with pleasure," I answered.
"But you must let me see the brass first," he returned. "I can't afford to take no risks."
"Come, come, my man," said the doctor, shocked at his discourtesy, "if his Royal Highness is good enough to promise you the money, surely that should be sufficient. Remember with whom you are dealing."
"I shall be past rememberin' anything, d'rectly," the other replied. "I don't mean to offend, but wot I wants is to make sure of the blunt. Prince, or no Prince, I don't part with no information till I have seen that for myself. You wouldn't either if you was me."
Fortunately, I had brought my cheque-book with me, thinking circumstances might arise in which I might stand in need of it.
"Never mind," I said to the surgeon, "we won't dispute the matter. If you can let me have a pen and ink, I will draw a cheque in favour of his wife for the amount in question. Should his information prove to be worth it, she can keep the money; if not, well, in that case, the cheque can be destroyed."
The draft was soon completed, and we returned with it to the bedside. The dying man took the cheque in his hand and examined it carefully.
"I 'ate these 'ere bits of paper," he said. "But I reckon it's all right. Anyways, I'm willing to chance it. Now, sir, leastways, your Royal Highness, if you're ready, I'll tell yer all I knows. You mustn't mind if I'm a bit slow. Talking ain't as easy as it used to be."
He paused once more while the doctor glanced anxiously at him. Then he nodded his head, and the man commenced.
"It was this way, yer see, twelve months ago, come March, I shipped from Cardiff A.B. aboard theBrazilian Monarchsteamer, owned by Guthrie, Blake & Williamson, bound for Rio, and consigned to Montezma & Co., merchants, of that city. As soon as we got in we anchored in the harbour, and the Spaniard's managin' clerk came aboard as usual to see the skipper. Now I make bold to say that the managin' clerk I saw that day was your Royal 'Ighness's own brother."
My heart sank. It did not look as if the information he was able to give me were likely to have any greater value than that we had received from other people.
"What reason have you for supposing that the individual in question was my brother?" I inquired. "Had you ever seen the Crown Prince?"
"Never, not as I knows on," the man replied. "But if you don't flummux me by asking questions, I'll do my best to tell yer all about it, and yer'll see as I'm not very far out in my reckonin'. Maybe it will be the last yarn I shall spin, so I must make the most of it. How do I know it was the Crown Prince? Well, I'll tell ye. You see, it was this way. Among the passengers there was a gent a-goin' out to Buenos Ayres as took photographs. And precious well 'e did 'em too, when yer come to think on it. Well, after they'd had a bit o' dinner, the day we got into port, the captain, who was mighty friendly with this 'ere Mr. Mortimer, the agent's clerk, suggested that the passenger gent should take their likenesses, them sittin' together on the ladder to the poop. 'It will be somethin' to remember this day by, and also this 'ere werry nice company,' says he, and so the gent he dives down below to his cabin and fetches up his box of tricks. There they sat, as happy as yer please, smokin' of their segars while their photos was a-bein' took. Next morning we sailed for the Argentine, and about three bells the chief sings out for me to lend a hand to rig up the second officer's cabin for a dark room, so that the gent could fix up the photografts all right. The werry next day he 'ad 'em on deck to show the skipper, and everybody was askin' for one, 'cause they was done so natural. 'E was a free 'anded young gent, and one way an' the other I'd done a good deal for him while 'e was aboard. At last he ups alongside 'o me and says, 'Gulliver,' says he, 'I've got one of them picters left; would yer like to have it?' 'Thank yer kindly, sir,' says I, and with that 'e gives it to me."
The man paused, and whispered something to the nurse, who left him and went to the other side of the room. When she returned she handed him an envelope.
"Well, sir, when we got back to Liverpool again I left theBrazilian Monarchand shipped aboard one of the liners for the Cape. One day, on the homeward voyage, I was a-doin' something on the promenade deck—I forget what—while the passengers was below at their lunch. On one of the chairs was a lot of newspapers, and the one a-lyin' on the top had a big picter of a gent in milingtary uniform. 'Bill,' says I, turning to Bill Collings, who was a-coilin' of a rope alongside o' me, 'you're a scholard, what's the readin' under this 'ere picter?' Mind you I recognised it at once. 'The missing Crown Prince of Pannonia,' says Bill, as slick as the doctor there or you might do yourself. 'That's the cove,' said he—beggin' your 'Ighness's pardon—' 'as cleared out some time back. His family has been a searchin' for 'im 'igh and low, and can't lay their 'ands on him nohow.' 'Have they so?' says I to myself. 'Well, then, when I go home I reckon I can put 'em on his track! For you see I know'd that that photograft was at home if the missis hadn't throwed it away. Well, as soon as we was paid off, I went to the old place and rummaged a bit. There it was sure enough. Next day I took a job on down at the docks, went alof, and bein' a bit shaky, I suppose, after the drink I'd had the night afore, I missed me footin' and tumbled head over heels from the yard-arm to the deck below. And that's wot brought me 'ere. Now you know why I says I could tell where your 'Ighness's brother is."