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Title: The Man From Brodney's
Author: George Barr McCutcheon
Release Date: March 14, 2004 [eBook #11572]
Language: English
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THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S
By
George Barr McCutcheon
Author of The Daughter of Anderson Crow, Graustark,
Beverly of Graustark, Brewster's Millions, Nedra, etc.
With Illustrations by Harrison Fisher
1908
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE LATE MR. SKAGGS
II AN EXTRAORDINARY DOCUMENT
III INTRODUCING HOLLINGSWORTH CHASE
IV THE INDISCREET MR. CHASE
V THE ENGLISH INVADE
VI THE CHÂTEAU
VII THE BROWNES ARRIVE
VIII THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S
IX THE ENEMY
X THE AMERICAN BAR
XI THE SLOUGH OF TRANQUILLITY
XII WOMEN AND WOMEN
XIII CHASE PERFORMS A MIRACLE
XIV THE LANTERN ABOVE
XV MR. SAUNDERS HAS A PLAN
XVI TWO CALLS FROM THE ENEMY
XVII THE PRINCESS GOES GALLOPING
XVIII THE BURNING OF THE BUNGALOW
XIX CHASE COMES FROM THE CLOUDS
XX NEENAH
XXI THE PLAGUE IS ANNOUNCED
XXII THE CHARITY BALL
XXIII THE JOY OF TEMPTATION
XXIV SEVERAL PHILOSOPHERS
XXV THE DISQUIETING END OF PONG
XXVI DEPPINGHAM FALLS ILL
XXVII THE TRIAL OF VON BLITZ
XXVIII CENTURIES TO FORGET
XXIX THE PURSUIT
XXX THE PERSIAN ANGEL
XXXI A PRESCRIBED MALADY
XXXII THE TWO WORLDS
XXXIII THE SHIPS THAT PASS
XXXIV IN THE SAME GRAVE WITH SKAGGS
XXXV A TOAST TO THE PAST
XXXVI THE TITLE CLEAR
ILLUSTRATIONS
"He saw the Princess for the first time that afternoon"
"'Don't you intend to present me to Lady Deppingham?'"
"'No,' she said to herself, 'I told him I was keeping them for him'"
"He felt that Genevra was still looking into his eyes"
THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S
CHAPTER I
THE LATE MR. SKAGGS
The death of Taswell Skaggs was stimulating, to say the least,
inapplicable though the expression may seem.
He attained the end of a hale old age by tumbling aimlessly into the
mouth of a crater on the island of Japat, somewhere in the mysterious
South Seas. The volcano was not a large one and the crater, though
somewhat threatening at times, was correspondingly minute, which
explains--in apology--to some extent, his unfortunate misstep.
Moreover, there is but one volcano on the surface of Japat; it seems all
the more unique that he, who had lived for thirty years or more on the
island, should have stepped into it in broad daylight, especially as it
was he who had tacked up warning placards along every avenue of
approach.
Inasmuch as he was more than eighty years old at the time, it would seem
to have been a most reprehensible miscalculation on the part of the Grim
Reaper to have gone to so much trouble.
But that is neither here nor there.
Taswell Skaggs was dead and once more remembered. The remark is proper,
for the world had quite thoroughly forgotten him during the twenty odd
years immediately preceding his death. It was, however, noticeably worth
while to remember him at this particular time: he left a last will and
testament that bade fair to distress as well as startle a great many
people on both sides of the Atlantic, among whom it may be well to
include certain distinguished members of the legal profession.
In Boston the law firm of Bowen & Hare was puzzling itself beyond reason
in the effort to anticipate and circumvent the plans of the firm of
Bosworth, Newnes & Grapewin, London, E.C.; while on the other side of
the Atlantic Messrs. Bosworth, Newnes & Grapewin were blindly struggling
to do precisely the same thing in relation to Messrs. Bowen & Hare.
Without seeking to further involve myself, I shall at once conduct the
reader to the nearest of these law offices; he may hear something to his
own interest from Bowen & Hare. We find the partners sitting in the
private room.
"Pretty badly tangled, I declare," said Mr. Hare, staring helplessly at
his senior partner.
"Hopelessly," agreed Mr. Bowen, very much as if he had at first intended
to groan.
Before them on the table lay the contents of a bulky envelope: a long
and stupendous letter from their London correspondents and with it a
copy of Taswell Skaggs's will. The letter had come in the morning's
mail, heralded by a rather vague cablegram the week before. To be brief,
Mr. Bowen recently had been named as joint executor of the will,
together with Sir John Allencrombie, of London, W.C., one time neighbour
of the late Mr. Skaggs. A long and exasperating cablegram had touched
somewhat irresolutely upon the terms of the will, besides notifying him
that one of the heirs resided in Boston. He was instructed to apprise
this young man of his good fortune. This he delayed in doing until after
he had obtained more definite information from England. The full and
complete statement of facts was now before him.
There was one _very_ important, perhaps imposing feature in connection
with the old gentleman's will: he was decidedly sound of mind and body
when it was uttered.
When such astute lawyers as Bowen & Hare give up to amazement, the usual
forerunner of consternation, it is high time to regard the case as
startling. Their practice was far-reaching and varied; imperviousness
had been acquired through long years of restraint. But this day they
were sharply ousted from habitual calmness into a state of mind
bordering on the ludicrous.
"Read it again, Bowen."
"The will?"
"No; the letter."
Whereupon Mr. Bowen again read aloud the letter from Bosworth, Newnes &
Grapewin, this time slowly and speculatively.
"They seem as much upset by the situation as we," he observed
reflectively.
"Extraordinary state of affairs, I must say."
"And I don't know what to do about it--I don't even know how to begin.
They're both married."
"And not to each other."
"She's the wife of a Lord-knows-what-kind-of-a-lord, and he's married to
an uncommonly fine girl, they say, notwithstanding the fact that she has
larger social aspirations than he has means."
"And if that all-important clause in the will is not carried out to the
letter, the whole fortune goes to the bow-wows."
"Practically the same thing. He calls them 'natives,' that's all. It
looks to me as though the bow-wows will get the old man's millions. I
don't see how anything short of Providence can alter the situation."
Mr. Bowen looked out over the house-tops and Mr. Hare laughed softly
under his breath.
"Thank heaven, Bowen, he names you as executor, not me."
"I shall decline to serve. It's an impossible situation, Hare. In the
first place, Skaggs was not an intimate friend of mine. I met him in
Constantinople five years ago and afterward handled some business for
him in New York. He had no right to impose upon me as if------"
"But why should you hesitate? You have only to wait for the year to roll
by and then turn your troubles over to the natives. Young Browne can't
marry Miss Ruthven inside of a year, simply because there is no Miss
Ruthven. She's Lady--Lady--what's the name?"
"Deppingham."
"And Browne already has one Mrs. Browne to his credit, don't you see?
Well, that settles it, I'd say. It's hardly probable that Browne will
murder or divorce his wife, nor is it likely that her ladyship would
have the courage to dispose of her encumbrance in either way on such
short notice."
"But it means millions to them, Hare."
"That's their unfortunate lookout. You are to act as an executor, not as
a matrimonial agent."
"But, man, it's an outrage to give all of it to those wretched
islanders. Bosworth says that rubies and sapphires grow there like
mushrooms."
"Bosworth also says that the islanders are thrifty, intelligent and will
fight for their rights. There are lawyers among them, he says, as well
as jewel diggers and fishermen."
"Skaggs and Lady Deppingham's grandfather were the only white men who
ever lived there long enough to find out what the island had stored up
for civilisation. That's why they bought it outright, but I'm hanged if
I can see why he wants to give it back to the natives."
"Perhaps he owes it to them. He doubtless bought it for a song and,
contrary to all human belief, he may have resurrected a conscience.
Anyhow, there remains a chance for the heirs to break the will."
"It can't be done, Hare, it can't be done. It's as clean an instrument
as ever survived a man."
It is, by this time, safe for the reader to assume that Mr. Taswell
Skaggs had been a rich man and therefore privileged to be eccentric. It
is also time for the writer to turn the full light upon the tragic
comedy which entertained but did not amuse a select audience of lawyers
on both sides of the Atlantic. As this tale has to do with the
adventures of Taswell Skaggs's heirs and not with the strange old
gentleman who sleeps his last sleep literally in the midst of the island
of Japat, it is eminently wise to make as little as possible of him.
Mr. Skaggs came of a sound old country family in upper England, but
seems to have married a bit above his station. His wife was serving as
governess in the home of a certain earl when Taswell won her heart and
dragged her from the exalted position of minding other people's children
into the less conspicuous one of caring for her own. How the uncouth
country youth--not even a squire--overcame her natural prejudice against
the lower classes is not for me to explain. Sufficient to announce, they
were married and lived unhappily ever afterward.
Their only son was killed by a runaway horse when he was twenty, and
their daughter became the wife of an American named Browne when she was
scarcely out of her teens. It was then that Mr. Skaggs, practically
childless, determined to make himself wifeless as well.
He magnanimously deeded the unentailed farm to his wife, turned his
securities into cash and then set forth upon a voyage of exploration. It
is common history that upon one dark, still night in December he said
good-bye forever to the farm and its mistress; but it is doubtful if
either of them heard him.
To be "jolly well even" with him, Mrs. Skaggs did a most priggish thing.
She died six months later. But, before doing so, she made a will in
which she left the entire estate to her daughter, effectually depriving
the absent husband of any chance to reclaim his own.
Taswell Skaggs was in Shanghai when he heard the news. It was on a
Friday. His informant was that erstwhile friend, Jack Wyckholme.
Naturally, Skaggs felt deeply aggrieved with the fate which permitted
him to capitulate when unconditional surrender was so close at hand. His
language for one brief quarter of an hour did more to upset the progress
of Christian endeavour in the Far East than all the idols in the Chinese
Empire.
"There's nawthin' in England for me, Jackie. My gal's a bloomin'
foreigner by this time and she'll sell the bleedin' farm, of course.
She's an h'American, God bless 'er 'eart. I daresay if I'd go to 'er and
say I'd like my farm back again she'd want to fork hover, but 'er bloody
'usband wouldn't be for that sort of hextravagance. 'E'd boot me off the
hisland."
"The United States isn't an island, Tazzy," explained Mr. Wyckholme,
gulping his brandy and soda.
Mr. Wyckholme was the second son of Sir Somebody-or-other and had
married the vicar's daughter. This put him into such bad odour with his
family that he hurried off to the dogs--and a goodly sized menagerie
besides, if the records of the inebriate's asylum are to be credited.
His wife, after enduring him for sixteen years, secured a divorce. It
may not have been intended as an insult to the scapegoat, but no sooner
had she freed herself from him than his father, Sir Somebody-or-other,
took her and her young daughter into the ancestral halls and gave them a
much-needed abiding-place. This left poor Mr. Jack quite completely out
in the world--and he proceeded to make the best and the worst of it
while he had the strength and ambition. Accepting the world as his home,
he ventured forth to visit every nook and cranny of it. In course of
time he came upon his old-time neighbour and boyhood friend, Taswell
Skaggs, in the city of Shanghai. Neither of them had seen the British
Isles in two years or more.
"'Ow do you know?" demanded Taswell.
"Haven't I been there, old chap? A year or more? It's a rotten big place
where gentlemen aspire to sell gloves and handkerchiefs and needlework
over the shop counters. At any rate, that's what every one said every
one else was doing, and advised me to--to get a situation doing the
same. You know, Tazzy, I couldn't well afford to starve and I _wouldn't_
sell things, so I came away. But it's no island."
"Well, that's neither here nor there, Jackie. I 'aven't a 'ome and you
'aven't a 'ome, and we're wanderers on the face of the earth. My wife
played me a beastly trick, dying like that. I say marriage is a blooming
nuisance."
"Marriage, my boy, is the convalescence from a love affair. One wants to
get out the worst way but has to stay in till he's jolly well cured. For
my part, I'm never going back to England."
"Nor I. It would be just like me, Jackie, to 'ave a relapse and never
get out again."
The old friends, with tear-dimmed eyes, shook hands and vowed that
nothing short of death should part them during the remainder of their
journey through life. That night they took an inventory. Jack Wyckholme,
gentleman's son and ne'er-do-well, possessed nine pounds and a fraction,
an appetite and excellent spirits, while Taswell Skaggs exhibited a
balance of one thousand pounds in a Shanghai bank, a fairly successful
trade in Celestial necessities, and an unbounded eagerness to change his
luck.
"I have a proposition to make to you, Tazzy," said Mr. Wyckholme, late
in the night.
"I think I'll listen to it, Jackie," replied Mr. Skaggs, quite soberly.
As the outcome of this midnight proposition, Taswell Skaggs and John
Wyckholme arrived, two months later, at the tiny island of Japat,
somewhere south of the Arabian Sea, there to remain until their dying
days and there to accumulate the wealth which gave the first named a
chance to make an extraordinary will. For thirty years they lived on the
island of Japat. Wyckholme preceded Skaggs to the grave by two winters
and he willed his share of everything to his partner of thirty years'
standing. But there was a proviso in Wyckholme's bequest, just as there
was in that of Skaggs. Each had made his will some fifteen years or more
before death and each had bequeathed his fortune to the survivor. At the
death of the survivor the entire property was to go to the grandchild of
each testator, with certain reservations to be mentioned later on, each
having, by investigation, discovered that he possessed a single
grandchild.
The island of Japat had been the home of a Mohammedan race, the
outgrowth of Arabian adventurers who had fared far from home many years
before Wyckholme happened upon the island by accident. It was a British
possession and there were two or three thousand inhabitants, all
Mohammedans. Skaggs and Wyckholme purchased the land from the natives,
protected and eased their rights with the government and proceeded to
realise on what the natives had unwittingly prepared for them. In course
of time the natives repented of the deal which gave the Englishmen the
right to pick and sell the rubies and other precious stones that they
had been trading away for such trifles as silks, gewgaws and women; a
revolution was imminent. Whereupon the owners organised the entire
population into a great stock company, retaining four-fifths of the
property themselves. This seemed to be a satisfactory arrangement,
despite the fact that some of the more warlike leaders were difficult to
appease. But, as Messrs. Wyckholme and Skaggs owned the land and the
other grants, there was little left for the islanders but arbitration.
It is only necessary to add that the beautiful island of Japat, standing
like an emerald in the sapphire waters of the Orient, brought millions
in money to the two men who had been unlucky in love.
And now, after more than thirty years of voluntary exile, both of them
were dead, and both of them were buried in the heart of an island of
rubies, their deed and their deeds remaining to posterity--with
reservations.
CHAPTER II
AN EXTRAORDINARY DOCUMENT
It appears that the Messrs. Skaggs and Wyckholme, as their dual career
drew to a close, set about to learn what had become of their daughters.
Investigation proved that Wyckholme's daughter had married a London
artist named Ruthven. The Ruthvens in turn had one child, a daughter.
Wyckholme's wife and his daughter died when this grandchild was eight or
ten years old. By last report, the grandchild was living with her father
in London. She was a pretty young woman with scores of admirers on her
hands and a very level head on her shoulders.
Wyckholme held to his agreement with Skaggs by bequeathing his share of
the property to him, but it was definitely set forth that at the death
of his partner it was to go to Agnes Ruthven, the grandchild--with
reservations.
Skaggs found that his daughter, who married Browne the American,
likewise had died, but that she had left behind a son and heir. This
son, Robert Browne, was in school when the joint will was designed, and
he was to have Skaggs's fortune at the death of Wyckholme, in case that
worthy survived.
All this would have been very simple had it not been for the
instructions and conditions agreed upon by the two men. In order to keep
the business and the property intact and under the perpetual control of
one partnership, the granddaughter of Wyckholme was to marry the
grandson of Skaggs within the year after the death of the surviving
partner. The penalty to be imposed upon them if the conditions were not
complied with--neither to be excusable for the defection of the
other--lay in the provision that the whole industry and its accumulated
fortune, including the land (and they owned practically the entire
island), was to go to the islanders--or, in plain words, to the original
owners, their heirs, share and share alike, all of which was set forth
concisely in a separate document attached. Wyckholme named Sir John
Allencrombie as one executor and Skaggs selected Alfred Bowen, of
Boston, as the other.
As Wyckholme was the first to die, Skaggs became sole owner of the
island and its treasures, and it was he who made the final will in
accordance with the original plans.
The island of Japat with its jewels and its ancient château--of modern
construction--represented several million pounds sterling. Its owners
had accumulated a vast fortune, but, living in seclusion as they did,
were hard put for means to spend any considerable part of it.
Wyckholme's dream of erecting an exact replica of a famous old château
found response in the equally whimsical Skaggs, who constantly bemoaned
the fact that it was impossible to spend money. For five years after its
completion the two old men, with an army of Arabian retainers and Nubian
slaves, lived like Oriental potentates in the huge structure on the
highlands overlooking the sea.
Skaggs seldom went from one part of his home to another without a guide.
It was so vast and so labyrinthine that he feared he might become lost
forever. The dungeon below the château, and the moat with its bridges,
were the especial delight of these lonely, romantic old chaps. One of
the builders of this rare pile was now sleeping peacefully in the
sarcophagus beneath the chapel; the other was lying dead and
undiscovered in the very heart of his possessions. Their executors were
sourly wondering whether the two venerable testators were not even then
grinning from those far-away sepulchres in contemplation of the first
feud their unprimitive castle was to know.
The magnificent plans of the partners would have been a glorious tribute
to romance had it not been for one fatal obstacle. The trouble was that
neither young Miss Ruthven nor young Mr. Browne knew that their
grandfathers lived, much less that they owned an island in the South
Seas. Therefore it is quite natural that they could not have known they
were expected to marry each other. In complete but blissful ignorance
that the other existed, the young legatees fell in love with persons
unmentioned in the will and performed the highly commendable but
exceedingly complicating act of matrimony. This emergency, it is humane
to suspect, had not revealed itself to either of the grandfathers.
Miss Ruthven, from motives peculiar to the head and not to the heart,
set about to earn a title for herself. Three months before the death of
Mr. Skaggs she was married to Lord Deppingham, who possessed a title and
a country place that rightfully belonged to his creditors. Mr. Browne,
just out of college, hung out his shingle as a physician and surgeon,
and forthwith, with all the confidence his profession is supposed to
inspire, proceeded to marry the daughter of a brokerage banker in Boston
and at once found himself struggling with the difficulties of Back Bay
society.
A clause in the will, letter of instruction attached, demanded that the
two grandchildren should take up their residence in the château within
six months after the death of the testator, there to remain through the
compulsory days of courtship up to and including the wedding day. Four
months had already passed. It was also stipulated that the executors
should receive £10,000 each at the expiration of their year of
servitude, provided it was shown in court that they had carried out the
wishes of the testator, or, in failing, had made the most diligent
effort within human power.
"It is very explicit," murmured Mr. Hare, for the third time. "I suppose
the first step is to notify young Mr. Browne of his misfortune. His
lordship has the task of breaking the news to Lady Deppingham."
"You are assuming that I intend to act under this ridiculous will."
"Certainly. It means about $50,000 to you at the end of the year, with
nothing to do but to notify two persons of the terms in the will. If
they're not divorced and married again at the end of the year, you and
Sir John simply turn everything over to the Malays or whatever they are.
It's something like 'dust to dust,' isn't it, after all? I think it's
easy sledding for you."
Mr. Bowen was eventually won over by Mr. Hare's enthusiasm.
"Notifications" took wing and flew to different parts of the world,
while many lawyers hovered like vultures to snatch at the bones should a
war at law ensue.
Young Mr. Browne (he was hardly a doctor even in name) hastened downtown
in response to a message from the American executor, and was told of the
will which had been filed in England, the home land of the testator. To
say that this debonair, good-looking young gentleman was flabbergasted
would be putting it more than mildly. There is no word in the English
language strong enough to describe his attitude at that perilous moment.
"What shall I do--what can I do, Mr. Bowen?" he gasped, bewildered.
"Consult an attorney," advised Mr. Bowen promptly.
"I'll do it," shouted "Bobby" Browne, one time halfback on his college
eleven. "Break the will for me, Mr. Bowen, and I'll give--"
"I can't break it, Bobby. I'm its executor."
"Good Lord! Well, then, who is the best will-breaker you know, please?
Something has to be done right away."
"I'm afraid you don't grasp the situation. Now if you were not married
it would--"
"I wouldn't give up my wife for all the islands in the universe. That's
settled. You don't know how happy we are. She's the--"
"Yes, yes, I know," interrupted the wily Mr. Bowen. "Don't tell me about
it. She's a stumbling block, however, even though we are agreed that
she's a most delightful one. Your co-legatee also possesses a block,
perhaps not so delicate, but I daresay she feels the same about hers as
you do about yours. I can't advise you, my boy. Go and see Judge Garrett
over in the K---- building. They say he expects to come back from the
grave to break his own will."
Ten minutes later an excited young man rushed into an office in the
K---- building. Two minutes afterward he was laying the case before that
distinguished old counsellor, Judge Abner Garrett.
"You will have to fight it jointly," said Judge Garrett, after
extracting the wheat from the chaff of Browne's remarks. "You can't take
hers away from her and she can't get yours. We must combine against the
natives. Come back to-morrow at two."
Promptly at two Browne appeared, eager-eyed and nervous. He had left
behind him at home a miserable young woman with red eyes and choking
breath who bemoaned the cruel conviction that she stood between him and
fortune.
"But hang it all, dearest, I wouldn't marry that girl if I had the
chance. I'd marry you all over again to-day if I could," he had cried
out to her, but she wondered all afternoon if he really meant it. It
never entered her head to wonder if Lady Deppingham was old or young,
pretty or ugly, bright or dull. She had been Mrs. Browne for three
months and she could not quite understand how she had been so happy up
to this sickening hour.
Judge Garrett had a copy of the will in his hand. He looked dubious,
even dismayed.
"It's as sound as the rock of Gibraltar," he announced dolefully.
"You don't mean it!" gasped poor Bobby, mopping his fine Harvard brow,
his six feet of manhood shrinking perceptibly as he looked about for a
chair in which to collapse. "C--can't it be smashed?"
"It might be an easy matter to prove either of these old gentlemen to
have been insane, but the two of them together make it out of the
question----"
"Darned unreasonable."
"What do you mean, sir?" indignantly.
"I mean--oh, you know what I mean. The conditions and all that. Why, the
old chumps must have been trying to prove their grandchildren insane
when they made that will. Nobody but imbeciles would marry people they'd
never seen. I----"
"But the will provides for a six months' courtship, Dr. Browne, I'm
sorry to say. You might learn to love a person in less time and still
retain your mental balance, you know, especially if she were pretty and
an heiress to half your own fortune. I daresay that is what they were
thinking about."
"Thinking? They weren't thinking of anything at all. They weren't
capable. Why didn't they consider the possibility that things might turn
out just as they have?"
"Possibly they did consider it, my boy. It looks to me as if they did
not care a rap whether it went to their blood relatives or to the
islanders. I fancy of the two they loved the islanders more. At any
rate, they left a beautiful opening for the very complications which now
conspire to give the natives their own, after all. There may be some
sort of method in their badness. More than likely they concluded to let
luck decide the matter."
"Well, I guess it has, all right."
"Don't lose heart. It's worth fighting for even if you lose. I'd hate to
see those islanders get all of it, even if you two can't marry each
other. I've thought it over pretty thoroughly and I've reached a
conclusion. It's necessary for both of you to be on the ground according
to schedule. You must go to the island, wife or no wife, and there's not
much time to be lost. Lady Deppingham won't let the grass grow under her
feet if I know anything about the needs of English nobility, and I'll
bet my hat she's packing her trunks now for a long stay in Japat. You
have farther to go than she, but you _must_ get over there inside of
sixty days. I daresay your practice can take care of itself,"
ironically. Browne nodded cheerfully. "You can't tell what may happen in
the next six months."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it's possible that you may become a widower and she a wid--"
"Good heaven, Judge Garrett! Impossible!" gasped Bobby Browne, clutching
the arms of his chair.
"Nothing is impossible, my boy--"
"Well, if that's what you're counting on you can count me out, I won't
speculate on my wife's death."
"But, man, suppose that it _did_ happen!" roared the judge irascibly.
"You should be prepared for the best--I mean the worst. Don't look like
a sick dog. We've got to watch every corner, that's all, and be
Johnny-on-the-spot when the time comes. You go to the island at once.
Take your wife along if you like. You'll find her ladyship there, and
she'll need a woman to tell her troubles to. I'll have the papers ready
for you to sign in three days, and I don't think we'll have any trouble
getting the British heirs to join in the suit to overthrow the will. The
only point is this: the islanders must not have the advantage that your
absence from Japat will give to them. Now, I'll----"
"But, good Lord, Judge Garrett, I can't go to that confounded island,"
wailed Browne. "Take my wife over among those heathenish----"
"Do you expect me to handle this case for you, sir?"
"Sure."
"Then let me handle it. Don't interfere. When you start in to get
somebody else's money you have to do a good many things you don't like,
no matter whether you are a lawyer or a client."
"But I don't like the suggestion that my wife will be obliged to die in
order----"
"Please leave all the details to me, Mr. Browne. It may not be necessary
for her to die. There are other alternatives in law. Give the lawyers a
chance. We'll see what we can do. Besides, it would be unreasonable to
expect his lordship to die also. All you have to do is to plant yourself
on that island and stay there until we tell you to get off."
"Or the islanders push me off," lugubriously.
"Now, listen intently and I'll tell you just what you are to do."
Young Mr. Browne went away at dusk, half reeling under the
responsibility of existence, and eventually reached the side of the
anxious young woman uptown. He bared the facts and awaited the wail of
dismay.
"I think it will be perfectly jolly," she cried, instead, and kissed him
rapturously.
Over on the opposite side of the Atlantic the excitement in certain
circles was even more intense than that produced in Boston. Lord
Deppingham needed the money, but he was a whole day in grasping the fact
that his wife could not have it and him at the same time. The beautiful
and fashionable Lady Deppingham, once little Agnes Ruthven, came as near
to having hysteria as Englishwomen ever do, but she called in a lawyer
instead of a doctor. For three days she neglected her social duties (and
they were many), ignored her gallant admirers (and they were many), and
hurried back and forth between home and chambers so vigorously that his
lordship was seldom closer than a day behind in anything she did.
There was a great rattling of trunks, a jangling of keys, a thousand
good-byes, a cast-off season, and the Deppinghams were racing away for
the island of Japat somewhere in the far South Seas.
CHAPTER III
INTRODUCING HOLLINGSWORTH CHASE
While all this was being threshed out by the persons most vitally
interested in the affairs of Taswell Skaggs and John Wyckholme, events
of a most unusual character were happening to one who not only had no
interest in the aforesaid heritage, but no knowledge whatever of its
existence. The excitement attending the Skaggs-Wyckholme revelations had
not yet spread to the Grand Duchy of Rapp-Thorberg, apparently lost as
it was in the cluster of small units which went to make up a certain
empire: one of the world powers. The Grand Duke Michael disdained the
world at large; he had but little in common with anything that moved
beyond the confines of his narrow domain. His court was sleepy,
lackadaisical, unemotional, impregnable to the taunts of progression;
his people were thrifty, stolid and absolutely stationary in their
loyalty to the ancient traditions of the duchy; his army was a mere
matter of taxation and not a thing of pomp or necessity. Four times a
year he inspected the troops, and just as many times in the year were
the troops obliged to devote themselves to rigorous display. The rest of
the time was spent in social intrigue and whistling for the war-clouds
that never came.
The precise location of the Grand Duchy in the map of the world has
little or nothing to do with this narrative; indeed, were it not for the
fact that the Grand Duke possessed a charming and most desirable
daughter, the Thorberg dynasty would not be mentioned at all. For that
matter, it is brought to light briefly for the sole purpose of
identifying the young lady in question, and the still more urgent desire
to connect her past with her future--for which we have, perhaps
intemperately, an especial consideration. It is only necessary,
therefore, for us to step into and out of the Grand Duchy without the
procrastination usual in a sojourner, stopping long enough only to see
how tiresome it would be to stay, and to wonder why any one remained who
could get away. Not that the Grand Duchy was an utterly undesirable
place, but that too much time already had been wasted there by the
populace itself.
It has been said that events of a most unusual character were happening;
any event that roused the people from their daily stolidity was
sufficiently unusual to suggest the superlative. The Grand Duke's peace
of mind had been severely disturbed--so severely, in fact, that he was
transferring his troubles to the Emperor, who, in turn, felt obliged to
communicate with the United States Ambassador, and who, in his turn, had
no other alternative than to take summary action in respect to the
indiscretions of a fellow-countryman.
In the beginning, it was not altogether the fault of the young man who
had come from America to serve his country. Whatever may have been the
turmoil in the Grand Duke's palace at Thorberg, Chase's conscience was
even and serene. He had no excuses to offer--for that matter none would
have been entertained--and he was resigning his post with the confidence
that he had performed his obligations as an American gentleman should,
even though the performance had created an extraordinary commotion.
Chase was new to the Old World and its customs, especially those
rigorous ones which surrounded royalty and denied it the right to
venture into the commonplace. The ambassador at the capital of the
Empire at first sought to excuse him on the ground of ignorance; but the
Grand Duke insisted that even an American could not be such a fool as
Chase had been; so, it must have been a wilful offence that led up to
the controversy.
Chase had been the representative of the American Government at Thorberg
for six months. He never fully understood why the government should have
a representative there; but that was a matter quite entirely for the
President to consider. The American flag floated above his doorway in
the Friedrich Strasse, but in all his six months of occupation not ten
Americans had crossed the threshold. As a matter of fact, he had seen
fewer than twenty Americans in all that time. He was a vigorous, healthy
young man, and it may well be presumed that the situation bored him.
Small wonder, then, that he kept out of mischief for half a year.
Diplomatic service is one thing and the lack of opportunity is quite
another. Chase did his best to find occupation for his diplomacy, but
what chance had he with nothing ahead of him but regular reports to the
department in which he could only announce that he was in good health
and that no one had "called."
Chase belonged to the diplomatic class which owes its elevation to the
influence of Congress--not to Congress as a body but to one of its
atoms. He was not a politician; no more was he an office seeker. He was
a real soldier of fortune, in search of affairs--in peace or in war, on
land or at sea. Possessed of a small income, sufficiently adequate to
sustain life if he managed to advance it to the purple age (but wholly
incapable of supporting him as a thriftless diplomat), he was compelled
to make the best of his talents, no matter to what test they were put.
He left college at twenty-two, possessed of the praiseworthy design to
earn his own way without recourse to the $4,500 income from a certain
trust fund. His plan also incorporated the hope to save every penny of
that income for the possible "rainy day." He was now thirty; in each of
several New York banks he had something like $4,000 drawing three per
cent. interest while he picked his blithe way through the world on
$2,500 a year, more or less, as chance ordained.
"When I'm forty," Chase was wont to remark to envious spendthrifts who
couldn't understand his philosophy, "I'll have over a hundred thousand
there, and if I live to be ninety, just think what I'll have! And it
will be like finding the money, don't you see? Of course, I won't live
to be ninety. Moreover, I may get married and have to maintain a poor
wife with rich relatives, which is a terrible strain, you know. You have
to live up to your wife's relatives, if you don't do anything else."
He did not refer to the chance that he was quite sure to come in for a
large legacy at the death of his maternal grandfather, a millionaire
ranch owner in the Far West. Chase never counted on probabilities; he
took what came and was satisfied.
After leaving college, he drifted pretty much over the world, taking pot
luck with fortune and clasping the hand of circumstance, to be led into
the highways and byways, through good times and ill times, in love and
out, always coming safely into port with a smiling wind behind. There
had been hard roads to travel as well as easy ones, but he never
complained; he swung on through life with the heart of a soldier and the
confidence of a Pagan. He loathed business and he abhorred trade.
"That little old trust fund is making more money for me by lying idle
than I could accumulate in a century by hard work as a grocer or an
undertaker," he was prone to philosophise when his uncles, who were
merchants, urged him to settle down and "do something." Not that there
were grocers or undertakers among them; it was his way of impressing his
sense of freedom upon them.
He was an orphan and bounden to no man. No one had the right to question
his actions after his twenty-first anniversary. It was fortunate for him
that he was a level-headed as well as a wild-hearted chap, else he might
have sunk to the perdition his worthy uncles prescribed for him. He went
in for law at Yale, and then practised restlessly, vaguely for two years
in Baltimore, under the patronage of his father's oldest friend, a
lawyer of distinction.
"If I fail at everything else, I'll go back to the practice of law," he
said cheerfully. "Uncle Henry is mean enough to say that he has
forgotten more law than I ever knew, but he has none the better of me.
'Gad, I am confident that I've forgotten more law, myself, than I ever
knew."
Tiring of the law books and reports in the old judge's office, he
suddenly abandoned his calling and set forth to see the world. Almost
before his friends knew that he had left he was heard of in Turkestan.
In course of time he served as a war correspondent for one of the great
newspapers, acted as agent for great hemp dealers in the Philippines,
carried a rifle with the Boers in South Africa, hunted wild beasts in
Asia and in Hottentot land, took snapshots in St. Petersburg, and almost
got to the North Pole with one of the expeditions. To do and be all of
these he had to be a manly man. Not in a month's journey would you meet
a truer thoroughbred, a more agreeable chap, a more polished vagabond,
than Hollingsworth Chase, first lieutenant in Dame Fortune's army. Tall,
good looking, rawboned, cheerful, gallant, he was the true comrade of
those merry, reckless volunteers from all lands who find commissions in
Fortune's army and serve her faithfully. He had shared pot luck in odd
parts of the world with English lords, German barons and French
counts--all serving under the common flag. His heart had withstood the
importunate batterings of many a love siege; the wounds had been
pleasant ones and the recovery quick. He left no dead behind him.
He was nearly thirty when the diplomatic service began to appeal to him
as a pleasing variation from the rigorous occupations he had followed
heretofore. A British lordling put it into his head, away out in Delhi.
It took root, and he hurried home to attend to its growth. One of his
uncles was a congressman and another was in some way connected with
railroads. He first sought the influence of the latter and then the
recommendation of the former. In less than six weeks after his arrival
in Washington he was off for the city of Thorberg in the Grand Duchy of
Rapp-Thorberg, carrying with him an appointment as consul and supplied
with the proper stamps and seal of office. His uncle compassionately
informed him beforehand that his service in Thorberg would be brief and
certainly would lead up to something much better.
At the end of five months he was devoutly, even pathetically, hoping
that his uncle was no false prophet. He loathed Thorberg; he hated the
inhabitants; he smarted under the sting of royal disdain; he had no real
friends, no boon companions and he was obliged to be good! What wonder,
then, that the bored, suffering, vivacious Mr. Chase seized the first
opportunity to leap headforemost into the very thick of a most appalling
indiscretion!
When he first arrived in Thorberg to assume his sluggish duties he was
not aware of the fact that the Grand Duke had an unmarried daughter, the
Princess Genevra. Nor, upon learning that the young lady existed, was he
particularly impressed; the royal princesses he had been privileged to
look upon were not remarkable for their personal attractiveness: he
forthwith established Genevra in what he considered to be her proper
sphere.
She was visiting in St. Petersburg or Berlin or some other place--he
gave it no thought at the time--when he reached his post of duty, and it
was toward the end of his fifth month before she returned to her
father's palace in Thorberg. He awoke to the importance of the occasion,
and took some slight interest in the return of the royal young
lady--even going so far as to follow the crowd to the railway station on
the sunny June afternoon. His companions were two young fellows from the
English bank and a rather agreeable attaché of the French Government.
He saw the Princess for the first time that afternoon, and he was bowled
over, to use the expression of his English friends with whom he dined
that night. She was the first woman that he had ever looked upon that he
could describe, for she was the only one who had impressed him to that
extent. This is how he pictured her at the American legation in Paris a
few weeks later:
"Ever see her? Well, you've something to live for, gentlemen. I've seen
her but three times and I don't seem able to shake off the spell. Her
sisters, you know--the married ones--are nothing to look at, and the
Grand Duke isn't a beauty by any means. How the deuce she happens to
produce such a contrast I can't, for the life of me, understand. Nature
does some marvellous things, by George, and she certainly spread herself
on the Princess Genevra. You've never seen such hair. 'Gad, it's as near
like the kind that Henner painted as anything human could be, except
that it's more like old gold, if you can understand what I mean by that.
Not bronze, mind you, nor the raw red, but--oh, well, I'm not a
novelist, so I can't half-way describe it. She's rather tall--not too
tall, mind you--five feet five, I'd say--whatever that is in the metric
system. Slender and well dressed--oh, that's the strangest thing of all!
Well dressed! Think of a princess being well dressed! I can see that you
don't believe me, but I'll stake my word it's true. Of course, I've seen
but three of her gowns and--but that's neither here nor there. I'd say
she's twenty-two or twenty-three years of age--not a minute older. I
think her eyes are a very dark grey, almost blue. Her skin is like
a--a--oh, let me see, what is there that's as pure and soft as her skin?
Something warm, and pink, and white, d'ye see? Well, never mind. And her
smile! And her frown! You know, I've seen both of 'em, and one's as
attractive as the other. She's a real princess, gentlemen, and the
prettiest woman I've ever laid my eyes upon. And to think of her as the
wife of that blithering little ass--that nincompoop of a Karl Brabetz!
She loathes him, I'm sure--I _know_ she does. And she's _got_ to marry
him! That's what she gets for being a Grand Duke's daughter. Brabetz is
the heir apparent to some duchy or other over there and is supposed to
be the catch of the season. You've heard of him. He was in Paris this
season and cut quite a figure--a prince with real money in his purse,
you know. I wonder why it is that our American girls can't marry the
princes who have money instead of those who have none. Not that I wish
any of our girls such bad luck as Brabetz! I'll stake my head he'll
never forget me!" Chase concluded with a sharp, reflective laugh in
which his hearers joined, for the escapade which inspired it was being
slyly discussed in every embassy in Europe by this time, but no one
seemed especially loth to shake Chase's hand on account of it.
But to return: the advent of the Princess put fresh life into the
slowgoing city and court circles. Charming people, whom Chase had never
seen before, seemed to spring into existence suddenly; the streets took
on a new air; the bands played with a keener zest and the army prinked
itself into a most amazingly presentable shape. Officers with noble
blood in their veins stepped out of the obscurity of months; swords
clanked merrily instead of dragging slovenly at the heels of their
owners; uniforms glistened with a new ambition, and the whole atmosphere
of Thorberg underwent a change so startling that Chase could hardly
believe his senses. He lifted up his chin, threw out his chest, banished
the look of discontent from his face and announced to himself that
Thorberg was not such a bad place after all.
For days he swung blithely through the streets, the hang-dog look gone
from his eyes, always hoping for another glimpse of the fair sorceress
who had worked the great transformation. He even went so far as to read
the court society news in the local papers, and grew to envy the men
whose names were mentioned in the same column with that of the fair
Genevra. It was two weeks before he saw her the second time; he was more
enchanted by her face than before, especially as he came to realise the
astonishing fact that she was kind enough to glance in his direction
from time to time.
It was during the weekly concert in the Kursaal, late one night. She
came in with a party, among whom he recognised several of the leading
personages at court.
Once a week the regular concert gave way to a function in which the
royal orchestra was featured. On such occasions the attendance was
extremely fashionable, the Duke and his court usually being present. It
was not until this time, however, that Chase felt that he could sit
through a concert without being bored to extinction. He loved music, but
not the kind that the royal orchestra rendered; Wagner, Chopin, Mozart
were all the same to him--he hated them fervently and he was _not_ yet
given to stratagems and spoils. He sat at a table with the French
attaché just below the box occupied by the Princess and her party. In
spite of the fact that he was a gentleman, born and bred, he could not
conquer countless impulses to look at the flower-face of the royal
auditor. They were surreptitious and sidelong peeps, it is true, but
they served him well. He caught her gaze bent upon him more than once,
and he detected an interest in her look that pleased his vanity
exceeding great.
Gradually the programme led up to the feature of the evening--the
rendition of a great work under the direction of a famous leader, a
special guest of the music-loving Duke.
Chase arose and cheered with the assemblage when the distinguished
director made his appearance. Then he proceeded to forget the man and
his genius--in fact everything save the rapt listener above him. She was
leaning forward on the rail of the box, her chin in her hand, her eyes
looking steadily ahead, enthralled by the music. Suddenly she turned and
looked squarely into his eyes, as if impelled by the magnetism they
unconsciously employed. A little flush mounted to her brow as she
quickly resumed her former attitude. Chase cursed himself for a
brainless lout.
The number came to an end and the crowd arose to cheer the bowing,
smiling director. Chase cheered and shouted "bravo," too, because _she_
was applauding as eagerly as the others. She called the flushed, bowing
director to her box, and publicly thanked him for the pleasure he had
given. Chase saw him kiss her hand as he murmured his gratitude. For the
first time in his life he coveted the occupation of an orchestra leader.
The director was a frail, rather good-looking young man, with piercing
black eyes that seemed too bold in their scrutiny of the young lady's
face. Chase began to hate him; he was unreasonably thankful when he
passed on to the box in which the Duke sat.
The third and last time he saw the Princess Genevra before his sudden,
spectacular departure from the Grand Duchy, was at the Duke's reception
to the nobility of Rapp-Thorberg and to the representatives of such
nations of the world as felt the necessity of having a man there in an
official capacity.
CHAPTER IV
THE INDISCREET MR. CHASE
There was not a handsomer, more striking figure in the palace gardens on
the night of the reception than Hollingsworth Chase, nor one whose poise
proved that he knew the world quite as well as it is possible for any
one man to know it. His was an unique figure, also, for he was easily
distinguishable as the only American in the brilliant assemblage.
He was presented to the Princess late in the evening, together with
Baggs of the British office. His pride and confidence received a severe
shock. She glanced at him with unaffected welcome, but the air of one
who was looking upon his face for the first time. It was not until he
had spent a full hour in doleful self-commiseration, that his sense of
worldliness came to his relief. In a flash, he was joyously convincing
himself that her pose during the presentation was artfully--and very
properly--assumed. He saw through it very plainly! How simple he had
been! Of course, she could not permit him to feel that she had ever
displayed the slightest interest in him! His spirits shot upward so
suddenly that Baggs accused him of "negotiating a drink on the sly" and
felt very much injured that he had been ignored.
The gardens of the palace were not unlike the stage setting of a great
spectacle. The sleepy, stolid character of the court had been
transformed, as if by magic. Chase wondered where all the pretty,
vivacious women could have sprung from--and were these the officers of
the Royal Guard that he had so often laughed at in disdain? Could that
gay old gentleman in red and gold be the morbid, carelessly clad Duke of
Rapp-Thorberg, whom he had grown to despise because he seemed so
ridiculously unlike a real potentate? He marvelled and rejoiced as he
strolled hither and thither with the casual Baggs, and for the first
time in his life really felt that it was pleasant to be stared at--in
admiration, too, he may be pardoned for supposing.
He could not again approach within speaking distance of the
Princess--nor did he presume to make the effort. Chase knew his proper
place. It must be admitted, however, that he was never far distant from
her, but perhaps chance was responsible for that--chance and Baggs, who,
by nature, kept as close to royalty as the restrictions allowed.
She was the gayest, the most vivacious being in the whole assemblage;
she had but to stretch out her hand or project her smile and every man
in touch with the spell was ready to drop at her feet. At last, she led
her court off toward the pavilion under which the royal orchestra was
playing. As if it were a signal, every one turned his steps in that
direction. Chase and the Englishman had been conversing diligently with
an ancient countess and her two attractive daughters near the fountain.
The Countess gave the command in the middle of Chase's dissertation on
Italian cooking, and the party hastily fell in line with the throng
which hurried forward.
"What is it? Supper again?" whispered Baggs, lugubriously.
One of the young women, doubtless observing the look of curiosity in the
face of the American, volunteered the information that the orchestra was
to repeat the great number which had so stirred the musical world at the
concert the week before. Chase's look of despair was instantly banished
by the recollection that the Princess had bestowed unqualified approval
on the previous occasion. Hence, if she enjoyed it, he was determined to
be pleased.
Again the dapper director came forward to lead the musicians, and again
he was most enthusiastically received. His uniform fairly sparkled with
the thrill of vanity, which seemed to burst from every seam; his sword
clanked madly against his nimble legs as he bowed and scraped his
grateful recognition of the honour. This time Chase was not where he
could watch the Princess; he found, therefore, that he could devote his
attention to the music and the popular conductor. He was amazed to find
that the fellow seemed to be inspired; he was also surprised to find
himself carried away by the fervour of the moment.
With the final crash of the orchestra, he found himself shouting again
with the others; oddly, this time he was as mad as they. A score or more
of surprised, disapproving eyes were turned upon him when he yelled
"Encore!"
"There will be no encore," admonished the fair girl at his side, kindly.
"It is not New York," she added, with a sly smile.
Ten minutes later, Chase and the Englishman were lighting their cigars
in an obscure corner of the gardens, off in the shadows where the circle
of light spent itself among the trees.
"Extraordinarily beautiful," Chase murmured reflectively, as he seated
himself upon the stone railing along the drive.
"Yes, they say he really wrote it himself," drawled Baggs, puffing away.
"I'm not talking about the music," corrected Chase sharply.
"Oh," murmured Baggs, apologetically. "The night?"
"No! The Princess, Baggs. Haven't you noticed her?" with intense sarcasm
in his tone.
"Of course, I have, old chap. By Jove, do you know she _is_
good-looking--positively ripping."
The concert over, people began strolling into the more distant corners
of the huge garden, down the green-walled walks and across the moonlit
terraces. For a long time, the two men sat moodily smoking in their dark
nook, watching the occasional passers-by; listening to the subdued
laughter and soft voices of the women, the guttural pleasantries of the
men. They lazily observed the approach of one couple, attracted, no
doubt, by the disparity in the height of the two shadows. The man was at
least half a head shorter than his companion, but his ardour seemed a
thousandfold more vast. Chase was amused by the apparent intensity of
the small officer's devotion, especially as it was met with a coldness
that would have chilled the fervour of a man much larger and therefore
more timid. It was impossible to see the faces of the couple until they
passed through a moonlit streak in the walk, quite close at hand.
Chase started and grasped his companion's arm. One was the Princess
Genevra and--was it possible? Yes, the nimble conductor! The sensation
of the hour--the musical lion! Moreover, to Chase's cold horror, the
"little freak" was actually making violent love to the divinity of
Rapp-Thorberg!
There was no doubt of it now. The Princess and her escort--the plebeian
upstart--were quite near at hand, and, to the dismay of the smokers,
apparently were unaware of their presence in the shadows. Chase's heart
was boiling with disappointed rage. His idol had fallen, from a
tremendous height to a depth which disgusted him.
Then transpired the thing which brought about Hollingsworth Chase's
sudden banishment from Rapp-Thorberg, and came near to making him the
laughing stock of the service.
The Princess had not seen the two men; nor had the fervent conductor,
whose impassioned French was easily distinguishable by the unwilling
listeners. The sharp, indignant "no" of the Princess, oft repeated, did
much to relieve the pain in the heart of her American admirer. Finally,
with an unmistakable cry of anger, she halted not ten feet from where
Chase sat, as though he had become a part of the stone rail. He could
almost feel the blaze in her eyes as she turned upon the presumptuous
conductor.
"I have asked you not to touch me, sir! Is not that enough? If you
persist, I shall be compelled to appeal to my father again. The whole
situation is loathsome to me. Are you blind? Can you not see that I
despise you? I will not endure it a day longer. You promised to respect
my wishes--"
"How can I respect a promise which condemns me to purgatory every time I
see you?" he cried passionately. "I adore you. You are the queen of my
life, the holder of my soul. Genevra, Genevra, I love you! My soul for
one tender word, for one soft caress! Ah, do not be so cruel! I will be
your slave--"
"Enough! Stop, I say! If you dare to touch me!" she cried, drawing away
from her tormentor, her voice trembling with anger. The little
conductor's manner changed on the instant. He gave a snarl of rage and
despair combined as he raised his clenched hands in the air. For a
moment words seemed to fail him. Then he cried out:
"By heaven, I'll make you pay for this some day! You shall learn what a
man can do with a woman such as you are! You--"
Just at that moment a tall figure leaped from the shadows and confronted
the quivering musician. A heavy hand fell upon his collar and he was
almost jerked from his feet, half choked, half paralysed with alarm. Not
a word was spoken. Chase whirled the presumptuous suitor about until he
faced the gates to the garden. Then, with more force than he realised,
he applied his boot to the person of the offender--once, twice, thrice!
The military jacket of the recipient of these attentions was of the
abbreviated European pattern and the trousers were skin tight.
The Princess started back with a cry of alarm--ay, terror. The onslaught
was so sudden, so powerless to avert, that it seemed like a visitation
of wrath from above. She stared, wide-eyed and unbelieving, upon the
brief tragedy; she saw her tormentor hurled viciously toward the gates
and then, with new alarm, saw him pick himself up from the ground,
writhing with pain and anger. His sword flashed from its scabbard as,
with a scream of rage, he dashed upon the tall intruder. She saw
Chase--even in the shadows she knew him to be the American--she saw
Chase lightly leap aside, avoiding the thrust for his heart. Then, as if
he were playing with a child, he wrested the weapon from the conductor's
hand, snapped the blade in two pieces and threw them off into the
bushes.
"Skip!" was his only word. It was a command that no one in Rapp-Thorberg
ever had heard before.
"You shall pay for this!" screamed the conductor, tugging at his collar.
"Scoundrel! Dog! Beast! What do you mean! Murderer! Robber! Assassin!"
"You know what I mean, you little shrimp!" roared Chase. "Skip! Don't
hang around here a second longer or I'll--" and he took a threatening
step toward his adversary. The latter was discreet, if not actually a
coward. He turned tail and ran twenty paces or more in heartbreaking
time; then, realising that he was not pursued, stopped and shook his
fist at his assailant.
"Come, Genevra," he gasped, but she remained as if rooted to the spot.
He waited an instant, and then walked rapidly away in the direction of
the palace, his back as straight as a ramrod, but his legs a trifle
unsteady. The trio watched him for a full minute, speech-bound now that
the deed was done and the consequences were to be considered. Baggs
grasped Chase by the shoulder, shook him and exclaimed, when it was too
late:
"You blooming ass, do you know what you've done?"
"The da--miserable cur was annoying the Princess," muttered Chase,
straightening his cuffs, vaguely realising that he had interfered too
hastily.
"Confound it, man, he's the chap she's going to marry."
"Marry?" gasped Chase.
"The hereditary prince of Brabetz--Karl Brabetz."
"Good Lord!"
"You must have known."
"How the dev--Of course I didn't know," groaned Chase. "But hang it all,
man, he was annoying her. She was flouting him for it. She said she
despised him. I don't understand----"
The Princess came forward into the light of the path. There was a quaint
little wrinkle of mirth about her lips, which trembled nevertheless, but
her eyes were full of solicitude.
"I'm sorry, sir," she began nervously. "You have made a serious mistake.
But," she added frankly, holding out her hand to him, "you meant to
defend me. I thank you."
Chase bowed low over her hand, too bewildered to speak. Baggs was
pulling at his mustache and looking nervously in the direction which the
Prince had taken.
"He'll be back here with the guard," he muttered.
"He will go to my father," said Genevra, her voice trembling. "He will
be very angry. I am sorry, indeed, that you should have witnessed
our--our scene. Of course, you could not have known who he was----"
"I thought he was a--but in any event, your highness, he was annoying
you," supplemented Chase eagerly.
"You _will_ forgive me if I've caused you even greater, graver
annoyance. What can I do to set the matter right? I can explain my error
to the Duke. He'll understand--"
"Alas, he will not understand. He does not even understand me," she said
meaningly. "Oh, I'm so sorry. It may--it will mean trouble for you."
There was a catch in her voice.
"I'll fight him," murmured Chase, wiping his brow.
"Deuce take it, man, he won't fight you," said Baggs. "He's a prince,
you know. He can't, you know. It's a beastly mess."
"Perhaps--perhaps you'd better go at once," said the Princess, rather
pathetically. "My father will not overlook the indignity to--to my--to
his future son-in-law. I am afraid he may take extreme measures. Believe
me, I understand why you did it and I--again I thank you. I am not angry
with you, yet you will understand that I cannot condone your kind
fault."
"Forgive me," muttered the hapless Chase.
"It would not be proper in me to say that I could bless you for what you
have done," she said, so naïvely that he lifted his eyes to hers and let
his heart escape heavenward.
"The whole world will call me a bungling, stupid ass for not knowing who
he was," said Chase, with a wretched smile.
Her face brightened after a moment, and an entrancing smile broke around
her lips.
"If I were you, I'd never confess that I did not know who he was," she
said. "Let the world think that you _did_ know. It will not laugh, then.
If you can trust your friend to keep the secret, I am sure you can trust
me to do the same."
Again Chase was speechless--this time with joy. She would shield him
from ridicule!
"And now, please go! It were better if you went at once. I am afraid the
affair will not end with to-night. It grieves me to feel that I may be
the unhappy cause of misfortune to you."
"No misfortune can appal me now," murmured he gallantly. Then came the
revolting realisation that she was to wed the little musician. The
thought burst from his lips before he could prevent: "I don't believe
you want to marry him. He is the Duke's choice. You--"
"And I am the Duke's daughter," she said steadily, a touch of hauteur in
her voice. "Good-night. Good-bye. I am not sorry that it has happened."
She turned and left them, walking swiftly among the trees. A moment
later her voice came from the shadows, quick and pleading.
"Hasten," she called softly. "They are coming. I can see them."
Baggs grasped Chase by the arm and hurried him through the gate, past
the unsuspecting sentry. They did not know that the Princess, upon
meeting the soldiers, told them that the two men had gone toward the
palace instead of out into the city streets. It gave them half an hour's
start.
"It's a devil of a mess," sighed Baggs, when they were far from the
walls. "The Duke may have you jugged, and it would serve you jolly well
right."
"Now, see here, Baggs, none of that," growled Chase. "You'd have done
the same thing if you hadn't been brought up to fall on your face before
royalty. It will cost me my job here, but I'm glad I did it.
Understand?"
"I'm sure it will cost you the job if nothing else. You'll be relieved
before to-morrow night, my word for it. And you'll be lucky if that's
all. The Duke's a terror. I don't, for the life of me, see how you
failed to know who the chap really is."
"An Englishman never sees a joke until it is too late, they say. This
time it appears to be the American who is slow witted. What I don't
understand is why he was leading that confounded band."
"My word, Chase, everybody in Europe--except you--knows that Brabetz is
a crank about music. Composes, directs and all that. Over in Brabetz he
supports the conservatory of music, written dozens of things for the
orchestra, plays the pipe organ in the cathedral--all that sort of rot,
you know. He's a confounded little bounder, just the same. He's mad
about music and women and don't care a hang about wine. The worst kind,
don't you know. I say, it's a rotten shame she has to marry him. But
that's the way of it with royalty, old chap. You Americans don't
understand it. They have to marry one another whether they like it or
not. But, I say, you'd better come over and stop with me to-night. It
will be better if they don't find you just yet."
Three days later, a man came down to relieve Chase of his office; he was
unceremoniously supplanted in the Duchy of Rapp-Thorberg.
It was the successful pleading of the Princess Genevra that kept him
from serving a period in durance vile.
CHAPTER V
THE ENGLISH INVADE
The granddaughter of Jack Wyckholme, attended by two maids, her husband
and his valet, a clerk from the chambers of Bosworth, Newnes & Grapewin,
a red cocker, seventeen trunks and a cartload of late novels, which she
had been too busy to read at home, was the first of the bewildered
legatees to set foot upon the island of Japat. A rather sultry, boresome
voyage across the Arabian Sea in a most unhappy steamer which called at
Japat on its way to Sidney, depressed her spirits to some extent but not
irretrievably.
She was very pretty, very smart and delightfully arrogant after a manner
of her own. To begin with, Lady Agnes could see no sensible reason why
she should be compelled to abandon a very promising autumn and winter at
home, to say nothing of the following season, for the sake of protecting
what was rightfully her own against the impudent claims of an unheard-of
American.
She complacently informed her solicitors that it was all rubbish; they
could arrange, if they would, without forcing her to take this
abominable step. Upon reflection, however, and after Mr. Bosworth had
pointed out the risk to her, she was ready enough to take the step,
although still insisting that it was abominable.
Mr. Saunders was the polite but excessively middle-class clerk who went
out to keep the legal strings untangled for them. He was soon to
discover that his duties were even more comprehensive.
It was he who saw to it that the luggage was transferred to the lighter
which came out to the steamer when she dropped anchor off the town of
Aratat; it was he who counted the pieces and haggled with the boatmen;
it was he who carried off the hand luggage when the native dock boys
refused to engage in the work; it was he who unfortunately dropped a
suitcase upon the hallowed tail of the red cocker, an accident which
ever afterward gave him a tenacity of grip that no man could understand;
it was he who made all of the inquiries, did all of the necessary
swearing, and came last in the procession which wended its indignant way
up the long slope to the château on the mountain side.
If Lady Deppingham expected a royal welcome from the inhabitants of
Japat, she was soon to discover her error. Not only was the pictured
scene of welcome missing on the afternoon of her arrival, but an
overpowering air of antipathy smote her in the face as she stepped from
the lighter--conquest in her smile of conciliation. The attitude of the
brown-faced Mohammedans who looked coldly upon the fair visitor was far
from amiable. They did not fall down and bob their heads; they did not
even incline them in response to her overtures. What was more trying,
they glared at the newcomers in a most expressive manner. Lady
Deppingham's chin was interrupted in its tilt of defiance by the shudder
of alarm which raced through her slender figure. She glanced from right
to left down the lines of swarthy islanders, and saw nothing in their
faces but surly, bitter unfriendliness. They stood stolidly, stonily at
a distance, white-robed lines of resentment personified.
Not a hand was lifted in assistance to the bewildered visitors; not a
word, not a smile of encouragement escaped the lips of the silent
throng.
Lady Agnes looked about eagerly in search of a white man's face, but
there was none to be seen except in her own party. A moment of panic
came to her as she stood there on the pier, almost alone, while Saunders
and her husband were engaged in the effort to secure help with the
boxes. Behind her lay the friendly ocean; ahead the gorgeous landscape,
smiling down upon her with the green glow of poison in its sunny face,
dark treachery in its heart. On the instant she realised that these
people were her enemies, and that they were the real masters of the
island, after all. She found herself wondering whether they meant to
settle the question of ownership then and there, before she could so
much as set her foot upon the coveted soil at the end of the pier. A
hundred knives might hack her to pieces, but even as she shuddered a
rush of true British doggedness warmed her blood; after all, she was
there to fight for her rights and she would stand her ground. Almost
before she realised, the dominant air of superiority which characterises
her nation, no matter whither its subjects may roam, crept out above her
brief touch of timidity, and she found that she could stare defiantly
into the swarthy ranks.
"Is there no British agent here?" she demanded imperatively, perhaps a
little more shrilly than usual.
No one deigned to answer; glances of indifference, even scorn, passed
among the silent lookers-on, but that was all. It was more than her
pride could endure. Her smooth cheeks turned a deeper pink and her blue
eyes flashed.
"Does no one here understand the English language?" she demanded. "I
don't mean you, Mr. Saunders," she added sharply, as the little clerk
set the suitcase down abruptly and stepped forward, again fumbling his
much-fumbled straw hat. This was the moment when the red cocker's tail
came to grief. The dog arose with an astonished yelp and fled to his
mistress; he had never been so outrageously set upon before in all his
pampered life. Seizing the opportunity to vent her feelings upon one who
could understand, even as she poured soothings upon the insulted Pong,
whom she clasped in her arms, Lady Agnes transformed the unlucky
Saunders into a target for a most ably directed volley of wrath. The
shadow of a smile swept down the threatening row of dark faces.
Lord Deppingham, a slow and cumbersome young man, stood by nervously
fingering his eyeglass. For the first time he felt that the clerk was
better than a confounded dog, after all. He surprised every one, his
wife most of all, by coolly interfering, not particularly in defence of
the clerk but in behalf of the Deppingham dignity.
"My dear," he said, waving Saunders into the background, "I think it was
an accident. The dog had no business going to sleep--" he paused and
inserted his monocle for the purpose of looking up the precise spot
where the accident had occurred.
"He wasn't asleep," cried his wife.
"Then, my dear, he has positively no excuse to offer for getting his
tail in the way of the bag. If he was awake and didn't have sense
enough--"
"Oh, rubbish!" exclaimed her ladyship. "I suppose you expect the poor
darling to apologise."
"All this has nothing to do with the case. We're more interested in
learning where we are and where we are to go. Permit me to have a look
about."
His wife stared after him in amazement as he walked over to the canvas
awning in front of the low dock building, actually elbowing his way
through a group of natives. Presently he came back, twisting his left
mustache.
"The fellow in there says that the English agent is employed in the
bank. It's straight up this street--by Jove, he called it a street,
don't you know," he exclaimed, disdainfully eyeing the narrow, dusty
passage ahead. Here and there a rude house or shop stood directly ahead
in the middle of the thoroughfare, with happy disregard for effect or
convenience.
"There's the British flag, my lord, just ahead. See the building to the
right, sir?" said Mr. Saunders, more respectfully than ever and with
real gratitude in his heart.
"So it is! That's where he is. I wonder why he isn't down here to meet
us."
"Very likely he didn't know we were coming," said his wife icily.
"Well, we'll look him up. Come along, everybody--Oh, I say, we can't
leave this luggage unguarded. They say these fellows are the worst
robbers east of London."
It was finally decided, after a rather subdued discussion, that Mr.
Saunders should proceed to the bank and rout out the dilatory
representative of the British Government. Saunders looked down the
sullen line of faces, and blanched to his toes. He hemmed and hawed and
said something about his mother, which was wholly lost upon the barren
waste that temporarily stood for a heart in Lord Deppingham's torso.
"Tell him we'll wait here for him," pursued his lordship. "But remind
him, damn him, that it's inexpressibly hot down here in the sun."
They stood and watched the miserable Saunders tread gingerly up the
filthy street, his knees crooking outwardly from time to time, his toes
always touching the ground first, very much as if he were contemplating
an instantaneous sprint in any direction but the one he was taking. Even
the placid Deppingham was somewhat disturbed by the significant glances
that followed their emissary as he passed by each separate knot of
natives. He was distinctly dismayed when a dozen or more of the
dark-faced watchers wandered slowly off after Mr. Saunders. It was
clearly observed that Mr. Saunders stepped more nimbly after he became
aware of this fact.
"I do hope Mr. Saunders will come back alive," murmured Bromley, her
ladyship's maid. The others started, for she had voiced the general
thought.
"He won't come back at all, Bromley, unless he comes back alive," said
his lordship with a smile. It was a well-known fact that he never smiled
except when his mind was troubled.
"Goodness, Deppy," said his wife, recognising the symptom, "do you
really think there is danger?"
"My dear Aggy, who said there was any danger?" he exclaimed, and quickly
looked out to sea. "I rather think we'll enjoy it here," he added after
a moment's pause, in which he saw that the steamer was getting under
way. The Japat company's tug was returning to the pier. Lord Deppingham
sighed and then drew forth his cigarette case. "There!" he went on,
peering intently up the street. "Saunders is gone."
"Gone?" half shrieked her ladyship.
"Into the bank," he added, scratching a match.
"Deppy," she said after a moment, "I hope I was not too hard on the poor
fellow."
"Perhaps you won't be so nervous if you sit down and look at the sea,"
he said gently, and she immediately knew that he suggested it because he
expected a tragedy in the opposite direction. She dropped Pong without
another word, and, her face quite serious, seated herself upon the big
trunk which he selected. He sat down beside her, and together they
watched the long line of smoke far out at sea.
They expected every minute to hear the shouts of assassins and the
screams of the brave Mr. Saunders. Their apprehensions were sensibly
increased by the mysterious actions of the half-naked loiterers. They
seemed to consult among themselves for some time after the departure of
the clerk, and then, to the horror of the servants, made off in various
directions, more than one of them handling his ugly kris in an ominous
manner. Bromley was not slow to acquaint his lordship with these
movements. Deppingham felt a cold chill shoot up his spine, and he
cleared his throat as if to shout after the disappearing steamer. But he
maintained a brave front, or, more correctly, a brave back, for he
refused to encourage the maid's fears by turning around.
It was broiling hot in the sun, but no one thought of the white
umbrellas. Saunders was the epitome of every thought.
"Here he comes!" shouted the valet, joyously forgetting his station. His
lordship still stared at the sea. Lady Deppingham's little jaws were
shut tight and her fingers were clenched desperately in the effort to
maintain the proper dignity before her servants.
"Your lordship," said Mr. Saunders, three minutes later, "this is Mr.
Bowles, his Majesty's agent here. He is come with me to--"
It was then and not until then that his lordship turned his stare from
the sea to the clerk and his companion.
"Aw," he interrupted, "glad to see you, I'm sure. Would you be good
enough to tell us how we are to reach the--er--château, and why the
devil we can't get anybody to move our luggage?"
Mr. Bowles, who had lived in Japat for sixteen years, was a tortuously
slow Englishman with the curse of the clime still growing upon him. He
was half asleep quite a good bit of the time, and wholly asleep during
the remainder. A middle-aged man was he, yet he looked sixty. He
afterward told Saunders that it seemed to take two days to make one in
the beastly climate; that was why he was misled into putting off
everything until the second day. The department had sent him out long
ago at the request of Mr. Wyckholme; he had lost the energy to give up
the post.
"Mr.--er--Mr. Saunders, my lord, has told me that you have been unable
to secure assistance in removing your belongings--" he began politely,
but Deppingham interrupted him.
"Where is the château? Are there no vans to be had?"
"Everything is transferred by hand, my lord, and the château is two
miles farther up the side of the mountain. It's quite a walk, sir."
"Do you mean to say we are to walk?"
"Yes, my lord, if you expect to go there."
"Of course, we expect to go there. Are there no horses on the beastly
island?"
"Hundreds, my lord, but they belong to the people and no one but their
owners ride them. One can't take them by the hour, you know. The
servants at the château turned Mr. Skaggs's horses out to pasture before
they left."
"Before who left?"
"The servants, my lord."
Lady Deppingham's eyes grew wide with understanding.
"You don't mean to say that the servants have left the place?" she
cried.
"Yes, my lady. They were natives, you know."
"What's that got to do with it?" demanded Deppingham.
"I'm afraid you don't understand the situation," said Mr. Bowles
patiently. "You see, it's really a triangular controversy, if I may be
so bold as to say so. Lady Deppingham is one of the angles; Mr. Browne,
the American gentleman, is another; the native population is the last.
Each wants to be the hypothenuse. While the interests of all three are
merged in the real issue, there is, nevertheless, a decided disposition
all around to make it an entirely one-sided affair."
"I don't believe I grasp--" muttered Deppingham blankly.
"I see perfectly," exclaimed his wife. "The natives are allied against
us, just as we are, in a way, against them and Mr. Browne. Really, it
seems quite natural, doesn't it, dear?" turning to her husband.
"Very likely, but very unfortunate. It leaves us to broil our brains out
down here on this pier. I say, Mr.--er--old chap, can't you possibly
engage some sort of transportation for us? Really, you know, we can't
stand here all day."
"I've no doubt I can arrange it, my lord. If you will just wait here
until I run back to the bank, I daresay I'll find a way. Perhaps you'd
prefer standing under the awning until I return."
The new arrivals glowered after him as he started off toward the bank.
Then they moved over to the shelter of the awning.
"Did he say he was going to run?" groaned his lordship. The progress of
Bowles rivalled that of the historic tortoise.
It was fully half an hour before he was seen coming down the street,
followed by a score or more of natives, their dirty white robes flapping
about their brown legs. At first they could not believe it was Bowles.
Lord Deppingham had a sharp thrill of joy, but it was shortlived. Bowles
had changed at least a portion of his garb; he now wore the tight red
jacket of the British trooper, while an ancient army cap was strapped
jauntily over his ear.
"It's all right, my lord," he said, saluting as he came Up. "They will
do anything I tell 'em to do when I represent the British army. This is
the only uniform on the island, but they've been taught that there are
more where this one came from. These fellows will carry your boxes up to
the château, sixpence to the man, if you please, sir; and I've sent for
two carts to draw your party up the slope. They'll be here in a jiffy,
my lady. You'll find the drive a beautiful if not a comfortable one."
Then turning majestically to the huddled natives, he waved his slender
stick over the boxes, big and little, and said: "Lively, now! No
loafing! Lively!"
Whereupon the entire collection of boxes, bags and bundles figuratively
picked itself up and walked off in the direction of the château. Bowles
triumphantly saluted Lord and Lady Deppingham. The former had a longing
look in his eye as he stared at Bowles and remarked:
"I wish I had a troop of real Tommy Atkinses out here, by Jove."
CHAPTER VI
THE CHÂTEAU
The road to the château took its devious way through the little
town--out into the green foothill beyond. Two lumbering, wooden wheeled
carts, none too clean, each drawn by four perspiring men, served as
conveyances by which the arrivals were to make the journey to their new
home. Mr. Bowles informed his lordship that horses were not submitted to
the indignity of drawing carts. The lamented Mr. Skaggs had driven his
own Arab steeds to certain fashionable traps, but the natives never
thought of doing such a thing.
Lady Deppingham's pert little nose lifted itself in disgust as she was
joggled through the town behind the grunting substitutes for horseflesh.
She sat beside her husband in the foremost cart. Mr. Bowles, very tired,
but quite resplendent, walked dutifully beside one wheel; Mr. Saunders
took his post at the other. It might have been noticed that the latter
cut a very different figure from that which he displayed on his first
invasion of the street earlier in the day. The servants came along
behind in the second cart. Far ahead, like hounds in full cry, toiled
the unwilling luggage bearers. From the windows and doorways of every
house, from the bazaars and cafés, from the side streets and
mosque-approaches, the gaze of the sullen populace fastened itself upon
the little procession. The town seemed ominously silent. Deppingham
looked again and again at the red coat on the sloping shoulders of their
guardian, and marvelled not a little at the vastness of the British
dominion. He recalled his red hunting coat in one of the bags ahead, and
mentally resolved to wear it on all occasions--perhaps going so far as
to cut off its tails if necessary.
At last they came to the end of the sunlit street and plunged into the
shady road that ascended the slope through what seemed to be an
absolutely unbroken though gorgeous jungle. The cool green depths looked
most alluring to the sun-baked travellers; they could almost imagine
that they heard the dripping of fountains, the gurgling of rivulets, so
like paradise was the prospect ahead. Lady Agnes could not restrain her
cries of delighted amazement.
"It's like this all over the island, your ladyship," volunteered Mr.
Bowles, mopping his brow in a most unmilitary way. "Except at the mines
and back there in the town."
"Where are the mines?" asked Deppingham.
"The company's biggest mines are seven or eight miles eastward, as the
crow flies, quite at the other side of the island. It's very rocky over
there and there's no place for a landing from the sea. Everything is
brought overland to Aratat and placed in the vaults of the bank. Four
times a year the rubies and sapphires are shipped to the brokers in
London and Paris and Vienna. It's quite a neat and regular arrangement,
sir."
"But I should think the confounded natives would steal everything they
got their hands on."
"What would be the use, sir? They couldn't dispose of a single gem on
the island, and nothing is taken away from here except in the company's
chests. Besides, my lord, these people are not thieves. They are
absolutely honest. Smugglers have tried to bribe them, and the smugglers
have never lived to tell of it. They may kill people occasionally, but
they are quite honest, believe me. And, in any event, are they not a
part of the great corporation? They have their share in the working of
the mines and in the profits. Mr. Wyckholme and Mr. Skaggs were honest
with them and they have been just as honest in return."
"Sounds very attractive," muttered Deppingham sceptically.
"I should think they'd be terribly tempted," said Lady Agnes. "They look
so wretchedly poor."
"They _are_ a bit out at the knees," said her husband, with a great
laugh.
"My lady," said Bowles, "there are but four poor men on the island:
myself and the three Englishmen who operate the bank. There isn't a poor
man, woman or child among the natives. This is truly a land of rich men.
The superintendent of the mines is a white man--a German--and the three
foremen are Boers. They work on shares just as the natives do and save
even more, I think. The clerical force is entirely native. There were
but ten white men here before you came, including two Greeks. There are
no beggars. Perhaps you noticed that no one was asking for alms as you
came up."
"'Gad, I should say we did," exclaimed Deppingham ruefully. "There
wasn't even a finger held out to us. But is this a holiday on the
island?"
"A holiday, my lord?"
"Yes. No one seems to be at work."
"Oh? I see. Being part owners the natives have decided that four hours
constitutes a day's work. They pay themselves accordingly, as it were.
No one works after midday, sir."
"I say, wouldn't this be a paradise for the English workingman?" said
Deppingham. "That's the kind of a day's labor they'd like. Do you mean
to say that these fellows trudge eight miles to work every morning and
back again at noon?"
"Certainly not, sir. They ride their thoroughbred horses to work and
ride them back again. It's much better than omnibuses or horse cars, I'd
say, sir--as I remember them."
"You take my breath away," said the other, lapsing into a stunned
silence.
The road had become so steep and laborious by this time that Bowles was
very glad to forego the pleasure of talking. He fell back, with Mr.
Saunders, and ultimately both of them climbed into the already
overloaded second cart, adding much to the brown man's burden. After
regaining his breath to some extent, the obliging Mr. Bowles, now being
among what he called the lower classes, surreptitiously removed the
tight-fitting red jacket, and proceeded to give the inquisitive lawyer's
clerk all the late news of the island.
The inhabitants of Japat, standing upon their rights as part owners of
the mines and as prospective heirs to the entire fortune of Messrs.
Skaggs and Wyckholme, had been prompt to protect themselves in a legal
sense. They had leagued themselves together as one interest and had
engaged the services of eminent solicitors in London, who were to
represent them in the final settlement of the estate. London was to be
the battle ground in the coming conflict. A committee of three had
journeyed to England to put the matter in the hands of these lawyers and
were now returning to the island with a representative of the firm, who
was coming out to stand guard, so to speak. Von Blitz, the German
superintendent, was the master mind in the native contingent. It was he
who planned and developed the course of action. The absent committee was
composed of Ben Adi, Abdallah Ben Sabbat and Rasula, the Aratat lawyer.
They were truly wise men from the East--old, shrewd, crafty and begotten
of Mahomet.
The mines continued to be operated as usual, pending the arrival of the
executors' representative, who, as we know, was now on the ground in the
person of Thomas Saunders. The fact that he also served as legal adviser
to Lady Deppingham was not of sufficient moment to disturb the
arrangements on either side. Every one realised that he could have no
opportunity to exercise a prejudice, if he dared to have one. Saunders
blinked his eyes nervously when Bowles made this pointed observation.
As for the American heir, Robert Browne, he had not yet arrived. He was
coming by steamer from the west, according to report, and was probably
on the _Boswell_, Sumatra to Madagascar, due off Aratat in two or three
days. Mr. Bowles jocosely inferred that it should be a very happy family
at the château, with the English and American heirs ever ready to heave
things at one another, regardless of propriety or the glassware.
"The islanders," said Mr. Bowles, lighting a cigarette, "it looks to me,
have all the best of the situation. They get the property whether they
marry or not, while the original beneficiaries have to marry each other
or get off the island at the end of the year. Most of the islanders have
got three or four wives already. I daresay the legators took that into
consideration when they devised the will. Von Blitz, the German, has
three and is talking of another."
"You mean to say that they can have as many wives as they choose?"
demanded Saunders, wrinkling his brow.
"Yes, just so long as they don't choose anybody else's."
Saunders was buried in thought for a long time, then he exclaimed,
unconsciously aloud:
"My word!"
"Eh?" queried Bowles, arousing himself.
"I didn't say anything," retorted Saunders, looking up into the tree
tops.
In the course of an hour--a soft, sleepy hour, too, despite the wondrous
novelty of the scene and the situation--the travellers came into view of
the now famous château.
Standing out against the sky, fully a mile ahead, was the home to which
they were coming. The château, beautiful as a picture, lifted itself
like a dream castle above all that was earthly and sordid; it smiled
down from its lofty terrace and glistened in the sunset glow, like the
jewel that had been its godmother. Long and low, scolloped by its
gables, parapets and budding towers, the vast building gleamed red
against the blue sky from one point of view and still redder against the
green mountain from another. Soft, rich reds--not the red of blood, but
of the unpolished ruby--seemed to melt softly in the eye as one gazed
upward in simple wonder. The dream house of two lonely old men who had
no place where they could spend their money!
According to its own records, the château, fashioned quite closely after
a famous structure in France, was designed and built by La Marche, the
ill-fated French architect who was lost at sea in the wreck of the
_Vendome_. Three years and more than seven hundred thousand pounds
sterling, or to make it seem more prodigious, nearly eighteen million
francs, were consumed in its building. An army of skilled artisans had
come out from France and Austria to make this quixotic dream a reality
before the two old men should go into their dreamless sleep; to say
nothing of the slaving, faithful islanders who laboured for love in the
great undertaking. Specially chartered ships had carried material and
men to the island--and had carried the men away again, for not one of
them remained behind after the completion of the job.
There was not a contrivance or a convenience known to modern
architecture that was not included in the construction of this
latter-day shadow of antiquity.
It was, to step on ahead of the story as politely as possible, fully a
week before Lord and Lady Deppingham realised all that their new home
meant in the way of scientific improvement and, one might say, research.
It was so spacious, so comprehensive of domain, so elaborate, that one
must have been weeks in becoming acquainted with its fastnesses, if that
word may be employed. To what uses Taswell Skaggs and John Wyckholme
could have put this vast, though splendid waste, the imagination cannot
grasp. Apartments fit for a king abounded; suites which took one back to
the luxuries of Marie Antoinette were common; banquet halls, ball rooms,
reception halls, a chapel, and even a crypt were to be found if one
undertook a voyage of discovery. Perhaps it is safe to say that none of
these was ever used by the original owners, with the exception of the
crypt; John Wyckholme reposed there, alone in his dignity, undisturbed
by so little as the ghost of a tradition.
The terrace, wide and beautiful, was the work of a famous landscape
gardener. Engineers had come out from England to install the most
complete water and power plant imaginable. Not only did they bring water
up from the sea, but they turned the course of a clear mountain stream
so that it virtually ran through the pipes and faucets of the vast
establishment. The fountains rivalled in beauty those at Versailles,
though not so extensive; the artificial lake, while not built in a
night, as one other that history mentions, was quite as attractive.
Water mains ran through miles of the tropical forest and, no matter how
great the drouth, the natives kept the verdure green and fresh with a
constancy that no real wage-earner could have exercised. As to the
stables, they might have aroused envy in the soul of any sporting
monarch.
It was a palace, but they had called it a château, because Skaggs
stubbornly professed to be democratic. The word palace meant more to him
than château, although opinions could not have mattered much on the
island of Japat. Inasmuch as he had not, to his dying day, solved the
manifold mysteries of the structure, it is not surprising that he never
developed sufficient confidence to call it other than "the place."
Now and then, officers from some British man-of-war stopped off for
entertainment in the château, and it was only on such occasions that
Skaggs realised what a gorgeously beautiful home it was that he lived
in. He had seen Windsor Castle in his youth, but never had he seen
anything so magnificent as the crystal chandelier in his own hallway
when it was fully lighted for the benefit of the rarely present guests.
On the occasion of his first view of the chandelier in its complete
glory, it is said that he walked blindly against an Italian table of
solid marble and was in bed for eleven days with a bruised hip. The
polished floors grew to be a horror to him. He could not enumerate the
times their priceless rugs had slipped aimlessly away from him, leaving
him floundering in profane wrath upon the glazed surface. The bare
thought of crossing the great ballroom was enough to send him into a
perspiration. He became so used to walking stiff-legged on the hardwood
floors that it grew to be a habit which would not relax. The servants
were authority for the report, that no earlier than the day before his
death, he slipped and fell in the dining-room, and thereupon swore that
he would have Portland cement floors put in before Christmas.
Lord and Lady Deppingham, being first in the field, at once proceeded to
settle themselves in the choicest rooms--a Henry the Sixth suite which
looked out on the sea and the town as well. It is said that Wyckholme
slept there twice, while Skaggs looked in perhaps half a dozen
times--when he was lost in the building, and trying to find his way back
to familiar haunts.
There was not a sign of a servant about the house or grounds. The men
whom Bowles had engaged, carried the luggage to the rooms which Lady
Deppingham selected, and then vanished as if into space. They escaped
while the new tenants were gorging their astonished, bewildered eyes
with the splendors of the apartment.
"We'll have to make the best of it," sighed Deppingham in response to
his wife's lamentations. "I daresay, Antoine and the maids can get our
things into some sort of shape, my dear. What say to a little stroll
about the grounds while they are doing it? By Jove, it would be exciting
if we were to find a ruby or two. Saunders says they are as common as
strawberries in July."
Mr. Bowles, who had resumed his coat of red, joined them in the stroll
about the gardens, pointing out objects of certain interest and telling
the cost of each to the penny.
"I can't conduct you through the château," he apologised as they were
returning after the short tour. "They can't close the bank until I set
the balance sheet, sir, and it's now two hours past closing time. It
doesn't matter, however, my lord," he added hastily, "we enjoy anything
in the shape of a diversion."
"See here, Mr.--er--old chap, what are we to do about servants? We can't
get on without them, you know."
"Oh, the horses are being well cared for in the valley, sir. You needn't
worry a bit--"
"Horses! What we want, is to be cared for ourselves. Damn the horses,"
roared his lordship.
"They say these Americans are a wonderful people, my lord," ventured Mr.
Bowles. "I daresay when Mr. and Mrs. Browne arrive, they'll have some
way of--"
"Browne!" cried her ladyship. "This very evening I shall give orders
concerning the rooms they are to occupy. And that reminds me: I must
look the place over thoroughly before they arrive. I suppose, however,
that the rooms we have taken _are_ the best?"
"The choicest, my lady," said Bowles, bowing.
"See here, Mr.--er--old chap, don't you think you can induce the
servants to come back to us? By Jove, I'll make it worth your while. The
place surely must need cleaning up a bit. It's some months since the
old--since Mr. Skaggs died." He always said "Skaggs" after a scornful
pause and in a tone as disdainfully nasal as it was possible for him to
produce.
"Not at all, my lord. The servants did not leave the place until your
steamer was sighted this morning. It's as clean as a pin."
"This morning?"
"Yes, my lord. They would not desert the château until they were sure
you were on board. They were extraordinarily faithful."
"I don't see it that way, leaving us like this. What's to become of the
place? Can't I get an injunction, or whatever you call it?"
"What _are_ we to do?" wailed Lady Agnes, sitting down suddenly upon the
edge of a fountain.
"You see, my lady, they take the position that you have no right here,"
volunteered Bowles.
"How absurd! I am heir to every foot of this island--"
"They are very foolish about it I'm sure. They've got the ridiculous
idea into their noddles that you can't be the heiress unless Lord
Deppingham passes away inside of a year, and--"
"I'm damned if I do!" roared the perspiring obstacle. "I'm not so
obliging as that, let me tell you. If it comes to that, what sort of an
ass do they think I'd be to come away out here to pass away? London's
good enough for any man to die in."
"You are not going to die, Deppy," said his wife consolingly. "Unless
you starve to death," she supplemented with an expressive moue.
"I daresay you'll find a quantity of tinned meats and vegetables in the
storehouse, my lady. You can't starve until the supply gives out.
American tinned meats," vouchsafed Mr. Bowles with his best English
grimace.
"Come along, Aggy," said her liege lord resignedly. "Let's have a look
about the place."
Mr. Saunders met them at the grand entrance. He announced that four of
the native servants had been found, dead drunk, in the wine cellar.
"They can't move, sir. We thought they were dead."
"Keep 'em in that condition, for the good Lord's sake," exclaimed
Deppingham. "We'll make sure of four servants, even if we have to keep
'em drunk for six months."
"Good day, your lordship--my lady," said Bowles, edging away. "Perhaps I
can intercede for you when their solicitor comes on. He's due to-morrow,
I hear. It is possible that he may advise at least a score of the
servants to return."
"Send him up to me as soon as he lands," commanded Deppingham calmly.
"Very good, sir," said Mr. Bowles.
CHAPTER VII
THE BROWNES ARRIVE
Contrary to all expectations, the Brownes arrived the next morning. The
Deppinghams and their miserably frightened servants were scarcely out of
bed when Saunders came in with the news that a steamer was standing off
the shallow harbour. Bowles had telephoned up that the American claimant
was on board.
Lady Agnes and her husband had not slept well. They heard noises from
one end of the night to the other, and they were most unusual noises at
that. The maids had flatly refused to sleep in the servants' wing, fully
a block away, so they were given the next best suite of rooms on the
floor, quite cutting off every chance the Brownes may have had for
choice of apartments. Pong howled all night long, but his howls were as
nothing compared to the screams of night birds in the trees close by.
The deepest gloom pervaded the household when Lady Deppingham discovered
that not one of their retinue knew how to make coffee or broil bacon.
Not that she cared for bacon, but that his lordship always asked for it
when they did not have it. The evening before they had philosophically
dined on tinned food. She brewed a delightful tea, and Antoine opened
three or four kinds of wine. Altogether it was not so bad. But in the
morning! Everything looked different in the morning. Everything always
does, one way or another.
Bromley upset the last peg of endurance by hoping that the Americans
were bringing a cook and a housemaid with them.
"The Americans always travel like lords," she concluded, forgetting that
she served a lord, and not in the least intending to be ironical.
"That will do, Bromley," said her mistress sharply. "If they're like
most Americans I've seen they'll have nothing but wet nurses and
chauffeurs. I can't eat this vile stuff." She had already burned her
fingers and dropped a slice of beechnut bacon on her sweet little
morning gown. "Come on, Deppy; let's go up and watch the approach of the
enemy."
Dolefully they passed out of the culinary realm; it is of record that
they never looked into it from that hour forth. On the broad,
vine-covered gallery they sat in dour silence and in silence took turns
with Deppy's binoculars in the trying effort to make out what was going
on in the offing. The company's tug seemed unusually active. It bustled
about the big steamer with an industriousness that seemed almost
frantic. The laziness that had marked its efforts of the day before was
amazingly absent. At last they saw it turn for the shore, racing inward
with a great churning of waves and a vast ado in its smokestack.
From their elevated position, the occupants of the gallery could see the
distant pier. When the tug drew up to its moorings, the same motionless
horde of white-robed natives lined up along the dock building. Trunks,
boxes and huge crated objects were hustled off the boat with astonishing
rapidity. Deppingham stared hard and unbelieving at this evidence of
haste.
Five or six strangers stood upon the pier, very much as their party had
stood the day before. There were four women and--yes, two men. The men
seemed to be haranguing the natives, although no gesticulations were
visible. Suddenly there was a rush for the trunks and boxes and crates,
and, almost before the Lady Agnes could catch the breath she had lost,
the whole troupe was hurrying up the narrow street, luggage and all. The
once-sullen natives seemed to be fighting for the privilege of carrying
something. A half dozen of them dashed hither and thither and returned
with great umbrellas, which they hoisted above the heads of the
newcomers. Lady Agnes sank back, faint with wonder, as the concourse
lost itself among the houses of the agitated town.
Scarcely half an hour passed before the advance guard of the Browne
company came into view at the park gates below. Deppingham recalled the
fact that an hour and a half had been consumed in the accomplishment
yesterday. He was keeping a sharp lookout for the magic red jacket and
the Tommy Atkins lid. Quite secure from observation, he and his wife
watched the forerunners with the hand bags; then came the sweating trunk
bearers and then the crated objects in--what? Yes, by the Lord Harry, in
the very carts that had been their private chariots the day before!
Deppingham's wrath did not really explode until the two were gazing
open-mouthed upon Robert Browne and his wife and his maidservants and
his ass--for that was the name which his lordship subsequently applied,
with no moderation, to the unfortunate gentleman who served as Mr.
Browne's attorney. The Americans were being swiftly, cozily carried to
their new home in litters of oriental comfort and elegance, fanned
vigorously from both sides by eager boys. First came the Brownes,
eager-faced, bright-eyed, alert young people, far better looking than
their new enemies could conscientiously admit under the circumstances;
then the lawyer from the States; then a pert young lady in a pink shirt
waist and a sailor hat; then two giggling, utterly un-English maids--and
all of them lolling in luxurious ease. The red jacket was conspicuously
absent.
It is not to be wondered at that his lordship looked at his wife, gulped
in sympathy, and then said something memorable.
Almost before they could realise what had happened the newcomers were
chattering in the spacious halls below, tramping about the rooms, and
giving orders in high, though apparently efficacious voices. Trunks
rattled about the place, barefooted natives shuffled up and down the
corridors and across the galleries, quick American heels clattered on
the marble stairways; and all this time the English occupants sat in
cold silence, despising the earth and all that therein dwelt.
Mr. and Mrs. Browne evidently believed in the democratic first
principles of their native land: they did not put themselves above their
fellow-man. Close at their heels trooped the servants, all of whom took
part in the discussion incident to fresh discoveries. At last they came
upon the great balcony, pausing just outside the French windows to
exclaim anew in their delight.
"Great!" said the lawyer man, after a full minute. He was not at all
like Mr. Saunders, who looked on from an obscure window in the distant
left. "Finest I've ever seen. Isn't it a picture, Browne?"
"Glorious," said young Mr. Browne, taking a long breath. The
Deppinghams, sitting unobserved, saw that he was a tall, good-looking
fellow. They were unconscionably amused when he suddenly reached out and
took his wife's hand in his big fingers. Her face was flushed with
excitement, her eyes were wide and sparkling. She was very trim and
cool-looking in her white duck; moreover, she was of the type that looks
exceedingly attractive in evening dress--at least, that was Deppingham's
innermost reflection. It was not until after many weeks had passed,
however, that Lady Agnes admitted that Brasilia Browne was a very pretty
young woman.
"Most American women are, after a fashion," she then confessed to
Deppingham, and not grudgingly.
"What does Baedeker say about it, Bobby?" asked Mrs. Browne. Her voice
was very soft and full--the quiet, well-modulated Boston voice and
manner.
"Baedeker?" whispered Deppingham, passing his hand over his brow in
bewilderment. His wife was looking serenely in the opposite direction.
The pert girl in the pink waist opened a small portfolio while the
others gathered around her. She read therefrom. The lawyer, when she had
concluded, drew a compass from his pocket, and, walking over to the
stone balustrade, set it down for observation. Then he pointed vaguely
into what proved to be the southwest.
"We must tell Lady Deppingham not to take the rooms at this end," was
the next thing that the listeners heard from Mrs. Browne's lips. Her
ladyship turned upon her husband with a triumphant sniff and a knowing
smile.
"What did I tell you?" she whispered. "I knew they'd want the best of
everything. Isn't it lucky I pounced upon those rooms? They shan't turn
us out. You won't let 'em, will you, Deppy?"
"The impudence of 'em!" was all that Deppy could sputter.
At that moment, the American party caught sight of the pair in the
corner. For a brief space of time the two parties stared at each other,
very much as the hunter and the hunted look when they come face to face
without previous warning. Then a friendly, half-abashed smile lighted
Browne's face. He came toward the Deppinghams, his straw hat in his
hand. His lordship retained his seat and met the smile with a cold stare
of superiority.
"I beg your pardon," said Browne. "This is Lord Deppingham?"
"Ya-as," drawled Deppy, with a look which was meant to convey the
impression that he did not know who the deuce he was addressing.
"Permit me to introduce myself. I am Robert Browne."
"Oh," said Deppy, as if that did not convey anything to him. Then as an
afterthought: "Glad to know you, I'm sure." Still he did not rise, nor
did he extend his hand. For a moment young Browne waited, a dull red
growing in his temples.
"Don't you intend to present me to Lady Deppingham?" he demanded
bluntly, without taking his eyes from Deppy's face.
"Oh--er--is that necess--"
"Lady Deppingham," interrupted Browne, turning abruptly from the man in
the chair and addressing the lady in azure blue who sat on the
balustrade, "I am Robert Browne, the man you are expected to marry.
Please don't be alarmed. You won't have to marry me. Our grandfathers
did not observe much ceremony in mating us, so I don't see why we should
stand upon it in trying to convince them of their error. We are here for
the same purpose, I suspect. We can't be married to each other. That's
out of the question. But we can live together as if we--"
"Good Lord!" roared Deppy, coming to his feet in a towering rage. Browne
smiled apologetically and lifted his hand.
"--as if we were serving out the prescribed period of courtship set down
in the will. Believe me, I am very happily married, as I hope you are.
The courtship, you will perceive, is neither here nor there. Please bear
with me, Lord Deppingham. It's the silly will that brings us together,
not an affinity. Our every issue is identical, Lady Deppingham. Doesn't
it strike you that we will be very foolish if we stand alone and against
each other?"
[Illustration: "'Don't you intend to present me to Lady Deppingham?'"]
"My solicitor--" began Lady Deppingham, and then stopped. She was
smiling in spite of herself. This frank, breezy way of putting it had
not offended her, after all, much to her surprise.
"Your solicitor and mine can get together and talk it over," said Browne
blandly. "We'll leave it to them. I simply want you to know that I am
not here for the purpose of living at swords' points with you. I am
quite ready to be a friendly ally, not a foe."
"Let me understand you," began Deppingham, cooling off suddenly. "Do you
mean to say that you are not going to fight us in this matter?"
"Not at all, your lordship," said Browne coolly. "I am here to fight
Taswell Skaggs and John Wyckholme, deceased. I imagine, if you'll have a
talk with your solicitor, that that is precisely what you are here for,
too. As next nearest of kin, I think both of us will run no risk if we
smash the will. If we don't smash it, the islanders will cheerfully take
the legacy off our hands."
"By Jove," muttered Deppy, looking at his wife.
"Thank you, Mr. Browne, for being so frank with us," she said coolly.
"If you don't mind, I _will_ consult my solicitor." She bowed ever so
slightly, indicating that the interview was at an end, and, moreover,
that it had not been of her choosing.
"Any time, your ladyship," said Browne, also bowing. "I think Mrs.
Browne wants to speak to you about the rooms."
"We are quite settled, Mr. Browne, and very well satisfied," she said
pointedly, turning red with a fresh touch of anger.
"I trust you have not taken the rooms at this end."
"We have. We are occupying them." She arose and started away, Deppingham
hesitating between his duty to her and the personal longing to pull
Browne's nose.
"I'm sorry," said Browne. "We were warned not to take them. They are
said to be unbearable when the hot winds come in October."
"What's that?" demanded Deppingham.
"The book of instruction and description which we have secured sets all
that out," said the other. "Mr. Britt, my attorney, had his stenographer
take it all down in Bombay. It's our private Baedeker, you see. We
called on the Bombay agent for the Skaggs-Wyckholme Company. He lived
with them in this house for ten months. No one ever slept in this end of
the building. It's strange that the servants didn't warn you."
"The da--the confounded servants left us yesterday before we came--every
mother's son of 'em. There isn't a servant on the place."
"What? You don't mean it?"
"Are you coming?" called Lady Deppingham from the doorway.
"At once, my dear," replied Deppingham, shuffling uneasily. "By Jove,
we're in a pretty mess, don't you know. No servants, no food, no----"
"Wait a minute, please," interrupted Browne. "I say, Britt, come here a
moment, will you? Lord Deppingham says the servants have struck."
The American lawyer, a chubby, red-faced man of forty, with clear grey
eyes and a stubby mustache, whistled soulfully.
"What's the trouble? Cut their wages?" he asked.
"Wages? My good man, we've never laid eyes on 'em," said Deppingham,
drawing himself up.
"I'll see what I can do, Mr. Browne. Got to have cooks, eh, Lord
Deppingham?" Without waiting for an answer he dashed off. His lordship
observing that his wife had disappeared, followed Browne to the
balustrade, overlooking the upper terrace. The native carriers were
leaving the grounds, when Britt's shrill whistle brought them to a
standstill. No word of the ensuing conversation reached the ears of the
two white men on the balcony, but the pantomime was most entertaining.
Britt's stocky figure advanced to the very heart of the group. It was
quite evident that his opening sentences were listened to impassively.
Then, all at once, the natives began to gesticulate furiously and to
shake their heads. Whereupon Britt pounded the palm of his left hand
with an emphatic right fist, occasionally pointing over his shoulder
with a stubborn thumb. At last, the argument dwindled down to a force of
two--Britt and a tall, sallow Mohammedan. For two minutes they harangued
each other and then the native gave up in despair. The lawyer waved a
triumphant hand to his friends and then climbed into one of the litters,
to be borne off in the direction of the town.
"He'll have the servants back at work before two o'clock," said Browne
calmly. Deppingham was transfixed with astonishment.
"How--how the devil do you--does he bring 'em to time like that?" he
murmured. He afterward said that if he had had Saunders there at that
humiliating moment he would have kicked him.
"They're afraid of the American battleship," said Browne.
"But where is the American battleship?" demanded Deppingham, looking
wildly to sea.
"They understand that there will be one here in a day or two if we need
it," said Browne with a sly grin. "That's the bluff we've worked." He
looked around for his wife, and, finding that she had gone inside,
politely waved his hand to the Englishman and followed.
At three o'clock, Britt returned with the recalcitrant servants--or at
least the "pick" of them, as he termed the score he had chosen from the
hundred or more. He seemed to have an Aladdin-like effect over the
horde. It did not appear to depress him in the least that from among the
personal effects of more than one peeped the ominous blade of a kris, or
the clutch of a great revolver. He waved his hand and snapped his
fingers and they herded into the servants' wing, from which in a
twinkling they emerged ready to take up their old duties. They were not
a liveried lot, but they were swift and capable.
Calmly taking Lord Deppingham and his following into his confidence, he
said, in reply to their indignant remonstrances, later on in the day:
"I know that an American man-o'-war hasn't any right to fire upon
British possessions, but you just keep quiet and let well enough alone.
These fellows believe that the Americans can shoot straighter and with
less pity than any other set of people on earth. If they ever find out
the truth, we won't be able to control 'em a minute. It won't hurt you
to let 'em believe that we can blow the Island off the map in half a
day, and they won't believe you if you tell 'em anything to the
contrary. They just simply _know_ that I can send wireless messages and
that a cruiser would be out there to-morrow if necessary, pegging away
at these green hills with cannon balls so big that there wouldn't be
anything left but the horizon in an hour or two. You let me do the
talking. I've got 'em bluffed and I'll keep 'em that way. Look at that!
See those fellows getting ready to wash the front windows? They don't
need it, I'll confess, but it makes conversation in the servants' hall."
Over in the gorgeous west wing, Lord Deppingham later on tried to
convince his sulky little wife that the Americans were an amazing lot,
after all. Bromley tapped at the door.
"Tea is served in the hanging garden, my lady," she announced. Her
mistress looked up in surprise, red-eyed and a bit dishevelled.
"The--the what?"
"It's a very pretty place just outside the rooms of the American lady
and gentleman, my lady. It's on the shady side and quite under the shelf
of the mountain. There's a very cool breeze all the time, they say, from
the caverns."
Deppingham glanced at the sun-baked window ledges of their own rooms and
swore softly.
"Ask some one to bring the tea things in here, Bromley," she said
sternly, her piquant face as hard and set as it could possibly
be--which, as a matter of fact, was not noticeably adamantine. "Besides,
I want to give some orders. We must have system here, not Americanisms."
"Very well, my lady."
After she had retired Deppingham was so unwise as to run his finger
around the inside of his collar and utter the lamentation:
"By Jove, Aggie, it _is_ hot in these rooms." She transfixed him with a
stare.
"I find it delightfully cool, George." She called him George only when
it was impossible to call him just what she wanted to.
The tea things did not come in; in their stead came pretty Mrs. Browne.
She stood in the doorway, a pleading sincere smile on her face.
"Won't you _please_ join Mr. Browne and me in that dear little garden?
It's so cool up there and it must be dreadfully warm here. Really, you
should move at once into Mr. Wyckholme's old apartments across the court
from ours. They are splendid. But, now _do_ come and have tea with us."
Whether it was the English love of tea or the American girl's method of
making it, I do not know, but I am able to record the fact that Lord and
Lady Deppingham hesitated ever so briefly and--fell.
"Extraordinary, Browne," said Deppingham, half an hour later. "What
wonders you chaps can perform."
"Ho, ho!" laughed Browne. "We only strive to land on our feet, that's
all. Another cigarette, Lady Deppingham?"
"Thank you. They are delicious. Where do you get them, Mr. Browne?"
"From the housekeeper. Your grandfather brought them over from London.
My grandfather stored them away."
CHAPTER VIII
THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S
It was quite forty-eight hours before the Deppinghams surrendered to the
Brownes. They were obliged to humbly admit, in the seclusion of their
own councils, that it was to the obnoxious but energetic Britt that they
owed their present and ever-growing comfort.
It is said that Mr. Saunders learned more law of a useful and purposeful
character during his first week of consultation with Britt than he could
have dreamed that the statutes of England contained. Britt's brain was a
whirlpool of suggestions, tricks, subterfuges and--yes, witticisms--that
Saunders never even pretended to appreciate, although he was obliging
enough to laugh at the right time quite as often as at the wrong. "He
talks about what Dan Webster said, how Dan Voorhees could handle a jury,
why Abe Lincoln and Andy Jackson were so--" Saunders would begin in a
dazzled sort of way.
"Mr. Saunders, will you be good enough to ask Bromley to take Pong out
for a walk?" her ladyship would interrupt languidly, and Saunders would
descend to the requirements of his position.
Late in the afternoon of the day following the advent of the Brownes,
Lord and Lady Deppingham were laboriously fanning themselves in the
midst of their stifling Marie Antoinette elegance.
"By Jove, Aggie, it's too beastly hot here for words," growled he for
the hundredth time. "I think we'd better move into your grandfather's
rooms."
"Now, Deppy, don't let the Brownes talk you into everything they
suggest," she complained, determined to be stubborn to the end. "They
know entirely too much about the place already; please don't let them
know you as intimately."
"That's all very good, my dear, but you know quite as well as I that we
made a frightful mistake in choosing these rooms. It _is_ cooler on that
side of the house. I'm not too proud to be comfortable, don't you know.
Have you had a look at your grandfather's rooms?"
She was silent for a long time, pondering. "No, I haven't, Deppy, but I
don't mind going over there now with you--just for a look. We can do it
without letting them see us, you know."
Just as they were ready to depart stealthily for the distant wing, a
servant came up to their rooms with a note from Mrs. Browne. It was an
invitation to join the Americans at dinner that evening in the grand
banquet hall. Across the bottom of Mrs. Browne's formal little note, her
husband had jauntily scrawled: "_Just to see how small we'll feel in a
ninety by seventy dining-room_" Lady Deppingham flushed and her eyes
glittered as she handed the note to her husband.
"Rubbish!" she exclaimed. Paying no heed to the wistful look in his eyes
or to the appealing shuffle of his foot, she sent back a dignified
little reply to the effect that "A previous engagement would prevent,
etc." The polite lie made it necessary for them to venture forth at
dinner time to eat their solitary meal of sardines and wafers in the
grove below. The menu was limited to almost nothing because Deppy
refused to fill his pockets with "tinned things and biscuit."
The next day they moved into the west wing, and that evening they had
the Brownes to dine with them in the banquet hall. Deppingham awoke in
the middle of the night with violent cramps in his stomach. He suffered
in silence for a long time, but, the pain growing steadily worse, his
stoicism gave way to alarm. A sudden thought broke in upon him, and with
a shout that was almost a shriek he called for Antoine. The valet found
him groaning and in a cold perspiration.
"Don't say a word to Lady Deppingham," he grunted, sitting up in bed and
gazing wildly at the ceiling, "but I've been poisoned. The demmed
servants--ouch!--don't you know! Might have known. Silly ass! See what I
mean? Get something for me--quick!"
For two hours Antoine applied hot water bags and soothing syrups, and
his master, far from dying as he continually prophesied, dropped off
into a peaceful sleep.
The next morning Deppingham, fully convinced that the native servants
had tried to poison _him_, inquired of his wife if _she_ had felt the
alarming symptoms. She confessed to a violent headache, but laid it to
the champagne. Later on, the rather haggard victim approached Browne
with subtle inquiries. Browne also had a headache, but said he wasn't
surprised. Fifteen minutes later, Deppingham, taking the bit in his
quivering mouth, unconditionally discharged the entire force of native
servants. He was still in a cold perspiration when he sent Saunders to
tell his wife what he had done and what a narrow escape all of them had
had from the treacherous Moslems.
Of course, there was a great upheaval. Lady Agnes came tearing down to
the servants' hall, followed directly by the Brownes and Mr. Britt. The
natives were ready to depart, considerably nonplussed, but not a little
relieved.
"Stop!" she cried. "Deppy, what are you doing? Discharging them after
we've had such a time getting them? Are you crazy?"
"They're a pack of snakes--I mean sneaks. They're assassins. They tried
to poison every one of us last--"
"Nonsense! You ate too much. Besides, what's the odds between being
poisoned and being starved to death? Where is Mr. Britt?" She gave a
sharp cry of relief as Britt came dashing down the corridor. "We must
engage them all over again," she lamented, after explaining the
situation. "Stand in the door, Deppy, and don't let them out until Mr.
Britt has talked with them," she called to the disgraced nobleman.
"They won't stop for me," he muttered, looking at the half-dozen krises
that were visible.
Britt smoothed the troubled waters with astonishing ease; the servants
returned to their duties, but not without grumbling and no end of savage
glances, all of which were levelled at the luckless Deppingham.
"By Jove, you'll see, sooner or later," he protested, like the
schoolboy, almost ready to hope that the servants would bear him out by
doling out ample quantities of strychnine that very night.
"Why poison?" demanded Britt. "They've got knives and guns, haven't
they?"
"My dear man, that would put them to no end of trouble, cleaning up
after us," said Deppingham, loftily.
The next day the horses were brought in from the valley, and the traps
were put to immediate use. A half-dozen excursions were planned by the
now friendly beneficiaries; life on the island, aside from certain legal
restraints, began to take on the colour of a real holiday.
Two lawyers, each clever in his own way, were watching every move with
the faithfulness of brooding hens. Both realised, of course, that the
great fight would take place in England; they were simply active as
outposts in the battle of wits. They posed amiably as common allies in
the fight to keep the islanders from securing a single point of vantage
during the year.
"If they hadn't been in such a hurry to get married," Britt would
lament.
"Do you know, I don't believe a man should marry before he's thirty, a
woman twenty-six," Saunders would observe in return.
"You're right, Saunders. I agree with you. I was married twice before I
was thirty," reflected Britt on one occasion.
"Ah," sympathised Saunders. "You left a wife at home, then?"
"Two of 'em," said Britt, puffing dreamily. "But they are other men's
wives now." Saunders was half an hour grasping the fact that Britt had
been twice divorced.
Meanwhile, it may be well to depict the situation from the enemy's point
of view--the enemy being the islanders as a unit. They were prepared to
abide by the terms of the will so long as it remained clear to them that
fair treatment came from the opposing interests. Rasula, the Aratat
lawyer, in mass meeting, had discussed the document. They understood its
requirements and its restrictions; they knew, by this time, that there
was small chance of the original beneficiaries coming into the property
under the provisions. Moreover, they knew that a bitter effort would be
made to break this remarkable instrument in the English courts. Their
attitude, in consequence, toward the grandchildren of their former lords
was inimical, to say the least.
"We can afford to wait a year," Rasula had said in another mass meeting
after the two months of suspense which preceded the discovery that
grandchildren really existed. "There is the bare possibility that they
may never marry each other," he added sententiously. Later came the news
that marriage between the heirs was out of the question. Then the
islanders laughed as they toiled. But they were not to be caught
napping. Jacob von Blitz, the superintendent, stolid German that he was,
saw far into the future. It was he who set the native lawyer
unceremoniously aside and urged competent representation in London. The
great law firm headed by Sir John Brodney was chosen; a wide-awake
representative of the distinguished solicitors was now on his way to the
island with the swarthy committee which had created so much interest in
the metropolis during its brief stay.
Jacob von Blitz came to the island when he was twenty years old. That
was twenty years before the death of Taswell Skaggs. He had worked in
the South African diamond fields and had no difficulty in securing
employment with Skaggs and Wyckholme. Those were the days when the two
Englishmen slaved night and day in the mines; they needed white men to
stand beside them, for they looked ahead and saw what the growing
discontent among the islanders was sure to mean in the end.
Von Blitz gradually lifted labour and responsibility from their
shoulders; he became a valued man, not alone because of his ability as
an overseer, but on account of the influence he had gained over the
natives. It was he who acted as intermediary at the time of the revolt,
many years before the opening of this tale. Through him the two issues
were pooled; the present co-operative plan was the result. For this he
was promptly accepted by both sides as deserving of a share
corresponding to that of each native. From that day, he cast his lot
with the islanders; it was to him that they turned in every hour of
difficulty.
Von Blitz was shrewd enough to see that the grandchildren were not
coming to the island for the mere pleasure of sojourning there; their
motive was plain. It was he who advised--even commanded--the horde of
servants to desert the château. If they had been able to follow his
advice, the new residents would have been without "help" to the end of
their stay. The end of their stay, he figured, would not be many weeks
from its beginning if they were compelled to dwell there without the
luxury of servants. Bowles often related the story of Von Blitz's rage
when he found that the recalcitrants had been persuaded to resume work
by the American lawyer.
He lived, with his three wives, in the hills just above and south of the
town itself. The Englishmen who worked in the bank, and the three Boer
foremen also, had houses up there where it was cooler, but Von Blitz was
the only one who practised polygamy. His wives were Persian women and
handsome after the Persian fashion.
There were many Persian, Turkish and Arabian women on the island, wives
of the more potential men. It was no secret that they had been purchased
from avaricious masters on the mainland, in Bagdad and Damascus and the
Persian gulf ports--sapphires passing in exchange. Marriages were
performed by the local priests. There were no divorces. Perhaps there
may have been a few more wife murders than necessary, but, if one
assumes to call wife murder a crime, he must be reminded that the
natives of Japat were fatalists. In contradiction to this belief,
however, it is related that one night a wife took it upon herself to
reverse the lever of destiny: she slew her husband. That, of course, was
a phase of fatalism that was not to be tolerated. The populace burned
her at a stake before morning.
One hot, dry afternoon about a week after the reopening of the château,
the siesta of a swarthy population was disturbed by the shouts of those
who kept impatient watch of the sea. Five minutes later the whole town
of Aratat knew that the smoke of a steamer lay low on the horizon. No
one doubted that it came from the stack of the boat that was bringing
Rasula and the English solicitor. Joy turned to exultation when the word
came down from Von Blitz that it was the long-looked-for steamship, the
_Sir Joshua_.
Just before dusk the steamer, flying the British colours, hove to off
the town of Aratat and signalled for the company's tug. There was no one
in Aratat too old, too young or too ill to stay away from the pier and
its vicinity. Bowles telephoned the news to the château, and the
occupants, in no little excitement, had their tea served on the grand
colonnade overlooking the town.
Von Blitz stood at the landing place to welcome Rasula and his comrades,
and to be the first to clasp the hand of the man from London. For the
first time in his life his stolidity gave way to something resembling
exhilaration. He cast more than one meaning glance at the château, and
those near by him heard him chuckle from time to time. The horde of
natives seethed back and forth as the tug came running in; every eye was
strained to catch the first glimpse of--Rasula? No! Of the man from
Brodney's!
At last his figure could be made out on the forward deck. His straw hat
was at least a head higher than the turban of Rasula, who was indicating
to him the interesting spots in the hills.
"He's big," commented Von Blitz, comfortably, more to himself than to
his neighbour. "And young," he added a few minutes later. Bowles,
standing at his side, offered the single comment:
"Good-looking."
As the tall stranger stepped from the boat to the pier, Von Blitz
suddenly started back, a look of wonder in his soggy eyes. Then, a
thrill of satisfaction shot through his brain. He turned a look of
triumph upon Britt, who had elbowed through the crowd a moment before
and was standing close by.
The newcomer was an American!
CHAPTER IX
THE ENEMY
"I've sighted the Enemy," exclaimed Bobby Browne, coming up from
Neptune's Pool--the largest of the fountains. His wife and Lady
Deppingham were sitting in the cool retreat under the hanging garden.
"Would you care to have a peek at him?"
"I should think so," said his wife, jumping to her feet. "He's been on
the island three days, and we haven't had a glimpse of him. Come along,
Lady Deppingham."
Lady Deppingham arose reluctantly, stifling a yawn.
"I'm so frightfully lazy, my dear," she sighed. "But," with a slight
acceleration of speech, "anything in the shape of diversion is worth the
effort, I'm sure. Where is he?"
They had come to call the new American lawyer "The Enemy." No one knew
his name, or cared to know it, for that matter. Bowles, in answer to the
telephone inquiries of Saunders, said that the new solicitor had taken
temporary quarters above the bank and was in hourly consultation with
Von Blitz, Rasula and others. Much of his time was spent at the mines.
Later on, it was commonly reported, he was to take up his residence in
Wyckholme's deserted bungalow, far up on the mountain side, in plain
view from the château.
Life at the château had not been allowed to drag. The Deppinghams and
the Brownes confessed in the privacy of their chambers that there was
scant diplomacy in their "carryings-on," but without these indulgences
the days and nights would have been intolerable.
The white servants had become good friends, despite the natural disdain
that the trained English expert feels for the unpolished American
domestic. Antipathies were overlooked in the eager strife for
companionship; the fact that one of Mrs. Browne's maids was of Irish
extraction and the other a rosy Swede may have had something to do with
their admission into the exclusive set below stairs, but that is outside
the question. If the Suffolk maids felt any hesitancy about accepting
the hybrid combination as their equals, it was never manifested by word
or deed. Even the astute Antoine, who had lived long in the boulevards
of Paris, and who therefore knew an American when he saw one at any
distance or at any price, evinced no uncertainty in proclaiming them
Americans.
Miss Pelham, the stenographer from West Twenty-third Street, might have
been included in the circle from the first had not her dignity stood in
the way. For six days she held resolutely aloof from everything except
her notebook and her machine, but her stock of novels beginning to run
low, and the prospect of being bored to extinction for six months to
come looming up before her, she concluded to wave the olive branch in
the face of social ostracism, assuming a genial attitude of
condescension, which was graciously overlooked by the others. As she
afterward said, there is no telling how low she might have sunk, had it
not entered her head one day to set her cap for the unsuspecting Mr.
Saunders. She had learned, in the wisdom of her sex, that he was fancy
free. Mr. Saunders, fully warned against the American typewriter girl as
a class, having read the most shocking jokes at her expense in the comic
papers, was rather shy at the outset, but Britt gallantly came to Miss
Pelham's defence and ultimate rescue by emphatically assuring Saunders
that she was a perfect lady, guaranteed to cause uneasiness to no man's
wife.
"But I have no wife," quickly protested Saunders, turning a dull red.
"The devil!" exclaimed Britt, apparently much upset by the revelation.
But of this more anon.
* * * * *
Browne conducted the two young women across the drawbridge and to the
sunlit edge of the terrace, where two servants awaited them with
parasols.
"Isn't it extraordinary, the trouble one is willing to take for the
merest glimpse of a man?" sighed Lady Agnes. "At home we try to avoid
them."
"Indeed?" said pretty Mrs. Browne, with a slight touch of irony. It was
the first sign of the gentle warfare which their wits were to wage.
"There he is! See him?" almost whispered Browne, as if the solitary,
motionless figure at the foot of the avenue was likely to hear his voice
and be frightened away.
The Enemy was sitting serenely on one of the broad iron benches just
inside the gates to the park, his arms stretched out along the back, his
legs extended and crossed. The great stone wall behind him afforded
shelter from the broiling sun; satinwood trees lent an appearance of
coolness that did not exist, if one were to judge by the absence of hat
and the fact that his soft shirt was open at the throat. He was not more
than two hundred yards away from the clump of trees which screened his
watchers from view. If he caught an occasional glimpse of dainty blue
and white fabrics, he made no demonstration of interest or
acknowledgment. It was quite apparent that he was lazily surveying the
château, puffing with consistent ease at the cigarette which drooped
from his lips. His long figure was attired in light grey flannels; one
could not see the stripe at that distance, yet one could not help
feeling that it existed--a slim black stripe, if any one should have
asked.
"Quite at home," murmured her ladyship, which was enough to show that
she excused the intruder on the ground that he was an American.
"Mr. Britt was right," said Mrs. Browne irrelevantly. She was peering at
the stranger through the binoculars. "He is _very_ good-looking."
"And you from Boston, too," scoffed Lady Deppingham. Mrs. Browne
flushed, and smiled deprecatingly.
"Wonder what he's doing here in the grounds?" puzzled Browne.
"It's plain to me that he is resting his audacious bones," said her
ladyship, glancing brightly at her co-legatee. The latter's wife, in a
sudden huff, deliberately left them, crossing the macadam driveway in
plain view of the stranger.
"She's not above an affair with him," was her hot, inward lament. She
was mightily relieved, however, when the others tranquilly followed her
across the road, and took up a new position under the substitute clump
of trees.
The Enemy gave no sign of interest in these proceedings. If he was
conscious of being watched by these curious exiles, he was not in the
least annoyed. He did not change his position of indolence, nor did he
puff any more fretfully at his cigarette. Instead, his eyes were bent
lazily upon the white avenue, his thoughts apparently far away from the
view ahead. He came out of his lassitude long enough to roll and light a
fresh cigarette and to don his wide madras helmet.
Suddenly he looked to the right and then arose with some show of
alacrity. Three men were approaching by the path which led down from the
far-away stables. Browne recognised the dark-skinned men as servants in
the château--the major-domo, the chef, and the master of the stables.
"Lord Deppingham must have sent them down to pitch him over the wall,"
he said, with an excited grin.
"Impossible! My husband is hunting for sapphires in the ravine back
of--" She did not complete the sentence.
The Enemy was greeting the statuesque natives with a friendliness that
upset all calculations. It was evident that the meeting was prearranged.
There was no attempt at secrecy; the conference, whatever its portent,
had the merit of being quite above-board. In the end, the tall
solicitor, lifting his helmet with a gesture so significant that it left
no room for speculation, turned and sauntered through the broad gateway
and out into the forest road. The three servants returned as they had
come, by way of the bridle path along the wall.
"The nerve of him!" exclaimed Browne. "That graceful attention was meant
for us."
"He is like the polite robber who first beats you to death and then says
thank you for the purse," said Lady Deppingham. "What a strange
proceeding, Mr. Browne. Can you imagine what it means?"
"Mischief of some sort, I'll be bound. I admire his nerve in holding the
confab under our very noses. I'll have Britt interview those fellows at
once. Our kitchen, our stable and our domestic discipline are
threatened."
They hastened to the château, and regaled the resourceful Britt with the
disquieting news.
"I'll have it out of 'em in a minute," he said confidently. "Where's
Saunders? Where's Miss Pelham? Confound the girl, she's never around
when I want her these days. Hay, you!" to a servant. "Send Miss Pelham
to me. The one in pink, understand? Golden-haired one. Yes, yes, that's
right: the one who jiggles her fingers. Tell her to hurry."
But Miss Pelham was off in the wood, self-charged with the arousing of
Mr. Saunders; an hour passed before she could be found and brought into
the light of Mr. Britt's reflections. If her pert nose was capable of
elevating itself in silent disdain, Mr. Saunders was not able to emulate
its example. He was not so dazzled by the sunshine of her sprightly
recitals but that he could look sheep-faced in the afterglow of Britt's
scorn.
Britt, with all his clever blustering, could elicit no information from
the crafty head-servants. All they would say was that the strange sahib
had intercepted them on their way to the town, to ask if there were any
rooms to rent in the château.
"That's what he told you to say, isn't it?" demanded Britt angrily.
"Confounded his impudence! Rooms to rent!"
That evening he dragged the reluctant Saunders into the privacy of the
hanging garden, and deliberately interrupted the game of bridge which
was going on. If Deppingham had any intention to resent the intrusion of
the solicitors, he was forestalled by the startling announcement of Mr.
Britt, who seldom stood on ceremony where duty was concerned.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said Mr. Britt, calmly dropping into a chair
near by, "this place is full of spies."
"Spies!" cried four voices in unison. Mr. Saunders nodded a plaintive
apology.
"Yes, sir, every native servant here is a spy. That's what the Enemy was
here for to-day. I've analysed the situation and I'm right. Ain't I, Mr.
Saunders? Of course, I am. He came here to tell 'em what to do and how
to report our affairs to him. See? Well, there you are. We've simply got
to be careful what we do and say in their presence. Leave 'em to me.
Just be careful, that's all."
"I don't intend to be watched by a band of sneaks--" began Lord
Deppingham loftily.
"You can't help yourself," interrupted Britt.
"I'll discharge every demmed one of them, that's--"
"Leave 'em to me--leave 'em to me," exclaimed Britt impatiently. His
lordship stiffened but could find no words for instant use. "Now let me
tell you something. This lawyer of theirs is a smooth party. He's here
to look out for their interests and they know it. It's not to their
interest to assassinate you or to do any open dirty work. He is too
clever for that. I've found out from Mr. Bowles just what the fellow has
done since he landed, three days ago. He has gone over all of the
company's accounts, in the office and at the mines, to see that we, as
agents for the executors, haven't put up any job to mulct the natives
out of their share of the profits. He has organised the whole population
into a sort of constabulary to protect itself against any shrewd move we
may contemplate. Moreover, he's getting the evidence of everybody to
prove that Skaggs and Wyckholme were men of sound mind up to the hour of
their death. He has the depositions of agents and dealers in Bombay,
Aden, Suez and three or four European cities, all along that line. He
goes over the day's business at the bank as often as we do as agents for
the executors. He knows just how many rubies and sapphires were washed
out yesterday, and how much they weigh. It's our business, as your
agents, to scrape up everything as far back as we can go to prove that
the old chaps were mentally off their base when they drew up that
agreement and will. I think we've got a shade the best of it, even
though the will looks good. The impulse that prompted it was a crazy one
in the first place." He hesitated a moment and then went on carefully.
"Of course, if we can prove that insanity has always run through the two
families it--"
"Good Lord!" gasped Browne nervously.
"--it would be a great help. If we can show that you and Mrs.--er--Lady
Deppingham have queer spells occasionally, it--"
"Not for all the islands in the world," cried Lady Deppingham. "The
idea! Queer spells! See here, Mr. Britt, if I have any queer spells to
speak of, I won't have them treated publicly. If Lord Deppingham can
afford to overlook them, I daresay I can, also, even though it costs me
the inheritance to do so. Please be good enough to leave me out of the
insanity dodge, as you Americans call it."
"Madam, God alone provides that part of your inheritance--" began Britt
insistently, fearing that he was losing fair ground.
"Then leave it for God to discover. I'll not be a party to it. It's
utter nonsense," she cried scathingly.
"Rubbish!" asserted Mr. Saunders boldly.
"What?" exclaimed Britt, turning upon Saunders so abruptly that the
little man jumped, and immediately began to readjust his necktie.
"What's that? Look here; it's our only hope--the insanity dodge, I mean.
They've got to show in an English court that Skaggs and--"
"Let them show what they please about Skaggs," interrupted Bobby Browne,
"but, confound you, I can't have any one saying that I'm subject to fits
or spells or whatever you choose to call 'em. I don't have 'em, but even
if I did, I'd have 'em privately, not for the benefit of the public."
"Is it necessary to make my husband insane in order to establish the
fact that his grandfather was not of sound mind?" queried pretty Mrs.
Browne, with her calmest Boston inflection.
"It depends on your husband," said Britt coolly. "If he sticks at
anything which may help us to break that will, he's certainly insane.
That's all I've got to say about it."
"Well, I'm hanged if I'll pose as an insane man," roared Browne.
"Mr. Saunders hasn't asked _me_ to be insane, have you, Mr. Saunders?"
asked Lady Agnes in her sweetest, scorn.
"I don't apprehend--" began Saunders nervously.
"Saunders," said Britt, calculatingly and evenly, "next thing we'll have
to begin hunting for insanity in your family. We haven't heard anything
from you on this little point, Lord Deppingham."
"I don't know anything about Mr. Saunders's family," said Deppingham
stiffly. Britt looked at him for a moment, puzzled and uncertain. Then
he gave a short, hopeless laugh and said, under his breath:
"Holy smoke!"
He immediately altered the course of the discussion and harked back to
his original declaration that spies abounded in the château. When he
finally called the conference adjourned and prepared to depart, he
calmly turned to the stenographer.
"Did you get all this down, Miss Pelham?"
"Yes, Mr. Britt."
"Good!" Then he went away, leaving the quartette unconsciously depressed
by the emphasis he placed upon that single word.
The next day but one, it was announced that the Enemy had moved into the
bungalow. Signs of activity about the rambling place could be made out
from the hanging garden at the château. It was necessary, however, to
employ the binoculars in the rather close watch that was kept by the
interested aristocrats below. From time to time the grey, blue or
white-clad figure of the Enemy could be seen directing the operations of
the natives who were engaged in rehabilitating Wyckholme's "nest."
The château was now under the very eye of the Enemy.
CHAPTER X
THE AMERICAN BAR
"You're wanted at the 'phone, Mr. Britt," said Miss Pelham. It was late
in the evening a day or two afterward. Britt went into the booth. He was
not in there long, but when he came out he found that Miss Pelham had
disappeared. The coincidence was significant; Mr. Saunders was also
missing from his seat on the window-sill at the far end of the long
corridor. Britt looked his disgust, and muttered something
characteristic. Having no one near with whom he could communicate, he
boldly set off for the hanging garden, where Deppingham had installed
the long-idle roulette paraphernalia. The quartette were placing
prospective rubies and sapphires on the board, using gun-wads in lieu of
the real article.
Britt's stocky figure came down through the maze of halls, across the
vine-covered bridge and into the midst of a transaction which involved
perhaps a hundred thousand pounds in rubies.
"Say," he said, without ceremony, "the Enemy's in trouble. Bowles just
telephoned. There's a lot of excitement in the town. I don't know what
to make of it."
"Then why the devil are you breaking in here with it?" growled
Deppingham, who was growing to hate Britt with an ardour that was
unmanageable.
"This'll interest you, never fear. There's been a row between Von Blitz
and the lawyer, and the lawyer has unmercifully threshed Von Blitz. Good
Lord, I'd like to have seen it, wouldn't you, Browne? Say, he's all
right, isn't he?"
"What was it all about?" demanded Browne. They, were now listening, all
attention.
"It seems that Von Blitz is in the habit of licking his wives," said
Britt. "Bowles was so excited he could hardly talk. It must have been
awful if it could get Bowles really awake."
"Miraculous!" said Deppingham conclusively.
"Well, as I get it, the lawyer has concluded to advance the American
idiosyncrasy known as reform. It's a habit with us, my lady. We'll try
to reform heaven if enough of us get there to form a club. Von Blitz
beats his Persian wives instead of his Persian rugs, therefore he needed
reforming. Our friend, the Enemy, met him this evening, and told him
that no white man could beat his wife, singular or plural, while he was
around. Von Blitz is a big, ugly chap, and he naturally resented the
interference with his divine might. He told the lawyer to go hang or
something equivalent. The lawyer knocked him down. By George, I'd like
to have seen it! From the way Bowles tells it, he must have knocked him
down so incessantly in the next five minutes that Von Blitz's attempts
to stand up were nothing short of a stutter. Moreover, he wouldn't let
Von Blitz stab him worth a cent. Bowles says he's got Von Blitz cowed,
and the whole town is walking in circles, it's so dizzy. Von Blitz's
wives threaten to kill the lawyer, but I guess they won't. Bowles says
that all the Persian and Turkish women on the island are crazy about the
fellow."
"Mr. Britt!" protested Mrs. Browne.
"Beg pardon. Perhaps Bowles is wrong. Well, to make it short, the lawyer
has got Von Blitz to hating him secretly, and the German has a lot of
influence over the people. It may be uncomfortable for our good-looking
friend. If he didn't seem so well able to look out for himself, I'd feel
mighty uneasy about him. After all, he's a white man and a good fellow,
I imagine."
"If he should be in great danger down there," said her ladyship
firmly--perhaps consciously--"we must offer him a safe retreat in the
château." The others looked at her in surprise. "We can't stand off and
see him murdered, you know," she qualified hastily.
The next morning a messenger came up from the town with a letter
directed to Messrs. Britt and Saunders. It was from the Enemy, and
requested them to meet him in private conference at four that afternoon.
"I think it will be for the benefit of all concerned if we can get
together," wrote the Enemy in conclusion.
"He's weakening," mused Britt, experiencing a sense of disappointment
over his countryman's fallibility. "My word for it, Saunders, he's going
to propose an armistice of some sort. He can't keep up the bluff."
"Shocking bad form, writing to us like this," said Saunders
reflectively. "As if we'd go into any agreement with the fellow. I'm
sure Lady Deppingham wouldn't consider it for a moment."
The messenger carried back with him a dignified response in which the
counsellors for Mr. Browne and Lady Deppingham respectfully declined to
engage in any conference at this time.
At two o'clock that afternoon the entire force of native servants picked
up their belongings, and marched out of the château. Britt stormed and
threatened, but the inscrutable Mohammedans shook their heads and
hastened toward the gates. Despair reigned in the château; tears and
lamentations were no more effective than blasphemy. The major-domo,
suave and deferential, gravely informed Mr. Britt that they were leaving
at the instigation of their legal adviser, who had but that hour issued
his instructions.
"I hope you are not forgetting what I said about the American gunboats,"
said Britt ponderously.
"Ah," said Baillo, with a cunning smile, "our man is also a great
American. He can command the gunboats, too, sahib. We have told him that
you have the great power. He shows us that he can call upon the English
ships as well, for he comes last from London. He can have both, while
you have only one. Besides, he says you cannot send a message in the
air, without the wire, unless he give permission. He have a little
machine that catch all the lightning in the air and hold it till he
reads the message. Our man is a great man--next to Mohammed."
Britt passed his hand over his brow, staggered by these statements.
Gnawing at his stubby mustache, he was compelled to stand by helplessly,
while they crowded through the gates like a pack of hounds at the call
of the master. The deserters were gone; the deserted stood staring after
them with wonder in their eyes. Suddenly Britt laughed and clapped
Deppingham on the back.
"Say, he's smoother than I thought. Most men would have been damned
fools enough to say that it was all poppy-cock about me sending wireless
messages and calling out navies; but not he! And that machine for
tapping the air! Say, we'd better go slow with that fellow. If you say
so, I'll call him up and tell him we'll agree to his little old
conference. What say to that, Browne? And you, Deppy? Think we--"
"See here," roared Deppingham, red as a lobster, "I won't have you
calling me Deppy, confound your--"
"I'll take it all back, my lord. Slip of the tongue. Please overlook it.
But, say, shall I call him up on the 'phone and head off the strike?"
"Anything, Mr. Britt, to get back our servants," said Lady Deppingham,
who had come up with Mrs. Browne.
"I was just beginning to learn their names and to understand their
English," lamented Mrs. Browne.
When Britt reappeared after a brief stay in the telephone booth he was
perspiring freely, and his face was redder, if possible, than ever
before.
"What did he say?" demanded Mrs. Browne, consumed by curiosity. Britt
fanned himself for a moment before answering.
"He was very peremptory at first and very agreeable in the end, Mrs.
Browne. I said we'd come down at four-thirty. He asked me to bring some
cigarettes. Say, he's a strenuous chap. He wouldn't haggle for a
second."
Britt and Saunders found the Enemy waiting for them under the awning in
front of the bank. He was sitting in a long canvas lounging chair, his
feet stretched out, his hands clasped behind his head. There was a
far-away, discontented look in his eyes. A native was fanning him
industriously from behind. There was no uncertainty in their judgment of
him; he looked a man from the top of his head to the tips of his canvas
shoes.
Every line of his long body indicated power, vitality, health. His lean,
masterful face, with its clear grey eyes (the suspicion of a sardonic
smile in their depths), struck them at once as that of a man who could
and would do things in the very teeth of the dogs of war.
He arose quickly as they came under the awning. A frank, even joyous,
smile now lighted his face, a smile that meant more than either of them
could have suspected. It was the smile of one who had almost forgotten
what it meant to have the companionship of his fellow-man. Both men were
surprised by the eager, sincere manner in which he greeted them. He
clasped their hands in a grip that belied his terse, uncompromising
manner at the telephone; his eyes were not those of the domineering
individual whom conjecture had appraised so vividly a short time before.
"Glad to see you, gentlemen," he said. He was a head taller than either,
coatless and hatless, a lean but brawny figure in white crash trousers.
His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, displaying hard, sinewy
forearms, browned by the sun and wind. "It's very good of you to come
down. I'm sure we won't have to call out the British or American
gunboats to preserve order in our midst. I know something a great deal
better than gunboats. If you'll come to my shack down the street, I'll
mix you a real American cocktail, a mint julep, a brandy smash or
anything you like in season. There's a fine mint bed up my way, just
back of the bungalow. It's more precious than a ruby mine, let me tell
you. And yet, I'll exchange three hundred carats of mint, Mr. Britt, for
a dozen boxes of your Egyptian deities."
Then as they sauntered off into a narrow side street: "Do you know,
gentlemen, I made the greatest mistake of my life in failing to bring a
ton of these little white sticks out with me? I thought of Gordon gin,
both kinds of vermouth, brandy, and all that sort of thing, and
completely forgot the staff of life. I happened to know that you have a
million packages of them, more or less, up at the château. My spies told
me. I daresay you know that I have spies up there all the time? Don't
pay any attention to them. You're at liberty to set spies on my trail at
any time. Here we are. This is the headquarters for the Mine-owners'
Association of Japat."
He led them down a flight of steps and into a long, cool-looking room
some distance below the level of the street. Narrow windows near the
ceiling let in the light of day and yet kept out much of the oppressive
heat. A huge ice chest stood at one end of the room. At the other end
was his desk; a couch, two chairs, and a small deal table were the only
other articles of furniture. The floor was covered with rugs; the walls
were hung with ancient weapons of offence and defence.
"The Mine-owners' Association, gentlemen, comprises the entire
population of Japat. Here is where I receive my clients; here is where
they receive their daily loaf, if you will pardon the simile. I sit in
the chairs; they squat on the rugs. We talk about rubies and sapphires
as if they were peanuts. Occasionally we talk about our neighbours.
Shall I make three mint juleps? Here, Selim! The ice, the mint and the
straws--and the bottles. Sit down, gentlemen. This is the American bar
that Baedeker tells you about--the one you've searched all over Europe
for, I daresay."
"Reminds me of home, just a little bit," said Britt, as the tall glasses
were set before them. The Englishman was still clothed in reticence. His
slim, pinched body seemed more drawn up than ever before; the part in
his thatch of straw-coloured hair was as straight and undeviating as if
it had been laid by rule; his eyes were set and uncompromising. Mr.
Saunders was determined that the two Americans should not draw him into
a trap; after what he had seen of their methods, and their amazing
similarity of operation, he was quite prepared to suspect collusion.
"They shan't catch me napping," was the sober reflection of Thomas
Saunders.
The Enemy planted the mint in its bed of chipped ice. "The sagacity that
Taswell Skaggs displayed in erecting an ice plant and cold storage house
here is equalled only by John Wyckholme's foresightedness in maintaining
a contemporaneous mint bed. I imagine that you, gentlemen, are hoping to
prove the old codgers insane. Between the three of us, and man to man,
how can you have the heart to propose anything so unkind when we look,
as we now do, upon the result of their extreme soundness of mind? Here's
how?"
Selim passed the straws and the three men took a long and simultaneous
"pull" at the refreshing julep. Mr. Saunders felt something melt as he
drew the subsequent long and satisfying breath. It was the outer rim of
his cautious reserve.
"I think we'll take you up on that proposition to trade mint for
cigarettes," said Mr. Britt. "Mr. Browne, my client, for one, will
sanction the deal. How about your client, Saunders?"
Saunders raised his eyes, but did not at once reply, for the very
significant reason that he had just begun a second "pull" at his straw.
"I can't say as to Lady Deppingham," he responded, after touching his
lips three or four times with his handkerchief, "but I'm quite sure his
lordship will make no objection."
"Then we'll consider the deal closed. I'll send one of my boys over
to-morrow with a bunch of mint. Telephone up to the bungalow when you
need more. By the way," dropping into a curiously reflective air, "may I
ask why Lady Deppingham is permitted to ride alone through the
unfrequented and perilous parts of the island?" The question was
directed to her solicitor, who stared hard for a moment before replying.
"Perilous? What do you mean?"
"Just this, Mr. Saunders," said the Enemy, leaning forward earnestly.
"I'm not responsible for the acts of these islanders. You'll admit that
there is some justification in their contention that the island and its
treasures may be snatched away from them, by some hook or crook. Well,
there are men among them who would not hesitate to dispose of one or
both of the heirs if they could do it without danger to their interests.
What could be more simple, Mr. Saunders, than the death of Lady
Deppingham if her horse should stumble and precipitate her to the bottom
of one of those deep ravines? She wouldn't be alive to tell how it
really happened and there would be no other witnesses. She's much too
young and beautiful to come to that sort of an end."
"My word!" was all that Saunders could say, forgetting his julep in
contemplation of the catastrophe.
"He's right," said Britt promptly. "I'll keep my own client on the
straight and public path. He's liable to tip over, too."
"Deuce take your Browne," said Saunders with mild asperity. "He never
rides alone."
"I've noticed that," said the Enemy coolly. "He's usually with Lady
Deppingham. It's lucky that Japat is free from gossips, gentlemen."
"Oh, I say," said Saunders, "none of that talk, you know."
"Don't lose your temper, Saunders," remonstrated Britt. "Browne's worth
two of Deppingham."
"Gentlemen," said the Enemy, "please remember that we are not to discuss
the habits of our clients. To change the subject, Britt, that was a--Oh,
Selim, please step over to the bank and ask what time it is." As Selim
departed, the Enemy remarked: "It won't do for him to hear too much. As
I was saying, that was a clever bluff of yours--I mean the gunboat
goblin. I have enlarged upon your story somewhat. You-----"
"Yes," said Britt, "you've added quite a bit to it."
"It's a sort of two-story affair now, don't you know," said Saunders,
feeling the effect of the drink. They all laughed heartily, two, at
least, in some surprise. Saunders never let an opportunity escape to
repeat the joke to his friends in after life; in fact, he made the
opportunity more often than not.
"There's another thing I want to speak of," said the Enemy, arising to
prepare the second round of juleps. "I hope you won't take my
suggestions amiss. They're intended for the peace and security of the
island, nothing else. Of course, I could sit back and say nothing,
thereby letting your clients cut off their own noses, but it's hardly
fair among white people. Besides, it can have nothing to do with the
legal side of the situation. Well, here it is: I hear that your clients
and their partners for life are in the habit of gambling like fury up
there."
"Gambling?" said Britt. "What rot!"
"The servants say that they play Bridge every night for vast piles of
rubies, and turn the wheel daily for sapphires uncountable. Oh, I get it
straight."
"Why, man, it's all a joke. They use gun wads and simply play that they
are rubies."
"My word," said Saunders, "there isn't a ruby or sapphire in the party."
"That's all right," said the Enemy, standing before them with a bunch of
mint in one hand and the bowl of ice in the other. They could not but
see that his face was serious. "We know it's all right, but the servants
don't. How do they know that the stakes are not what they're said to be?
It may be a joke, but the people think you are playing for real stones,
using gun wads as they've seen poker chips used. I've heard that as much
as £50,000 in precious gems change hands in a night. Well, the situation
is obvious. Every man in Japat thinks that your people are gambling with
jewels that belong to the corporation. They think there's something
crooked, d'ye see? My advice to you is: Stop that sort of joking. It's
not a joke to the islanders, as you may find out to your sorrow. Take
the tip from me, gentlemen. Let 'em play for pins or peppermint drops,
but not for rubies red. Here's your julep, Mr. Saunders. Fresh straw?"
"By Jove," said Saunders, taking a straw, and at the same time staring
in open-mouthed wonder at the tall host; "you appal me! It's most
extraordinary. But I see your point clearly, quite clearly. Do you,
Britt?"
"Certainly," said Britt with a look of disdain. "I told 'em to lower the
limit long ago."
"This is all offered in a kindly spirit, you understand," said the
magnanimous Enemy. "We might as well live comfortably as to die
unseasonably here. Another little suggestion, Mr. Saunders. Please tell
Lord Deppingham that if he persists in snooping about the ravines in
search of rubies, he'll get an unmanageable bullet in the back of his
head some day soon. He's being watched all the time. The natives resent
his actions, foolish as they may seem to us. This is not child's play.
He has no right to a single ruby, even if he should see one and know
what it was. Just tell him that, please, Mr. Saunders."
"I shall, confound him," exploded Saunders, smiting the table mightily.
"He's too damned uppish anyhow. He needs taking down--"
"Ah, Selim," interrupted the Enemy, as the native boy entered, "no mail,
eh?"
"No, excellency, the ship is not due to arrive for two weeks."
"Ah, but, Selim, you forget that I am expecting a letter from Von
Blitz's wives. They promised to let me know how soon he is able to
resume work at the mines."
"I hear you polished him off neatly," said Britt, with a grin.
"Just the rough edges, Mr. Britt. He is now a gem of purest ray serene.
By the way, I hope you'll not take my mild suggestions amiss."
"There's nothing I object to except your power to call strikes among our
servants. That seems to me to be rather high-handed," said Britt
good-naturedly.
"No doubt you're right," agreed the other, "but you must remember that I
needed the cigarettes."
"My word!" muttered Saunders admiringly.
"Look here, old man," said Britt, his cheeks glowing, "it's mighty good
of you to take this trouble for----"
"Don't mention it. I'd only ask in return that we three be a little more
sociable hereafter. We're not here to cut each other's throats, you
know, and we've got a deadly half year ahead of us. What say?"
For answer the two lawyers arose and shook hands with the excellent
Enemy. When they started for the château at seven o'clock, each with six
mint juleps about his person, they were too mellow for analysis. The
Enemy, who had drunk but little, took an arm of each and piloted them
sturdily through the town.
"I'd walk up to the château if I were you," he said, when they clamoured
for a jinriksha apiece. "It will help pass away the time."
"By Jove," said Saunders, hunting for the Enemy's hand. "I'm going to
'nform L-Lord Deppingham that he's 'nsufferable ass an'--an' I don't
care who knows it."
"Saunders," said Britt, with rare dignity, "take your hand out of my
pocket."
CHAPTER XI
THE SLOUGH OF TRANQUILLITY
Three months stole by with tantalising slowness. How the strangers on
the island of Japat employed those dull, simmering, idle weeks it would
not be difficult to relate. There was little or no incident to break the
monotony of their enforced residence among the surly Japatites; the same
routine obtained from day to day. Sultry, changeless, machine-like were
those hundred days and nights. They looked forward with hopeful, tired
eyes; never backward. There was nothing behind them but a dour waste, a
bog through which they had driven themselves with a lash of resolution.
Autumn passed on into winter without a change of expression in the
benign face of nature. Christmas day was as hot as if it had come in
midsummer; the natives were as naked, the trees as fully clad. The
curious sun closed his great eye for a few hours in the twenty-four; the
remainder of the time he glared down upon his victims with a malevolence
that knew no bounds. Soft, sweet winds came with the typhoon season,
else the poor whites must have shrivelled and died while nature
revelled. Rain fell often in fitful little bursts of joyousness, but the
hungry earth sipped its moisture through a million greedy lips, eager to
thwart the mischievous sun. Through it all, the château gleamed red and
purple and gray against the green mountainside, baked where the sun
could meet its face, cool where the caverns blew upon it with their
rich, damp breath.
The six months were passing away, however, in spite of themselves; ten
weeks were left before the worn, but determined heirs could cast off
their bonds and rush away to other climes. It mattered little whether
they went away rich or poor; they were to go! Go! That was the richest
thing the future held out to them--more precious than the wealth for
which they stayed. Whatever was being done for them in London and
Boston, it was no recompense for the weariness of heart and soul that
they had found in the green island of Japat.
True, they rode and played and swam and romped without restraint, but
beneath all of their abandon there lurked the ever-present pathos of the
jail, the asylum, the detention ward. The blue sky seemed streaked with
the bars of their prison; the green earth clanked as with the sombre
tread of feet crossing flagstones.
Not until the end of January was there a sign of revolt against the
ever-growing, insidious condition of melancholy. As they turned into the
last third of their exile, they found heart to rejoice in the thought
that release was coming nearer and nearer. The end of March! Eight weeks
off! Soon there would be but seven weeks--then six!
And, all this time, the islanders toiled as they had toiled for years;
they reckoned in years, while the strangers cast up Time's account in
weeks and called them years. Each day the brown men worked in the mines,
piling gems into the vaults with a resoluteness that never faltered.
They were the sons of Martha. The rubies of Mandalay and Mogok were
rivalled by the takings of these indifferent stockholders in the great
Japat corporation. Nothing short of a ruby as large as the Tibet gem
could have startled them out of their state of taciturnity. Gems
weighing ten and fifteen carats already had been taken from the "byon"
in the wash, and yet inspired no exaltation. Sapphires, nestling in the
soft ground near their carmine sisters, were rolling into the coffers of
the company, but they were treated as so many pebbles in this ceaseless
search.
The tiniest child knew that the ruby would not lose its colour by fire,
while the blue of the sapphire would vanish forever if subjected to
heat. All these things and many more the white strangers learned; they
were surfeited with a knowledge that tired and bored them.
From London came disquieting news for all sides to the controversy. The
struggle promised to be drawn out for years, perhaps; the executors
would probably be compelled to turn over the affairs of the corporation
to agents of the Crown; in the meantime a battle royal, long drawn out,
would undoubtedly be fought for the vast unentailed estate left behind
by the two legators.
The lonely legatees, marooned in the far South Sea, began to realise
that even after they had spent their six months of probation, they would
still have months, even years, of waiting before they could touch the
fortune they laid claim to. The islanders also were vaguely awake to the
fact that everything might be tied up for years, despite the provisions
of the will; a restless, stubborn feeling of alarm spread among them.
This feeling gradually developed itself into bitter resentment; hatred
for the people who were causing this delay was growing deeper and
fiercer with each succeeding day of toil.
Their counsellor, the complacent Enemy, was in no sense immune to the
blandishments of the climate. His tremendous vitality waned; he slowly
drifted into the current with his fellows, although not beside them. For
some unaccountable reason, he held himself aloof from the men and women
that his charges were fighting. He met the two lawyers often, but
nothing passed between them that could have been regarded as the
slightest breach of trust. He lived like a rajah in his shady bungalow,
surrounded by the luxuries of one to whom all things are brought
indivisible. If he had any longing for the society of women of his own
race and kind, he carefully concealed it; his indifference to the subtle
though unmistakable appeals of the two gentlewomen in the château was
irritating in the extreme. When he deliberately, though politely,
declined their invitation to tea one afternoon, their humiliation knew
no bounds. They had, after weeks of procrastination, surrendered to the
inevitable. It was when they could no longer stand out against the
common enemy--Tranquillity! Lord Deppingham and Bobby Browne suffered in
silence; they even looked longingly toward the bungalow for the relief
that it contained and refused to extend.
Lady Deppingham and Mrs. Browne should not be misunderstood by the
reader. They loved their husbands--I am quite sure of that; but they
were tired of seeing no one else, tired of talking to no one else.
Moreover, in support of this one-sided assertion, they experienced from
time to time the most melancholy attacks of jealousy. The drag of time
hung so heavily upon them that any struggle to cast it off was
immediately noticeable. If Mrs. Browne, in plain despair, went off for a
day's ride with Lord Deppingham, that gentleman's wife was sick with
jealousy. If Lady Agnes strolled in the moonlit gardens with Mr. Browne,
the former Miss Bate of Boston could scarcely control her emotions. They
shed many tears of anguish over the faithlessness of husbands; tears of
hatred over the viciousness of temptresses. Their quarrels were fierce,
their upbraidings characteristic, but in the end they cried and kissed
and "made up"; they actually found some joy in creating these little
feuds and certainly there was great exhilaration in ending them.
They did not know, of course, that the wily Britt, despite his own
depression, was all the while accumulating the most astounding lot of
evidence to show that a decided streak of insanity existed in the two
heirs. He won Saunders over to his way of thinking, and that faithful
agent unconsciously found himself constantly on the watch for "signs,"
jotting them down in his memorandum book. Britt was firm in his purpose
to make them out as "mad as March hares" if needs be; he slyly patted
his typewritten "manifestations" and said that it would be easy sailing,
so far as he was concerned. One choice bit of evidence he secured in a
most canny manner. He was present when Miss Pelham, at the bank, was
"taking" a dictation for the Enemy--some matter pertaining to the output
of the mines. Lady Deppingham had just been guilty of a most astounding
piece of foolhardiness, and he was discussing it with the Enemy. She had
forced her horse to leap across a narrow fissure in the volcano the day
before. Falling, she would have gone to her death three hundred feet
below.
"She must be an out and out lunatic," the Enemy had said. Britt looked
quickly at Miss Pelham and Mr. Bowles. The former took down the
statement in shorthand and Bowles was afterward required to sign "his
deposition." Such a statement as that, coming from the source it did,
would be of inestimable value in Court.
"If they could only be married in some way," was Britt's private lament
to Saunders, from time to time, when despair overcame confidence.
"I've got a ripping idea," Saunders said one day.
"Let's have it. You've always got 'em. Why not divide with me?"
"Can't do it just yet. I've been looking up a little matter. I'll spring
it soon."
"How long have you been working on the idea?"
"Nearly four months," said Saunders, yawning.
"'Gad, this climate _is_ enervating," was Britt's caustic comment.
Saunders was heels over head in love with Miss Pelham at this time, so
it is not surprising that he had some sort of an idea about marriage, no
matter whom it concerned.
Night after night, the Deppinghams and Brownes gave dinners, balls,
musicales, "Bridges," masques and theatre suppers at the château. First
one would invite the other to a great ball, then the other would respond
by giving a sumptuous dinner. Their dinners were served with as much
punctiliousness as if the lordliest guests were present; their dancing
parties, while somewhat barren of guests, were never dull for longer
than ten minutes after they opened. Each lady danced twice and then
pleaded a headache. Whereupon the "function" came to a close.
For a while, the two hostesses were not in a position to ask any one
outside their immediate families to these functions, but one day Mrs.
Browne was seized by an inspiration. She announced that she was going to
send regular invitations to all of her friends at home.
"Regular written invitations, with five-cent stamps, my dear," she
explained enthusiastically. "Just like this: 'Mrs. Robert Browne
requests the pleasure of Miss So-and-so's company at dinner on the 17th
of Whatever-it-is. Please reply by return steamer.' Won't it be fun?
Bobby, please send down to the bank for the stamps. I'm going to make
out a list."
After that it was no unusual thing to see large packages of carefully
stamped envelopes going to sea in the ships that came for the mail.
"And I'd like so much to meet these native Americans that you are
asking," said Lady Agnes sweetly, and without malice. "I've always
wondered if the first families over there show any trace of their
wonderful, picturesque Indian blood."
"Our first families came from England, Lady Deppingham," said Drusilla,
biting her lips.
"Indeed? From what part of England?" Of course, that query killed every
chance for a sensible discussion.
One morning during the first week in February, the steamer from Aden
brought stacks of mail--the customary newspapers, magazines, novels,
telegrams and letters. It was noticed that her ladyship had several
hundred letters, many bearing crests or coats-of-arms.
At last, she came to a letter of many pages, covered with a scrawl that
looked preposterously fashionable.
"Nouveau riche," thought Drusilla Browne, looking up from her own
letters. Lady Agnes gave a sudden shriek, and, leaping to her feet,
performed a dance that set her husband and Bobby Browne to gasping.
"She's coming!" she cried ecstatically, repeating herself a dozen times.
"Who's coming, Aggie?" roared her husband for the sixth time.
"She!"
"She may be a steamship for all I know, if--"
"The Princess! Deppy, I'm going to squeeze you! I must squeeze somebody!
Isn't it glorious? Now--now! Now life will be worth living in this
beastly place."
Her dearest friend, the Princess, had written to say that she was coming
to spend a month with her. Her dear schoolmate of the old days in
Paris--her chum of the dear Sacred Heart Convent when it flourished in
the Boulevard des Invalides--her roommate up to the day when that
institution was forced to leave Paris for less unfriendly fields!
"In her uncle's yacht, Deppy--the big one that came to Cowes last year,
don't you know? Of course, you do. Don't look so dazed. He's cruising
for a couple of months and is to set her down here until the yacht
returns from Borneo and the Philippines. She says she hopes it will be
quiet here! Quiet! She _hopes_ it will be _quiet_! Where are the
cigarettes, Deppy? Quick! I must do something devilish. Yes, I know I
swore off last week, but--please let me take 'em." The four of them
smoked in wondrous silence for two or three minutes. Then Browne spoke
up, as if coming from a dream:
"I say, Deppingham, you can take her out walking and pick up a crownful
of fresh rubies every day or so."
"Hang it all, Browne, I'm afraid to pluck a violet these days. Every
time I stoop over I feel that somebody's going to take a shot at me. I
wonder why the beggars select me to shoot at. They're not always popping
away at you, Browne. Why is it? I'm not looking for rubies every time I
stoop over. They shot at me the other day when I got down to pick up my
crop."
"It's all right so long as they don't kill you," was Browne's consoling
remark.
"By Jove!" said Deppingham, starting up with a look of horror in his
eyes, sudden comprehension rushing down upon him. "I wonder if they
think I am _you_, Browne! Horrible!"
CHAPTER XII
WOMEN AND WOMEN
The Enemy's office hours were from three to five in the afternoon. It
was of no especial consequence to his clients that he frequently
transferred the placard from the front of the company's bank to the more
alluring doorway of the "American bar;" all was just and fair so long as
he was to be found where the placard listed. Twice a week, Miss Pelham
came down from the château in a gaily bedecked jinriksha to sit opposite
to him in his stuffy corner of the banking house, his desk between them,
her notebook trembling with propinquity. Mr. Britt generously loaned the
pert lady to the Enemy in exchange for what he catalogued as "happy
days."
Miss Pelham made it a point to look as fascinating as possible on the
occasion of these interesting trips into the Enemy's territory.
The Enemy, doing his duty by his clients with a determination that
seemed incontestable, suffered in the end because of his very
zealousness. He took no time to analyse the personal side of his work;
he dealt with the situation from the aspect of a man who serves but one
interest, forgetting that it involved the weal of a thousand units. For
that reason, he was the last to realise that an intrigue was shaping
itself to combat his endeavours. Von Blitz, openly his friend and ally,
despite their sad encounter, was the thorn which pricked the natives
into a state of uneasiness and doubt as to their agent's sincerity.
Von Blitz, cunning and methodical, sowed the seed of distrust; it
sprouted at will in the minds of the uncouth, suspicious islanders. They
began to believe that no good could come out of the daily meetings of
the three lawyers. A thousand little things cropped out to prove that
the intimacy between their man and the shrewd lawyers for the opposition
was inimical to their best interests.
It was Von Blitz who told the leading men of the island that their
wives--the Persians, the Circassians, the Egyptians and the Turkish
houris--were in love with the tall stranger. It was he who advised them
to observe the actions, to study the moods of their women.
If he spoke to one of the women, beautiful or plain, the whole male
population knew of it, and smiled derisively upon the husband. Von Blitz
had turned an adder loose among these men; it stung swiftly and returned
to sting again.
The German knew the condition of affairs in his own household. His
overthrow at the hands of the American had cost him more than physical
ignominy; his wives openly expressed an admiration for their champion.
He knew too well the voluptuous nature of these creamy, unloved women,
who had come down to the island of Japat in exchange for the baubles
that found their way into the crowns of Persian potentates. He knew too
well that they despised the men who called them wives, even though fear
held them constantly in bond. Rebuffed, unnoticed, scorned, the women
themselves began to suspect and hate each other. If he spoke kindly to
one of them, be she fair and young or old and plain, the eyes of all the
others blazed with jealousy. Every eye in Japat was upon him; every hand
was turning against him.
It was Miss Pelham who finally took it upon herself to warn the lonely
American. The look of surprise and disgust that came into his face
brought her up sharply. She had been "taking" reports at his dictation;
it was during an intermission of idleness on his part that she broached
the subject.
"Miss Pelham," he said coldly, "will you be kind enough to carry my
condolences to the ladies at court, and say that I recommend reading as
an antidote for the poison which idleness produces. I've no doubt that
they, with all the perspicacity of lonely and honest women, imagine that
I maintain a harem as well as a bar-room. Kindly set them right about
it. Neither my home nor my bar-room is open to ladies. If you don't mind
we'll go on with this report."
Miss Pelham flushed and looked very uncomfortable. She had more to say,
and yet hesitated about bearding the lion. He noticed the pain and
uncertainty in her erstwhile coquettish eyes, and was sorry.
"I beg your pardon," he said gently.
"You're wrong about Lady Deppingham and Mrs. Browne," she began
hurriedly. "They've never said anything mean about you. It was just my
miserable way of putting it. The talk comes from the islanders. Mr.
Bowles has told Mr. Britt and Mr. Saunders. He thinks Von Blitz is
working against you, and he is sure that all of the men are furiously
jealous."
"My dear Miss Pelham, you are very good to warn me," said he easily. "I
have nothing to fear. The men are quite friendly and--" He stopped
abruptly, his eyes narrowing in thought. A moment later he arose and
walked to the little window overlooking the square. When he turned to
her again his face wore a more serious expression. "Perhaps there is
something in what you say. I'm grateful to you for preparing me." It had
suddenly come to mind that the night before he had seen a man skulking
in the vicinity of the bungalow. His body servant, Selim, had told him
that very morning that this same man, a native, had stood for hours
among the trees, apparently watching the house.
"I just thought I'd tell you," murmured Miss Pelham nervously, "I--we
don't want to see you get into trouble--none of us."
"Thank you," After a long pause, he went on, lowering his voice: "Miss
Pelham, I have had a hard time here, in more ways than I care to speak
of. It may interest you to know that I had decided to resign next month
and go home. I'm a living man, and a living man objects to a living
death. It's worse than I had thought, I came out here in the hope that
there would be excitement, life, interest. The only excitement I get is
when the ships call twice a month. I've even prayed that our beastly old
volcano might erupt and do all sorts of horrible things. It might, at
least, toss old Mr. Skaggs back into our midst; that would be a relief,
even if he came up as a chunk of lava. But nothing happens--nothing!
These Persian fairies you talk about--bah! I said I'd decided to resign,
to get out of the infernal place. But I've changed my mind. I'll stick
my time out. I've got three months longer to stay and I'll stay. If Von
Blitz thinks he can drive me out, he's mistaken. I'll be here after you
and your friends up there have sailed away, Miss Pelham--God bless you,
you're all white!--and I'll be here when Von Blitz and his wives are
dancing to the tunes I play. Now let's get back to work."
"All right; but please be careful," she urged. "Don't let them catch you
unprepared. If you need help, I know the men at the château will come at
your call."
One of those bright, enveloping smiles swept over his face--the smile
that always carried the little stenographer away with it. A merry
chuckle escaped his lips. "Thanks, but you forget that I can call out
the American and British navies."
She looked doubtful. "I know," she said, "but I'm afraid Von Blitz is
scuttling your ships."
"If poor little Bowles can conquer them with a red jacket that's too
small for him, to say nothing of the fit it would give to the British
army, I think I can scrape up a garment or two that will startle them in
another way. Please don't worry about me. I shall call my clients
together and have it out with them. If Von Blitz is working in the dark,
I'll compel him to show his hand. And, Miss Pelham," he concluded very
slowly, "I'll promise to use a club, if necessary, to drive the Persian
ladies away. So please rest easy on my account."
Poor little Miss Pelham left him soon afterward, her head and heart
ringing with the consciousness that she had at last driven him out of
his customary reserve. Mr. Saunders was pacing the street in the
neighbourhood of the bank. He had been waiting an hour or more, and he
was green with jealousy. She nodded sweetly to him and called him to the
side of her conveyance. "Don't you want to walk beside me?" she asked.
And he trotted beside her like a faithful dog, all the way to the
distant château.
The next morning the town bustled with a new excitement. A trim,
beautiful yacht, flying strange colours, steamed into the little harbour
of Aratat.
She came to anchor much closer in than ships usually ventured, and an
officer put off in the small boat, heading for the pier, which was
already crowded with the native women and children. Every one knew that
the yacht brought the Princess who was to visit her ladyship; nothing
else had been talked of among the women since the word first came down
from the château that she was expected.
The Enemy came down from his bungalow, attracted by the unusual and
inspiring spectacle of a ship at anchor. A line of anxiety marked his
brow. Two figures had watched his windows all night long, sinister
shadows that always met his eye when it penetrated the gloom of the
moonlit forest.
Lord and Lady Deppingham were on the pier before him. Excitement and joy
illumined her face; her eyes were sparkling with anticipation; he could
almost see that she trembled in her eagerness. He came quite close to
them before they saw him. Exhilaration no doubt was responsible for the
very agreeable smile of recognition that she bestowed upon him. Or,
perhaps it was inspired by womanly pity for the man whose loneliness was
even greater and graver than her own. The Enemy could do no less than go
to them with his pleasantest acknowledgment. His rugged face relaxed
into a most charming, winsome smile, half-diffident, half-assured.
He passed among the wives of his clients without so much as a sign of
recognition, coolly indifferent to the admiring glances that sought his
face. The dark, langourous eyes that flashed eager admiration a moment
before now turned sullen with disappointment. He had ignored their
owners; he had avoided them as if they were dust heaps in the path; he
had spurned them as if they were dogs by the roadside. And yet he smiled
upon the Englishwoman, he spoke with her, he admired her! The sharp
intake of breath that swept through the crowd told plainer than words
the story of the angry eyes that followed him to the end of the pier,
where the officer's boat was landing.
"I have heard that you expect a visitor," said the Enemy in his most
agreeable manner. Lady Deppingham had just told him that she had a
friend aboard the yacht.
"Won't you go aboard with us," asked Deppingham, at a loss for anything
better to say. The Enemy shook his head and smiled.
"You are very good, but I believe my place is here," he said, with a
swift, sardonic glance toward his herd of followers. Lady Deppingham
raised her delicate eyebrows and gave him the cool, intimate smile of
comprehension. He flushed. "I am one of the lowly and the despised," he
explained humbly.
"The Princess is to be with me for a month. We expect more sunshine than
ever at the château," ventured her ladyship.
"I sincerely hope you may be disappointed," said he commiseratingly,
fanning himself with his hat. She laughed and understood, but Deppingham
was half way out to the yacht before it became clear to him that the
Enemy hoped literally, not figuratively.
The Enemy sauntered back toward the town, past and through the staring
crowd of women. Here and there in the curious throng the face of a
Persian or an Egyptian stared at him from among the brown Arabians.
There was no sign of love in the glittering eyes of these trafficked
women of Japat. One by one they lifted their veils to their eyes and
slowly faded into the side streets, each seeking the home she despised,
each filled with a hatred for the man who would not feast upon her
beauty.
The man, all unconscious of the new force that was to oppose him from
that hour, saw the English people go aboard. He waited until the owner's
launch was ready to return to the pier with its merry company, and then
slowly wended his way to the "American bar," lonelier than ever before
in his life. He now knew what it was that he had missed more than all
else--Woman!
Britt and Saunders were waiting for him under the awning outside. They
were never permitted to enter, except by the order or invitation of the
Enemy. Selim stood guard and Selim loved the tall American, who could be
and was kind to him.
"Hello," called Britt. "We saw you down there, but couldn't get near. By
ginger, old man, I had no idea your Persians were so beautiful. They are
Oriental gems of--"
"My Persians? What the devil do you mean, Britt? Come in and sit down; I
want to talk to you fellows. See here, this talk about these women has
got to be stopped. It's dangerous for you and it's dangerous for me. It
is so full of peril that I don't care to look at them, handsome as you
say they are. Do you know what I was thinking of as I came over here,
after leaving one of the most charming of women?--your Lady Deppingham.
I was thinking what a wretched famine there is in women. I'm speaking of
women like Lady Deppingham and Mrs. Browne--neither of whom I know and
yet I've known them all my life. The kind of women we love--not the kind
we despise or pity. Don't you see? I'm hungry for the very sight of a
woman."
"You see Miss Pelham often enough," said Saunders surlily. The Enemy was
making a pitcher of lemonade.
"My dear Saunders, you are quite right. I _do_ see Miss Pelham often
enough. In my present frame of mind I'd fall desperately in love with
her if I saw her oftener." Saunders blinked and glared at him through
his pale eyes.
"My word," he said. Then he got up abruptly and stalked out of the room.
Britt laughed immoderately.
"He's a lucky dog," reflected the Enemy. "You see, he loves her,
Britt--he loves little Miss Pelham. Do you know what that means? It
means everything is worth while. Hello! Here he is back! Come in,
Saunders. Here's your lemo!"
Saunders was excited. He stopped in the doorway, but looked over his
shoulder into the street.
"Come along," he exclaimed. "They're going up to the château--the
Princess and her party. My word, she's ripping!" He was off again,
followed more leisurely by the two Americans.
At the corner they stopped to await the procession of palanquins and
jinrikshas, which had started from the pier. The smart English victoria
from the château, drawn by Wyckholme's thoroughbreds, was coming on in
advance of the foot brigade. Half a dozen officers from the yacht, as
many men in civilian flannels, and a small army of servants were being
borne in the palanquins. In the rear seat of the victoria sat Lady
Deppingham and one who evidently was the Princess. Opposite to them sat
two older but no less smart-looking women.
Britt and the Enemy moved over to the open space in front of the mosque.
They stood at the edge of and apart from the crowd of curious Moslems,
who had moved up in advance of the procession.
"A gala day in Aratat," observed the stubby Mr. Britt. "We are to have
the whole party over night up at the château. Perhaps the advent of
strangers may heal the new breach between Mrs. Browne and Lady
Deppingham. They haven't been on speaking terms since day before
yesterday. Did Miss Pelham tell you about it? Well, it seems that Mrs.
Browne thinks that Lady Agnes is carrying on a flirtation with
Browne--Hello! By thunder, old man, she's--she's speaking to you!" He
turned in astonishment to look at his companion's face.
The Enemy was staring, transfixed, at the young woman in white who sat
beside Lady Deppingham. He seemed paralysed for the moment. Then his
helmet came off with a rush; a dazed smile of recognition lighted his
face. The very pretty young woman in the wide hat was leaning forward
and smiling at him, a startled, uncertain look in her eyes. Lady
Deppingham was glancing open-mouthed from one to the other. The Enemy
stood there in the sun, bareheaded, dazed, unbelieving, while the
carriage whirled past and up the street. Both women turned to look back
at him as they rounded the corner into the avenue; both were smiling.
"I must be dreaming," murmured the Enemy.
Britt took him by the arm. "Do you know her?" he asked. The Enemy turned
upon him with a radiant gleam in his once sombre disconsolate eyes.
"Do you think I'd be grinning at her like a damned fool if I didn't? Why
the dickens didn't you tell me that it was the Princess Genevra of
Rapp-Thorberg who was coming?"
"Never thought of it. I didn't know you were interested in princesses,
Chase."
CHAPTER XIII
CHASE PERFORMS A MIRACLE
Hollingsworth Chase now felt that he was on neutral ground with the
Princess Genevra. He could hardly credit his senses. When he left
Rapp-Thorberg in disgrace some months before, his susceptibilities were
in a most thoroughly chastened condition; a cat might look at a king,
but he had forsworn peeping into the secret affairs of princesses.
His strange connection with the Skaggs will case is easily explained.
After leaving Thorberg he went directly to Paris; thence, after ten
days, to London, where he hoped to get on as a staff correspondent for
one of the big dailies. One day at the Savage Club, he listened to a
recital of the amazing conditions which attended the execution of
Skaggs's will. He had shot wild game in South Africa with Sir John
Brodney, chief counsellor for the islanders, and, as luck would have it,
was to lunch with him on the following day at the Savoy.
His soul hungered for excitement, novelty. The next day, when Sir John
suddenly proposed that he go out to Japat as the firm's representative,
he leaped at the chance. There would be no difficulty about certain
little irregularities, such as his nationality and the fact that he was
not a member of the London bar: Sir John stood sponsor for him, and the
islanders would take him on faith.
In truth, Rasula was more than glad to have the services of an American.
He had heard Wyckholme talk of the manner in which civil causes were
conducted and tried in the United States, and he felt that one Yankee on
the scene was worth ten Englishmen at home. Doubtless he got his
impressions of the genus Englishman by observation of the devoted
Bowles.
The good-looking Mr. Chase, writhing under the dread of exposure as an
international jackass, welcomed the opportunity to get as far away from
civilisation as possible. He knew that the Prince Karl story would not
lie dormant. It would be just as well for him if he were where the lash
of ridicule could not reach him, for he was thin-skinned.
We know how and when he came to the island and we have renewed our short
acquaintance with him under peculiar circumstances. It would be sadly
remiss, however, to suppress the information that he could not banish
the fair face of the Princess Genevra from his thoughts during the long
voyage; nor would it be stretching the point to say that his day dreams
were of her as he sat and smoked in his bungalow porch.
Before Chase left London, Sir John Brodney bluntly cautioned him against
the dangers that lurked in Lady Deppingham's eyes.
"She won't leave you a peg to stand on, Chase, if you seek an
encounter," he said. "She's pretty and she's clever, and she's made
fools of better men than you, my boy. I don't say she's a bad lot,
because she's too smart for that. But I will say that a dozen men are in
love with her to-day. I suppose you'll say that she can't help that. I'm
only warning you on the presumption that they don't seem to be able to
help it, either. Remember, my boy, you are going out there to offset,
not to beset, Lady Deppingham."
Chase learned more of the attractive Lady Agnes and her court before he
left England. Common report credited her with being dangerously pretty,
scandalously unwise, eminently virtuous, distractingly adventurous in
the search for pleasure, charmingly unscrupulous in her treatment of
men's hearts, but withal, sufficiently clever to dodge the consequences
of her widespread though gentle iniquities. He was quite prepared to
admire her, and yet equally resolved to avoid her. Something told him
that he was not of the age and valor of St. Anthony. He went out to
Japat with a stern resolution to lead himself not into temptation; to
steer clear of the highway of roses and stick close to the thorny paths
below. Besides, he felt that he deserved some sort of punishment for
looking so high in the Duchy of Rapp-Thorberg.
Not that he was in love with the proud Princess Genevra; he denied that
to himself a hundred times a day as he sat in his bungalow and smoked
the situation over.
He had proved to himself, quite beyond a doubt, that he was not in love,
when, like a bolt from a clear sky, she stepped out of the oblivion into
which he had cast her, to smile upon him without warning. It was most
unfair. Her smile had been one of the most difficult obstacles to
overcome in the effort to return a fair and final verdict.
As he sat in the shade of his bungalow porch on the afternoon of her
arrival, he lamented that every argument he had presented in the cause
of common sense had been knocked into a cocked hat by that electric
smile. Could anything be more miraculous than that she should come to
the unheard-of island of Japat--unless, possibly, that he should be
there when she came? She was there for him to look upon and love and
lose, just as he had dreamed all these months. It mattered little that
she was now the wife of Prince Karl of Brabetz; to him she was still the
Princess Genevra of Rapp-Thorberg.
If he had ever hoped that she might be more to him than an unattainable
divinity, he was not fool enough to imagine that such a hope could be
realised. She was a princess royal, he the slave who stood afar off and
worshipped beyond the barrier of her disdain. In his leather pocketbook
lay the ever-present reminder that she could be no more than a dream to
him. It was the clipping from a Paris newspaper, announcing that the
Princess Genevra was to wed Prince Karl during the Christmas holidays.
He had seen the Christmas holidays come and go with the certain
knowledge in his heart that they had given her to Brabetz as the most
glorious present that man had ever received. If he was tormented by this
thought at the happiest season of the year, his crustiness was
attributed by others to the loneliness of his life on the island. If he
grew leaner and more morose, no one knew that it was due to the passing
of a woman.
Now she was come to the island and, so far as he had been able to see,
there was no sign of the Prince of Brabetz in attendance. The absence of
the little musician set Chase to thinking, then to speculating and, in
the end, to rejoicing. Her uncle by marriage, an English nobleman of
high degree, in gathering his friends for the long cruise, evidently had
left the Prince out of his party, for what reason Chase could not
imagine. To say that the omission was gratifying to the tall American
would be too simple a statement. There is no telling to what heights his
thoughts might have carried him on that sultry afternoon if they had not
been harshly checked by the arrival of a messenger from the château. His
blood leaped with anticipation. Selim brought word that the messenger
was waiting to deliver a note. The Enemy, who shall be called by his
true name hereafter, steadied himself and commanded that the man be
brought forthwith.
Could it be possible--but no! _She_ would not be writing to him. What a
ridiculous thought! Lady Deppingham? Ah, there was the solution! She was
acting as the go-between, she was the intermediary! She and the Princess
had put their cunning heads together--but, alas! His hopes fell flat as
the note was put into his eager hand. It was from Britt.
Still he broke the seal with considerable eagerness. As he perused the
somewhat lengthy message, his disappointment gave way to a no uncertain
form of excitement; with its conclusion, he was on his feet, his eyes
gleaming with enthusiasm.
"By George!" he exclaimed. "What luck! Things are coming my way with a
vengeance. I'll do it this very night, thanks to Britt. And I must not
forget Browne. Ah, what a consolation it is to know that there are
Americans wherever one goes. Selim! Selim!" He was standing as straight
as a corporal and his eyes were glistening with the fire of battle when
Selim came up and forgot to salute, so great was his wonder at the
transformation. "Get word to the men that I want every mother's son of
'em to attend a meeting in the market-place to-night at nine. Very
important, tell 'em. Tell Von Blitz that he's _got_ to be there. I'm
going to show him and my picturesque friend, Rasula, that I am here to
stay. And, Selim, tell that messenger to wait. There's an answer."
Long before nine o'clock the men of Japat began to gather in the market
and trading place. It was evident that they expected and were prepared
for the crisis. Von Blitz and Rasula, who had played second fiddle until
he could stand it no longer, were surprised and somewhat staggered by
the peremptory tone of the call, but could see no chance for the
American to shift his troublesome burden. The subdued, sullen air of the
men who filled the torchlighted market-place brooded ill for any attempt
Chase might make to reconcile them to his peculiar views, no matter how
thoroughly they may have been misunderstood by the people. Explanations
were easy to make, but difficult to establish. Chase could convince
them, no doubt, that he was not guilty of double dealing, but it would
be next to impossible to extinguish the blaze of jealousy that was
consuming the reason of the head men of Japat, skilfully fed by the
tortured Von Blitz and blown upon ceaselessly by the breath of scandal.
Five hundred dark, sinister men were gathered in knots about the square.
They talked in subdued tones and looked from fiery eyes that belied
their outward calm.
Hollingsworth Chase, attended by Selim, came down from his mountain
retreat. He heard the sibilant hiss of the scorned Persians as he passed
among them on the outskirts of the crowd; he observed the threatening
attitude of the men who waited and watched; he saw the white, ugly face
of Von Blitz quivering with triumph; he felt the breath of disaster upon
his cheek. And yet he walked among them without fear, his head erect,
his eyes defiant. He knew that a crisis had come, but he smiled as he
walked up to meet it, with a confidence that was sublime.
The market-place was a large open tract in the extreme west end of the
town, some distance removed from the business street and the pier. On
two sides were the tents of the fruit peddlers and the vegetable
hucksters, negroes who came in from the country with their produce. The
other sides were taken up by the fabric and gewgaw venders, while in the
centre stood the platforms from which the auctioneers offered treasures
from the Occident. Through a break in the foothills, the château was
plainly discernible, the sea being obscured from view by the dense
forest that crowned the cliffs.
Chase made his way boldly to the nearest platform, exchanging bows with
the surprised Von Blitz and the saturnine Rasula, who stood quite near.
The men of Japat slowly drew close in as he mounted the platform, The
gleaming eyes that shone in the light of the torches did not create any
visible sign of uneasiness in the American, even though down in his
heart he trembled. He knew the double chance he was to take. From where
he stood looking out over those bronze faces, he could pick out the
scowling husbands who hated him because their wives hated them. He could
see Ben Ali, the master of two beauties from Teheran and the handsome
dancing girl from Cairo; there was Amriph, who basked erstwhile in the
sunshine of a bargain from Damascus and a seraph from Bagdad, but who
now groped about in the blackness of their contempt; and others, all of
whom felt in their bitter hearts that their misery was due to the
prowess of this gallant figure.
Afar off stood the group of women who had inspired this hatred and
distrust. Behind them, despised and uncountenanced by the Oriental
elect, were crowded the native women, who, down in their hearts, loathed
the usurpers. It was Chase's hope that the husbands of these simple
women would ultimately stand at his side in the fight for supremacy--and
they were vastly in the majority. If he could convince these men that
his dealings with them were honest, Von Blitz could "go hang."
He faced the crowd, knowing that all there were against him. "Von
Blitz!" he called suddenly. The German started and stepped back
involuntarily, as if he had been reprimanded.
"I've called this meeting in order to give you a chance to say to my
face some of the things you are saying behind my back. Thank God, all of
you men understand English. I want you to hear what Von Blitz has to say
in public, and then I want you to hear what I say to him. Incidentally,
you may have something to say for yourselves. In the first place, I want
you all to understand just how I stand in respect to my duties as your
legal representative. Von Blitz and Rasula and others, I hear, have
undertaken to discredit my motives as the agent of your London advisers.
Let me say, right here, that the man who says that I have played you
false in the slightest degree, is a liar--a _damned_ liar, if you prefer
it that way. You have been told that I am selling you out to the lawyers
for the opposition. That is lie number one. You have been led to believe
that I make false reports to your London solicitors. Lie number two. You
have been poisoned with the story that I covet certain women in this
town--too numerous to mention, I believe. That is lie number three. They
are all beautiful, my friends, but I wouldn't have one of 'em as a gift.
"For the past few nights my home has been watched. I want to announce to
you that if I see anybody hanging around the bungalow after to-day, I'm
going to put a bullet through him, just as I would through a dog. Please
bear that in mind. Now, to come down to Von Blitz. You can't drive me
out of this island, old man. You have lied about me ever since I beat
you up that night. You are sacrificing the best interests of these
people in order to gratify a personal spite, in order to wreak a
personal vengeance. Stop! You can talk when I have finished. You have
set spies upon my track. You have told these husbands that their wives
need watching. You have turned them against me and against their wives,
who are as pure and virtuous as the snow which you never see. (God,
forgive me!) All this, my friend, in order to get even with me. I don't
ask you to retract anything you've said. I only intend you to know that
I can crush you as I would a peanut, if you know what that is. You----"
Von Blitz, foaming with rage, broke in: "I suppose you vill call out der
warships! We are not fools! You can fool some of----"
"Now, see here, Von Blitz, I'll show whether I can call out a warship
whenever I need one. I have never intended to ask naval help except in
case of an attack by our enemies up at the château. You can't believe
that I seek to turn those big guns against my own clients--the clients I
came out here to serve with my life's blood if necessary. But, hear me,
you Dutch lobster! I can have a British man-of-war here in ten hours to
take you off this island and hang you from a yard arm on the charge of
conspiracy against the Crown."
Von Blitz and Rasula laughed scornfully and turned to the crowd. The
latter began to harangue his fellows. "This man is a--a--" he began.
"A bluff!" prompted Von Blitz, glaring at his tall accuser.
"A bluff," went on Rasula. "He can do none of these things. Nor can the
Americans at the château. I know that they are liars. They--"
"I'll make you pay for that, Rasula. Your time is short. Men of Japat, I
don't want to serve you unless you trust me--"
A dozen voices cried: "We don't trust you!" "Dog of a Christian! Son of
a snake!" Von Blitz glowed with satisfaction.
"One moment, please! Rasula knows that I came out here to represent Sir
John Brodney. He knows how I am regarded in London. He is jealous
because I have not listened to his chatter. I am not responsible for the
probable delay in settling the estate. If you are not very careful, you
will ruin every hope for success that you may have had in the beginning.
The Crown will take it out of your hands. You've got to show yourselves
worthy of handling the affairs of this company. You can't do it if you
listen to such carrion as Von Blitz and Rasula. Oh, I'm not afraid of
you! I know that you have written to Sir John, Rasula, asking that I be
recalled. He won't recall me, rest assured, unless he throws up the
case. I have his own letters to prove that he is satisfied with my work
out here. I am satisfied that there are enough fair-minded men in this
crowd to protect me. They will stand by me in the end. I call upon--"
But a howl of dissent from the throng brought him up sharply. His face
went white and for a moment he feared the malevolence that stared at him
from all sides. He looked frequently in the direction of the distant
château. An anxious gleam came into his eyes--was it of despair? A
hundred men were shouting, but no one seemed to have the courage to
break over the line that he had drawn. Knives slipped from many sashes;
Von Blitz was screaming with insane laughter, pointing his finger at the
discredited American. While they shouted and cursed, his gaze never left
the cleft in the hills. He did not attempt to cry them down; the effort
would have been in vain. Suddenly a wild, happy light came into his
anxious, searching eyes. He gave a mighty shout and raised his hands,
commanding silence.
Selim, clinging to his side, also had seen the sky-rocket which arose up
from the château and dropped almost instantly into the wall of trees.
There was something in the face and voice of the American that quelled
the riotous disorder.
"You fools!" he shouted, "take warning! I have told you that I would not
turn the guns of England and America against you unless you turned
against me. I am your friend--but, by the great Mohammed you'll pay for
my life with every one of your own if you resort to violence. Listen!
To-day I learned that my life was threatened. I sent a message in the
air to the nearest battleship. There is not an hour in the day or night
that I or the people in the château cannot call upon our governments for
help. My call to-day has been answered, as I knew it would be. There is
always a warship near at hand, my friends. It is for you to say whether
a storm of shot and shell--"
Von Blitz leaped upon a platform and shouted madly: "Fools! Don't
believe him! He cannot bring der ships here! He lies--he lies! He--"
At that moment, a shrill clamour of voices arose in the distance--the
cries of women and children. Chase's heart gave a great bound of joy. He
knew what it meant. The crowd turned to learn the cause of this sudden
disturbance. Across the square, coming from the town, raced the women
and children, gesticulating wildly and screaming with excitement.
Chase pointed his finger at Von Blitz and shouted:
"I can't, eh? There's a British warship standing off the harbour now,
and her guns are trained--"
But he did not complete the astounding, stupefying sentence. The women
were screaming:
"The warship! The warship! Fly! Fly!"
In a second, the entire assemblage was racing furiously, doubtingly, yet
fearfully toward the pier. Von Blitz and Rasula shouted in vain. They
were left with Chase, who smiled triumphantly upon their ghastly faces.
"Gentlemen, they are not deceived. There _is_ a warship out there. You
came near to showing your hand to-night. Now come along with me, and
I'll show my hand to you. Rasula, you'd better draw in your claws.
You're entitled to some consideration. But Von Blitz! Jacob, you are
standing on very thin ice. I can have you shot to-morrow morning."
Von Blitz sputtered and snarled. "It is all a lie! It is a trick!" He
would have drawn his revolver had not Rasula grasped his arm. The native
lawyer dragged him off toward the pier, half-doubting his own senses.
Just outside the harbour, plainly distinguishable in the moonlight, lay
a great cruiser, her searchlights whipping the sky and sea with long
white lashes.
The gaping, awe-struck crowd in the street parted to let Chase pass
through on his way to the bungalow. He was riding one of Wyckholme's
thoroughbreds, a fiery, beautiful grey. His manner was that of a
medieval conqueror. He looked neither to right nor to left, but kept his
eyes straight ahead, ignoring the islanders as completely as if they did
not exist.
"It's more like a Christian Endeavour meeting than it was ten minutes
ago," he was saying to himself, all the time wondering when some
reckless unbeliever would hurl a knife at his back. He gravely winked
his eye in the direction of the château. "Good old Britt!" he muttered
in his exultation.
CHAPTER XIV
THE LANTERN ABOVE
Chase sat for hours on his porch that night, gazing down upon the
château. Lights gleamed in a hundred of its windows. He knew that
revelry held forth in what he was pleased enough to call the feudal
castle, and yet his heart warmed toward the gay people who danced and
sang while he thirsted at the gates.
The bitterness of his own isolation, the ostracism that circumstance had
forced upon him, would have been maddening on this night had not all
rancour been tempered by the glorious achievement in the market-place.
He wondered if the Princess knew what he had dared and what he had
accomplished in the early hours of the night. He wondered if they had
pointed out his solitary light to her--if, now and then, she bestowed a
casual glance upon that twinkling star of his. The porch lantern hung
almost directly above his head.
He was not fool enough to think that he had permanently pulled the wool
over the eyes of the islanders. Sooner or later they would come to know
that he had tricked them, and then--well, he could only shake his head
in dubious contemplation of the hundred things that might happen. He
smiled as he smoked, however, for he looked down upon a world that
thought only of the night at hand.
The château was indeed the home of revelry. The pent-up, struggling
spirits of those who had dwelt therein for months in solitude arose in
the wild stampede for freedom. All petty differences between Lady
Deppingham and Drusilla Browne, and they were quite common now, were
forgotten in the whirlwind of relief that came with the strangers from
the yacht. Mrs. Browne's good-looking eager husband revelled in the
prospect of this delirious night--this almost Arabian night. He was
swept off his feet by the radiant Princess--the Scheherezade of his
boyhood dreams; his blithe heart thumped as it had not done since he was
a boy. The Duchess of N---- and the handsome Marchioness of B---- came
into his tired, hungry life at a moment when it most needed the light.
It was he who fairly dragged Lady Agnes aside and proposed the banquet,
the dance, the concert--everything--and it was he who carried out the
hundred spasmodic instructions that she gave.
Late in the night, long after the dinner and the dance, the tired but
happy company flocked to the picturesque hanging garden for rest and the
last refreshment. Every man was in his ducks or flannels, every woman in
the coolest, the daintiest, the sweetest of frocks. The night was clear
and hot; the drinks were cold.
The hanging garden was a wonderfully constructed open-air plaisance
suspended between the château itself and the great cliff in whose shadow
it stood. The cliff towered at least three hundred feet above the roof
of the spreading château, a veritable stone wall that extended for a
mile or more in either direction. Its crest was covered with trees
beyond which, in all its splendour, rose the grass-covered mountain
peak. Here and there, along the face of this rocky palisade, tiny
streams of water leaked through and came down in a never-ending spray,
leaving the rocks cool and slimy from its touch.
Near the château there was a real waterfall, reminding one in no small
sense of the misty veils at Lauterbrunnen or Giesbach. The swift stream
which obtained life from these falls, big and little, ran along the base
of the cliff for some distance and was then diverted by means of a deep,
artificial channel into an almost complete circuit of the château,
forming the moat. It sped along at the foot of the upper terrace, a wide
torrent that washed between solid walls of masonry which rose to a
height of not less than ten feet on either side. There were two
drawbridges--seldom used but always practicable. One, a handsome example
of bridge building, crossed the current at the terminus of the grand
approach which led up from the park; the other opened the way to the
stables and the servants' quarters at the rear. A small, stationary
bridge crossed the vicious stream immediately below the hanging garden
and led to the ladders by which one ascended to the caverns that ran far
back into the mountain.
Two big, black, irregular holes in the face of the cliff marked the
entrance to these deep, rambling caves, wonderful caverns wrought by the
convulsions of the dead volcano, cracks made by these splintering
earthquakes when the island was new.
The garden hung high between the building and the cliff, swung by a
score of great steel cables. These cables were riveted soundly in the
solid rock of the cliff at one end and fastened as safely to the stone
walls of the château at the other. It swung staunchly from its moorings,
with the constancy of a suspension bridge, and trembled at the slightest
touch.
It was at least a hundred feet square. The floor was covered with a foot
or more of soil in which the rich grass and plants of the tropics
flourished. There were tiny flower beds in the center; baby palms,
patchouli plants and a maze of interlacing vines marked the edges of
this wonderful garden in mid-air. Cool fountains sprayed the air at
either end of the green enclosure: the illusion was complete.
The walls surrounding the garden were three feet high and were intended
to represent the typical English garden wall of brick. To gain access to
the hanging garden, one crossed a narrow bridge, which led from the
second balcony of the château. There was not an hour in the day when
protection from the sun could not be found in this little paradise.
Bobby Browne was holding forth, with his usual exuberance, on the
magnificence of the British navy. The Marquess of B----, uncle to the
Princess, swelled with pride as he sat at the table and tasted his julep
through the ever-obliging straw. The Princess, fanning herself wearily,
leaned back and looked up into the mystic night, the touch of dreamland
caressing her softly. The others--eight or ten men and half as many
women--listened to the American in twice as many moods.
"There she is now, sleeping out there in the harbour, a great, big thing
with the kindest of hearts inside of those steel ribs. Her Majesty's
ship, the _King's Own!_ Think of it! She convoys a private yacht; she
stops off at this beastly island to catch her breath and to see that all
are safe; then she charges off into the horizon like a bird that has no
home. Ah, I tell you, it's wonderful. Samrat, fill the Count's glass
again. May I offer you a cigarette, Princess? By the way, I wonder how
Chase came off with his side show?"
"Saunders tells me that he was near to being butchered, but luck was
with him," said Deppingham. "His ship came home."
"It was a daring trick. I'm glad he pulled it off. He's a man, that
fellow is," said Browne. "See, Princess, away up there in the mountain
is his home. There's a light--see it? He keeps rather late hours, you
see."
"Tell me about him," said the Princess suddenly. She arose and walked to
the vine-covered wall, followed by Bobby Browne.
"I don't know much to tell you," said he. "He's made an enemy or two and
they are trying to drive him out. I'd be rather sorry to see him go.
We've asked him down here, just because we can't bear to think of a
fellow-creature wasting his days in utter loneliness. But he has, so
far, declined with thanks. The islanders are beginning to hate him. They
distrust him, Britt says. Of course, you know why we are here, you--"
"Every one knows, Mr. Browne. You are the most interesting quartette in
the world just now. Every one is wondering how it is going to end. What
a pity you _can't_ marry Lady Agnes."
"Oh, I say!" protested Browne. She laughed merrily.
"But how dull it must be for Mr. Chase! Does he complain?"
"I can't say that he does. Britt--that's my lawyer--Britt says he's
never heard a murmur from him. He takes his medicine with a smile. I
like that sort of a fellow and I wish he'd be a little more friendly. It
couldn't interfere with his duties and I don't see where the harm would
come in for any of us."
"He has learned to know and keep his place," said she coolly. Perhaps
she was thinking of his last night in the palace garden. Away up there
in the darkness gleamed his single, lonely, pathetic little light.
"Isn't it rather odd, Mr. Browne, that his light should be burning at
two o'clock in the morning? Is it his custom to sit up--"
"I've never noticed it before, now you speak of it. I hope nothing
serious has happened to him. He may have been injured in--I say, if you
don't mind, I'll ask some one to telephone up to his place. It would be
beastly to let him lie up there alone if we can be of any service to--"
"Yes, do telephone," she broke in. "I am sure Lady Deppingham will
approve. No, thank you; I will stand here a while. It is cool and I love
the stars." He hurried off to the telephone, more eager than ever, now
that she had started the new thought in his brain. Five minutes later he
returned to her, accompanied by Lady Agnes. She was still looking
at--the stars? The little light among the trees could easily have been
mistaken for a star.
"Lady Deppingham called him up," said Bobby.
"And he answered in person," said her ladyship. "He seemed strangely
agitated for a moment or two, Genevra, and then he laughed--yes, laughed
in my face, although it was such a long way off. People can do what they
like over the telephone, my dear. I asked him if he was ill, or had been
hurt. He said he never felt better in his life and hadn't a scratch. He
laughed--I suppose to show me that he was all right. Then he said he was
much obliged to me for calling him up. He'd quite forgotten to go to
bed. He asked me to thank you for bringing a warship. You saved his
life. Really, one would think you were quite a heroine--or a Godsend or
something like that. I never heard anything sweeter than the way he said
good-night to me. There!"
The light in the bungalow bobbed mysteriously for an instant and then
went out.
"How far is it from here?" asked the Princess abruptly.
"Nearly two miles as the crow flies--only there are no crows here. Five
miles by the road, I fancy, isn't it, Bobby? I call him Bobby, you know,
when we are all on good terms. I don't see why I shouldn't if you stop
to think how near to being married to each other we are at this very
instant."
"I wonder if help could reach him quickly in the event of an attack?"
"It could, if he'd have the kindness to notify us by 'phone," said
Browne.
"But he wouldn't telephone to us," said Lady Deppingham ruefully. "He's
not so communicative as that."
"Surely he would call upon you for help if he----"
"You don't know him, Genevra."
The Princess smiled in a vague sort of way. "I've met him quite
informally, if you remember."
"I should say it was informally. It's the most delicious story I've ever
heard. You must tell it to Mr. Browne, dear. It's all about the Enemy in
Thorberg, Mr. Browne. There's your wife calling, Bobby. She wants you to
tell that story again, about the bishop who rang the door bell."
The next morning the captain of the _King's Own_ came ashore and was
taken to the château for dejeuner. Late in the afternoon, the Marquess
and his party, saying farewell to the Princess and the revived legatees,
put out to the yacht and steamed away in the wake of the great warship.
The yacht was to return in a month, to pick up the Princess.
Genevra, her maids, her men and her boxes, her poodle and her dachshund,
were left behind for the month of March. Not without misgiving, it must
be said, for the Marquess, her uncle, was not disposed to look upon the
island situation as a spot of long-continued peace, even though its
hereditary companion, Prosperity, might reign steadily. But she refused
to listen to their warnings. She smiled securely and said she had come
to visit Lady Agnes and she would not now disappoint her for the world.
All this, and much more, passed between them.
"You won't be able to get help as cleverly and as timely as that
American chap got it last night," protested the Marquess. "Warships
don't browse around like gulls, you know. Karl will never forgive me if
I leave you here----"
"Karl is of a very forgiving nature, uncle, dear," said Genevra sweetly.
"He forgave you for defending Mr. Chase, because you are such a nice
Englishman. I've induced him to forgive Mr. Chase because he's such a
nice American-although Mr. Chase doesn't seem to know it-and I'm quite
sure Karl would shake his hand if he should come upon him anywhere.
Leave Karl to me, uncle."
"And leave you to the cannibals, or whatever they are. I can't think of
it! It's out of the--"
"Take him away, Aunt Gretchen. 'And come again some other day,'" she
sang blithely.
And so they sailed away without her, just as she had intended from the
beginning. Lord Deppingham stood beside her on the pier as the shore
party waved its adieus to the yacht.
"By Jove, Genevra, I hope no harm comes to you here in this beastly
place," said he, a look of anxiety in his honest eyes. "There goes our
salvation, if any rumpus should come up. We can't call 'em out of the
sky as Chase did last night. Lucky beggar! That fellow Chase is ripping,
by Jove. That's what he is. I wish he'd open up his heart a bit and ask
us into that devilish American bar of his."
"He owes us something for the warship we delivered to him last night,"
said Bobby. "He has made good with his warship story, after all, thanks
to the _King's Own_ and Britt."
"And the fairy Princess," added Lady Deppingham.
"I am doubly glad I came, if you include me in the miracle," said
Genevra, shuddering a little as she looked at the lounging natives.
"Isn't it rather more of a miracle that I should come upon mine ancient
champion in this unheard-of corner of the globe?"
"I'd like to hear the story of Chase and his Adventures in the Queen's
Garden," reminded Bobby Browne.
"I'll tell it to you to-night, my children," said the Princess, as they
started for the palanquins.
Hollingsworth Chase dodged into the American bar just in time to escape
the charge of spying.
CHAPTER XV
MR. SAUNDERS HAS A PLAN
Miss Pelham's affair with Thomas Saunders by this time had reached the
stage where observers feel a hesitancy about twitting the parties most
concerned. Even Britt, the bravest jester of them all, succumbed to the
prevailing wind when he saw how it blew. He got in the lee of popular
opinion and reefed the sails of the good ship _Tantalus_.
"Let true love take its course," he remarked to Bobby Browne one day,
after they had hearkened to Deppingham's furious complaint that he
couldn't find Saunders when he wanted him if he happened to be wanted
simultaneously by Miss Pelham. "Miss Pelham is a fine girl. Your wife
likes her and looks after her. She's a clever girl, much cleverer than
Saunders would be if he were a girl. She's found out that he earns a
thousand a year and that his mother is a very old woman. That shows
foresight. She says she's just crazy about London, although she doesn't
know where Hammersmith is. That shows discretion. She's anxious to see
the boats at Putney and talks like an encyclopaedia about Kew Gardens.
That shows diplomacy. You see, Saunders lives in Hammersmith, not far
from the bridge, all alone with his mother, who owns the house and
garden. It's all very appealing to Miss Pelham, who has got devilish
tired of seeing the universe from a nineteenth story in Broadway. I
heard her tell Saunders that she keeps a couple of geranium pots on the
window sill near which she sits all day. She says she's keen about
garden flowers. Looks serious to me."
"She's a very nice girl," agreed Bobby Browne.
"A very saucy one," added Deppingham, who had come a severe cropper in
his single attempt to interest her in a mild flirtation.
"She's off with Saunders now," went on Britt. "That's why you can't find
him, my lord. If you really want him, however, I think you can reach him
by strolling through the lower end of the park and shouting. For
heaven's sake, don't fail to shout."
"I _do_ want him, confound him. I want to ask him how many days there
are left before our time is up on the island. Demmed annoying, that I
can't have legal advice when I--"
"How many days have you been here?"
"How the devil should I know? That's what we've got Saunders here for.
He's supposed to tell us when to go home, and all that sort of thing,
you know."
"It isn't going to be so bad, now that the Princess has come to cheer us
up a bit," put in Bobby Browne. "Life has a new aspect."
"I say, Browne," burst out Deppingham, irrelevantly, his eyeglass
clenched in the tight grasp of a perplexed frown, "would you mind
telling me that story about the bishop and the door bell again?"
Britt laughed hoarsely, his chubby figure shivering with emotion.
"You've heard that story ten times, to my certain knowledge,
Deppingham."
His lordship glared at him. "See here, Britt, you'll oblige me by--"
"Very well," interrupted Britt readily. "I forget once in a while."
"The trouble with you Americans is this," growled Deppingham, turning to
Browne and speaking as if Britt was not in existence: "you have no
dividing line. 'Gad, you wouldn't catch Saunders sticking his nose in
where he wasn't wanted. He's--"
"I was under the impression that you wanted him," interrupted Britt,
most good-naturedly, his stubby legs far apart, his hands in his
pockets.
"I say, Browne, would you mind coming into my room? I want to hear that
story, but I'm hanged if I'll listen to it out here."
The oft-told story of the bishop and the bell, of course, has no bearing
upon the affairs of Miss Pelham and Thomas Saunders. And, for that
matter, the small affairs of that worthy couple have little or no
bearing upon the chief issue involved in this tale. Nobody cares a rap
whether Saunders, middle-aged and unheroic bachelor, with his precise
little "burnsides," won the heart of the pert Miss Pelham, precise in
character if not always so in type. It is of no serious consequence that
she kept him from calling her Minnie until the psychological moment, and
it really doesn't matter that Thomas was days in advancing to the
moment. It is only necessary to break in upon them occasionally for the
purpose of securing legal advice, or the equally unromantic desire to
have a bit of typewriting done. We are not alone in this heartless and
uncharitable obtrusion. Deppingham, phlegmatic soul, was forever
disturbing Saunders with calls to duty, although Saunders was brutish
enough, in his British way, to maintain (in confidence, of course) that
he was in the employ of Lady Deppingham, or no one at all. Nevertheless,
he always lived under the shadow of duty. At any moment, his lordship
was liable to send for him to ask the time of day--or some equally
important question. And this brings us to the hour when Saunders
unfolded his startling solution to the problem that confronted them all.
First, he confided in Britt, soberly, sagely and in perfect good faith.
Britt was bowled over. He stared at Saunders and gasped. Nearly two
minutes elapsed before he could find words to reply; which proves
conclusively that it must have been something of a shock to him. When at
last he did express himself, however, there was nothing that could have
been left unsaid--absolutely nothing. He went so far as to call Saunders
a doddering fool and a great many other things that Saunders had not in
the least expected.
The Englishman was stubborn. They had it back and forth, from legal and
other points of view, and finally Britt gave in to his colleague,
reserving the right to laugh when it was all over. Saunders, with a
determination that surprised even himself, called for a conference of
all parties in Wyckholme's study, at four o'clock.
It was nearly six before Lady Deppingham arrived, although she had but
forty steps to traverse. Mr. and Mrs. Browne were there fully half an
hour earlier. Deppingham appeared at four and then went away. He was
discovered asleep in the hanging garden, however, and at once joined the
others. Miss Pelham was present with her note book. The Princess was
invited by Lady Deppingham, who held no secrets from her, but the royal
young lady preferred to go out walking with her dogs. Pong, the red
cocker, attended the session and twice snarled at Mr. Saunders, for no
other reason than that it is a dog's prerogative to snarl when and at
whom he chooses.
"Now, what's it all about, Saunders?" demanded Deppingham, with a wide
yawn. Saunders looked hurt.
"It is high time we were discussing some way out of our difficulties,"
he said. "Under ordinary circumstances, my lady, I should not have
called into joint consultation those whom I may be pardoned for
designating as our hereditary foes. Especially Mr. Browne. But, as my
plan to overcome the obstacle which has always stood in our way requires
the co-operation of Mr. Browne, I felt safe in asking him to be present.
Mrs. Browne's conjugal interest is also worthy of consideration." Mrs.
Browne sniffed perceptibly and stared at the speaker. "But five weeks
remain before our stay is over. We all know, by this time, that there is
little or no likelihood of the estate being closed on schedule time. I
think it is clear, from the advices we have, that the estate will be
tied up in the courts for some time to come, possibly a year or two.
From authoritative sources, we learn that the will is to be broken. The
apparent impossibility of marriage between Lady Deppingham and Mr.
Browne naturally throws our joint cause into jeopardy. There would be no
controversy, of course, if the terms of the will could be carried out in
that respect. The islanders understand our position and seem secure in
their rights. They imagine that they have us beaten on the face of
things. Consequently they are jolly well upset by the news that we are
to contest the will in the home courts. They are, from what I hear and
observe, pretty thoroughly angered. Now, the thing for us to do is to
get married."
He came to this conclusion with startling abruptness. Four of his
hearers stared at him in blank amazement.
"Get married?" murmured first one, then another.
"Are you crazy?" demanded Browne. Britt was grinning broadly.
"Certainly not!" snapped Saunders.
"Oh, by Jove!" exclaimed Deppingham, relieved. "I see. You mean _you_
contemplate getting married. I congratulate you. You gave me quite a
shock, Saund--"
"I don't mean anything of the sort, my lord," said Saunders getting very
red in the face. Miss Pelham looked up from her note book quickly. He
winked at her, and her ladyship saw him do it. "I mean that it is high
time that Lady Deppingham and Mr. Browne were getting married. We
haven't much time to spare. It--"
"Good Lord!" gasped Bobby Browne. "You _are_ crazy, after all."
"Open the window and give some air," said Britt coolly.
"See here, Saunders, what the devil is the matter with you?" roared
Deppingham.
"My lord, I am here to act as your legal adviser," said Saunders with
dignity. "May I be permitted to proceed?"
"Rather queer legal advice, 'pon my word."
"Please let him explain," put in Mrs. Browne, whose sense of humour was
strongly attracted by this time. "If there is anything more to be
learned concerning matrimony, I'd like to know it."
"Yes, Mr. Saunders, you may proceed," said Lady Agnes, passing a hand
over her bewildered eyes.
"Thank you, my lady. Well, here it is in a nutshell: I have not spoken
of it before, but you and Mr. Browne can very easily comply with the
provisions of the will. You can be married at any time. Now, I--"
"And where do I come in?" demanded Deppingham, sarcastically.
"Yes, and I?" added Mrs. Browne. "You forget us, Mr. Saunders."
"I include Mrs. Browne," amended Deppingham. "Are we to be assassinated?
By Jove, clever idea of yours, Saunders. Simplifies matters
tremendously."
"I hear no objection from the heirs," remarked Saunders, meaningly.
Whereupon Lady Agnes and Bobby came out of their stupor and protested
vigorously.
"Miss Pelham," said Britt, breaking in sharply, "I trust you are getting
all of this down. I wish to warn you, ladies and gentlemen, that _I_
expect to overthrow the will on the ground that there is insanity on
both sides. You'll oblige me by uttering just what you feel."
"Why, this is perfectly ridiculous," cried Lady Agnes. "Our souls are
not our own."
"Your minds are the only things I am interested in," said Britt calmly.
"My plan is very simple--" began Saunders helplessly.
"Demmed simple," growled Deppingham.
"We are living on an island where polygamy is practised and tolerated.
Why can't we take advantage of the custom and beat the natives at their
own game? That's the ticket!"
Of course, this proposition, simple as it sounded, brought forth a storm
of laughter and expostulation, but Saunders held his ground. He listened
to a dozen jeering remarks in patient dignity, and then got the floor
once more.
"You have only to embrace Mohammedanism or Paganism, or whatever it is,
temporarily. Just long enough to get married and comply with the terms.
Then, I daresay, you could resume your Christian doctrine once more,
after a few weeks, I'd say, and the case is won."
"I pay Lady Deppingham the compliment by saying that it would be most
difficult for me to become a Christian again," said Browne smoothly,
bowing to the flushed Englishwoman.
"How very sweet of you," she said, with a grimace which made Drusilla
shiver with annoyance.
"You don't need to live together, of course," floundered Saunders,
getting rather beyond his depth.
"Well, that's a concession on your part," said Mrs. Browne, a flash in
her eye.
"I never heard of such an asinine proposition," sputtered Deppingham.
Saunders went completely under at that.
"On the other hand," he hastened to remark, "I'm sure it would be quite
legal if you did live to----"
"Stop him, for heaven's sake," screamed Lady Agnes, bursting into
uncontrollable laughter.
"Stop him? Why?" demanded her husband, suddenly seeing what he regarded
as a rare joke. "Let's hear him out. By Jove, there's more to it than I
thought. Go on, Saunders."
"Of course, if you are going to be nasty about it--" began Saunders in a
huff.
"I can't see anything nasty about it," said Browne. "I'll admit that our
wife and our husband may decide to be stubborn and unreasonable, but it
sounds rather attractive to me."
"Robert!" from his wife.
"He's only joking, Mrs. Browne," explained Deppingham magnanimously.
"Now, let me understand you, Saunders. You say they can be married
according to the customs--which, I take it, are the laws--of the
islanders. Wouldn't they be remanded for bigamy sooner or later?"
"They don't bother the Mormons, do they, Mr. Browne?" asked Saunders
triumphantly. "Well, who is going to object among us?"
"I am!" exclaimed Deppingham. "Your plan provides Browne with two
charming wives and gives me but one. There's nothing to compel Mrs.
Browne to marry me."
"But, my lord," said Saunders, "doesn't the plan give Lady Deppingham
two husbands? It's quite a fair division."
"It would make Lord Deppingham my husband-in-law, I imagine," said
Drusilla quaintly. "I've always had a horror of husbands-in-law."
"And you would be my wife-in-law," supplemented Lady Agnes. "How
interesting!"
"Saunders," said Deppingham soberly, "I must oppose your plan. It's
quite unfair to two innocent and uninvolved parties. What have we done
that we should be exempt from polygamy?"
"You are not exempt," exclaimed the harassed solicitor. "You are merely
not _obliged_ to, that's all. You can do as you choose about it, I'm
sure. I'm sorry my plan causes so much levity. It is meant for the good
of our cause. The will doesn't say how many wives Mr. Browne shall have.
It simply says that Agnes Ruthven shall be his wife. He isn't
restricted, you know. He can be a polygamist if he likes. I ask Mr.
Britt if there is anything in the document which specifically says he
shall _not_ have more than one wife. Polygamy is quite legal in the
United States, and he is an American citizen. I read about a Mormon chap
marrying a whole Sunday-school class not long ago."
"You're right," said Britt. "The will doesn't specify. But, my dear
Saunders, you are overlooking your own client in this plan."
"I don't quite understand, Mr. Britt."
"As I understand the laws on this island--the church laws at least--a
man can have as many wives as he likes. Well, that's all very well for
Mr. Browne. But isn't it also a fact that a woman can have no more than
one husband? Lady Deppingham has one husband. She can't take another
without first getting rid of this one."
"And, I say, Saunders," added Deppingham, "the native way of disposing
of husbands is rather trying, I've heard. Six or seven jabs with a long
knife is the most approved way, isn't it, Britt?"
"Imagine Lady Deppingham going to the altar all covered with gore!" said
Britt.
"Saunders," said Deppingham, arising and lighting a fresh cigarette,
"you have gone clean daft. You're loony with love. You've got marriage
on the brain. I'd advise you to take some one for it,"
"Do you mean that for me. Lord Deppingham?" demanded Miss Pelham
sharply. She glared at him and then slammed her note book on the table.
"You can josh Mr. Saunders, but you can't josh me. I'm sick of this job.
Get somebody else to do your work after this. I'm through."
"Oh!" exclaimed every one in a panic. It took nearly ten minutes to
pacify the ruffled stenographer. She finally resumed her place at the
table, but her chin was in the air and she turned the pages with a
vehemence that left nothing to the imagination.
"I can arrange everything, my lady, so that the ceremony will be
regular," pleaded the unhappy Saunders. "You have only to go through the
form--"
"But what kind of a form does she follow in stabbing me to mincemeat?
That's the main law point," said Deppingham. "You seem to forget that I
am still alive."
"Perhaps we could arrange for a divorce all round," cried Saunders,
suddenly inspired.
"On what grounds?" laughed Browne.
"Give me time," said the lawyer.
"It's barely possible that there is no divorce law in Japat," remarked
Britt, keenly enjoying his confrère's misery.
"Are you quite sure?"
"Reasonably. If there was such a law, I'll bet my head two-thirds of the
men in Aratat would be getting rid of wives before night."
Britt, after this remark, sat very still and thoughtful. He was turning
over the divorce idea in his mind. He had ridiculed the polygamy scheme,
but the divorce proposition might be managed.
"I'm tired," said Lady Deppingham suddenly. She yawned and stretched her
arms. "It's been very entertaining, Saunders, but, really, I think we'd
better dress for dinner. Come, Mr. Browne, shall we look for the
Princess?"
"With pleasure, if you'll promise to spare Deppingham's life."
"On condition that you will spare Deppingham's wife," very prettily and
airily. Mrs. Browne laughed with amazing good grace, but there was a new
expression in her eyes.
"Your ladyship," called Saunders desperately, "do you approve of my
plan? It's only a subterfuge--"
"Heartily!" she exclaimed, with one of her rarest laughs. "The only
objection that I can see to it is that it leaves out my husband and Mrs.
Browne. They are very nice people, Saunders, and you should be more
considerate of them. Come, Mr. Browne." She took the American's arm and
gaily danced from the room. Lord Deppingham's eyes glowed with pride in
his charming wife as he followed with the heartsick Drusilla. Britt
sauntered slowly out and down the stairway, glancing back but once at
the undone Saunders.
"I would have won them over if Britt had not interfered," almost wailed
little Mr. Saunders, his eyes glazed with mortification.
"I'm getting to hate that man," said Miss Pelham loyally. "And the
others! They give me a pain! Don't mind them, Tommy, dear."
Lady Deppingham and Browne came upon the Princess quite unexpectedly.
She was in the upper gallery, leaning against the stone rail and gazing
steadily through the field glasses in the direction of the bungalow.
They held back and watched her, unseen. The soft light of early evening
fell upon her figure as she stood erect, lithe and sinuous in the open
space between the ivy-clad posts; her face and hands were soft tinted by
the glow from the reflecting east, her hair was like a bronze relief
against the dark green of the mountain. She was dressed in white--a
modish gown of rich Irish lace. One instantly likened this rare young
creature to a rare old painting.
Genevra smiled securely in her supposed aloofness from the world. Then,
suddenly moved by a strange impulse, she gently waved her handkerchief,
as if in greeting to some one far off in the gloaming. The action was a
mischievous one, no doubt, and it had its consequences--rather sudden
and startling, if the observers were to judge by her subsequent
movements. She lowered the glass instantly; there was a quick catch in
her breath--as if a laugh had been checked; confusion swept over her,
and she drew back into the shadows as a guilty child might have done.
They distinctly heard her murmur as she crossed the flags and
disappeared through the French window, without seeing them:
"Oh, dear, what a crazy thing to do!"
Genevra, peering through the glasses, had discovered the figure of Chase
on the bungalow porch. She was amused to find that he, from his distant
post, was also regarding the château through a pair of glasses. A spirit
of adventure, risk, mischief, as uncontrolled as breath itself, impelled
her to flaunt her handkerchief. That treacherous spirit deserted her
most shamelessly when her startled eyes saw that he was waving a
response. She laid awake for a long time that night wondering what he
would think of her for that wretched bit of frivolity. Then at last a
new thought came to her relief, but it did not give her the peace of
mind that she desired.
He may have mistaken her for Lady Deppingham.
CHAPTER XVI
TWO CALLS FROM THE ENEMY
Deppingham was up and about quite early the next morning--that is, quite
early for him. He had his rolls and coffee and strolled out in the shady
park for a smoke. The Princess, whose sense of humiliation had not been
lessened by the fitful sleep of the night before, was walking in the
shade of the trees on the lower terrace, beyond the fountains and the
artificial lake. A great straw hat, borrowed from Lady Agnes, shaded her
face from the glare of the mid-morning sun. Farther up the slope, one of
the maids was playing with the dogs. She waved her hand gaily and paused
to wait for him.
"I was thinking of you," she said in greeting, as he came up.
"How nice you are," he said. "But, my dear, is it wise in you to be
thinking of us handsome devils? It's a most dangerous habit--thinking of
other men."
"But, Deppy, dear, the Prince isn't here," she said, falling into his
humour. "That makes quite a difference, doesn't it?"
"Your logic is splendid. Pray resume your thoughts of me--if they were
pleasant and agreeable. I'll not blow on you to Karl."
"I was just thinking what a lucky fellow you are to have such a darling
as Agnes for a wife."
"You might as well say that Agnes ought to feel set up because Pong has
a nice coat. By the way, I have a compliment for you--no, not one of
their beastly trade-lasts! Browne says your hair is more beautiful than
Pong's. That's quite a compliment, Titian never even dreamed of hair
like Pong's."
"You know, Deppy," she said with a pout, "I am very unhappy about my
hair. It is quite red. I don't see why I should have hair like that of a
red cocker. It seems so animalish."
"Rubbish! Why should you complain? Look at my hair. It's been likened
more than once to that of a jersey cow."
"Oh, how I adore jersey cows! Now, I wouldn't mind that a bit."
They were looking toward the lower gates while carrying on this
frivolous conversation. A man had just entered and was coming toward
them. Both recognised the tall figure in grey flannels. Deppingham's
emotion was that of undisguised amazement; Genevra's that of confusion
and embarrassment. She barely had recovered her lost composure when the
newcomer was close upon them.
There was nothing in the manner of Chase, however, to cause the
slightest feeling of uneasiness. He was frankness itself. His smile was
one of apology, almost of entreaty; his broad grass helmet was in his
hand and his bow was one of utmost deference.
"I trust I am not intruding," he said as he came up. His gaze was as
much for Deppingham as for the Princess, his remark quite impersonal.
"Not at all, not at all," said Deppingham quickly, his heart leaping to
the conclusion that the way to the American bar was likely to be opened
at last. "Charmed to have you here, Mr. Chase. You've been most
unneighbourly. Have you been presented to her Highness, the--Oh, to be
sure. Of course you have. Stupid of me."
"We met ages ago," she said with an ingenuous smile, which would have
disarmed Chase if he had been prepared for anything else. As a matter of
fact, he had approached her in the light of an adventurer who expects
nothing and grasps at straws.
"In the dark ages," said he so ruefully that her smile grew. He had
come, in truth, to ascertain why her husband had not come with her.
"But not the forgotten variety, I fancy," said Deppingham shrewdly.
"It would be impossible for the Princess to forget the greatest of all
fools," said Chase.
"He was no worse than other mortals," said she.
"Thank you," said Chase. Then he turned to Lord Deppingham. "My visit
requires some explanation, Lord Deppingham. You have said that I am
unneighbourly. No doubt you appreciate my reasons. One has to respect
appearances," with a dry smile. "When one is in doubt he must do as the
Moslems do, especially if the Moslems don't want him to do as he wants
to do."
"No doubt you're right, but it sounds a bit involved," murmured
Deppingham. "Now that you are here you must do as the Moslems don't.
That's our Golden Rule. We'll consider the visit explained, but not
curtailed. Lady Deppingham will be delighted to see you. Are you ready
to come in, Princess?"
They started toward the château, keeping well in the shade of the boxed
trees, the Princess between the two men.
"I say, Chase, do you mind relieving my fears a bit? With all due
respect to your estimable clients, it occurs to me that they are likely
to break over the traces at any moment, and raise the very old Harry at
somebody else's expense. I'd like to know if my head is really safe.
Since your experience the other night, I'm a bit apprehensive."
"I came to see you in regard to that very thing, Lord Deppingham. I
don't want to alarm you, but I do not like the appearance of things.
They don't trust me and they hate you--quite naturally. I'm rather sorry
that our British man-of-war is out of reach. Pray, don't be alarmed,
Princess. It is most improbable that anything evil will happen. And, in
any event, we can hold out against them until relief comes."
"We?" demanded Deppingham.
"Certainly. If it comes to an assault of any kind upon the château, I
trust that I may be considered as one of you. I won't serve assassins
and bandits--at least, not after they've got beyond my control. Besides,
if the worst should come, they won't discriminate in my favour."
"Why do you stay here, Mr. Chase?" asked the Princess. "You admit that
they do not like you or trust you. Why do you stay?"
"I came out here to escape certain consequences," said he candidly.
"I'll stay to enjoy the uncertain ones. I am not in the least alarmed on
my own account. The object of my visit, Lord Deppingham, is to ask you
to be on your guard up here. After the next steamer arrives, and they
learn that Sir John will not withdraw me in submission to Rasula's
demand, with the additional news that your solicitors have filed
injunctions and have begun a bitter contest that may tie up the estate
for years--then, I say, we may have trouble. It is best that you should
know what to expect. I am not a traitor to my cause, in telling you
this; it is no more than I would expect from you were the conditions
reversed. Moreover, I do not forget that you gave me the man-of-war
opportunity. That was rather good fun."
"It's mighty decent in you, Chase, to put us on our guard. Would you
mind talking it over with Browne and me after luncheon? You'll stay to
luncheon, of course?"
"Thank you. It may be my death sentence, but I'll stay."
In the wide east gallery they saw Lady Deppingham and Bobby Browne,
deeply engrossed in conversation. They were seated in the shade of the
wisteria, and the two were close upon them before they heard their
voices. Deppingham started and involuntarily allowed his hand to go to
his temple, as if to check the thought that flitted through his brain.
"Good Lord," he said to himself, "is it possible that they are
considering that demmed Saunders's proposition? Surely they can't be
thinking of that!"
As he led the way across the green, Browne's voice came to them
distinctly. He was saying earnestly:
"The mere fact that we have come out to this blessed isle is a point in
favour of the islanders. Chase won't overlook it and you may be sure Sir
John Brodney is making the most of it. Our coming is a guarantee that we
consider the will valid. It is an admission that we regard it as sound.
If not, why should we recognise its provisions, even in the slightest
detail? Britt is looking for hallucinations and all--"
"Sh!" came in a loud hiss from somewhere near at hand, and the two in
the gallery looked down with startled eyes upon the distressed face of
Lord Deppingham. They started to their feet at once, astonishment and
wonder in their faces. They could scarcely believe their eyes. The
Enemy!
He was smiling broadly as he lifted his helmet, smiling in spite of the
discomfort that showed so plainly in Deppingham's manner.
Chase was warmly welcomed by the two heirs. Lady Agnes was especially
cordial. Her eyes gleamed joyously as she lifted them to meet his
admiring gaze. She was amazingly pretty. The conviction that Chase had
mistaken her for Lady Agnes, the evening before, took a fresh grasp upon
the mind of the Princess Genevra. A shameless wave of relief surged
through her heart.
Chase was presented to Drusilla Browne, who appeared suddenly upon the
scene, coming from no one knew where. There was a certain strained look
in the Boston woman's face and a suspicious redness near the bridge of
her little nose. As she had not yet acquired the Boston habit of wearing
glasses, whether she needed them or not, the irritation could hardly be
attributed to tight _pince nez_. Genevra made up her mind on the instant
that Drusilla was making herself unhappy over her good-looking husband's
attentions to his co-legatee.
"It's very good of you," said the Enemy, after all of them had joined in
the invitation. There was a peculiar twinkle in his eye as he asked this
rather confounding question: "Why is it that I am more fortunate than
your own attorneys? I am but a humble lawyer, after all, no better than
they. Would you mind telling me why I am honoured by an invitation to
sit at the table with you?" The touch of easy sarcasm was softened by
the frank smile that went with it. Deppingham, having been the first to
offend, after a look of dismay at his wife, felt it his duty to explain.
"It's--it's--er--oh, yes, it's because you're a diplomat," he finally
remarked in triumph. It was a grand recovery, thought he. "Saunders is
an ass and Britt would be one if Browne could only admit it, as I do.
Rubbish! Don't let that trouble you. Eh, Browne?"
"Besides," said Bobby Browne breezily, "I haven't heard of your clients
inviting _you_ to lunch, Mr. Chase. The cases are parallel."
"I'm not so sure about his clients' wives," said Deppingham, with a vast
haw-haw! Chase looked extremely uncomfortable.
"I am told that some of them are very beautiful," said Genevra sedately.
"Other men's wives always are, I've discovered," said Chase gallantly.
The party had moved over to the great stone steps which led down into
the gardens. Chase was standing beside Lady Deppingham and both of them
were looking toward his distant bungalow. He turned to the Princess with
the remark:
"That is my home. Princess. It is the first time I have seen it from
your point of view, Lady Deppingham. I must say that it doesn't seem as
far from the château to the bungalow as it does from the bungalow to the
château. There have been times when the château seemed to be thousands
of miles away."
"When in reality it was at your very feet," she said with a bright look
into his eyes. For some unaccountable reason, Genevra resented that look
and speech. Perhaps it was because she felt the rift of an undercurrent.
"Is that really where you live?" she asked, so innocently that Chase had
difficulty in controlling his expression.
At that instant something struck sharply against the stone column above
Chase's head. At least three persons saw the little puff of smoke in the
hills far to the right. Every one heard the distant crack of a rifle.
The bullet had dropped at Chase's feet before the sound of the report
came floating to their ears. No one spoke as he stooped and picked up
the warm, deadly missile. Turning it over in his fingers, an ugly thing
to look at, he said coolly, although his cheek had gone white:
"With Von Blitz's compliments, ladies and gentlemen. He is calling on
me, by proxy."
"Good God, Chase," cried Browne, "they're trying to murder us. Get back,
every one! Inside the doors!"
The women, white-faced and silent for the moment, turned to follow the
speaker.
"I'm sorry to bring my troubles to your door," said Chase. "It was meant
for me, not for any of you. The man who fired that did not intend to
kill me. He was merely giving voice to his pain and regret at seeing me
in such bad company." He was smiling calmly and did not take a single
step to follow them to safety.
"Come in, Chase! Don't stand out there to be shot at."
"I'll stay here for a few minutes, Mr. Browne, if you don't mind, just
to convince you all that the shot was not intended to kill. They're not
ready to kill me yet. I'm sure Lord Deppingham will understand. He has
been shot at often enough since he came to the island."
"By Jove, I should rather say I have," blurted out Deppingham. "'Pon my
word, they had a shot at me every time I tried to pluck a flower at the
roadside. I've got so used to it that I resent it when they don't have a
try at me."
"Think it was Von Blitz?" asked Browne.
"No. He couldn't hit the château at two hundred yards. It is a native.
They shoot like fury." He lighted a cigarette and coolly leaned against
the column, his gaze bent on the spot where the smoke had been seen. The
others were grouped inside the doors, where they could see without being
seen. A certain sense of horror possessed all of the watchers. It was as
if they were waiting to see him fall with a bullet in his
breast--executed before their eyes. Several minutes passed.
"For heaven's sake, why does he stand there?" cried the Princess at
last. "I can endure it no longer. It may be as he says it is, but it is
foolhardy to stand there and taunt the pride of that marksman. I can't
stay here and wait for it to come. How can--"
"He's been there for ten minutes, Princess," said Browne. "Plenty of
time for another try."
"I am not afraid to stand beside him," said Lady Agnes suddenly. She had
conquered her dread and saw the chance for something theatrical. Her
husband grasped her arm as she started toward the Enemy.
"None of that, Aggie," he said sharply.
Before they were aware of her intention, the Princess left the shelter
and boldly walked across the open space to the side of the man. He
started and opened his lips to give vent to a sharp command.
"It is so easy to be a hero, Mr. Chase, when one is quite sure there is
no real danger," she said, with distinct irony in her tones. "One can
afford to be melodramatic if he knows his part so well as you know
yours."
Chase felt his face burn. It was a direct declaration that he had
planned the whole affair in advance. He flicked the ashes from his
cigarette and then tossed it away, hesitating long before replying.
"Nevertheless, I have the greatest respect for the courage which brings
you to my side. I daresay you are quite justified in your opinion of me.
It all must seem very theatrical to you. I had not thought of it in that
light. I shall now retire from the centre of the stage. It will be
perfectly safe for you to remain here--just as it was for me." He was
leaving her without another word or look. She repented.
"I am sorry for what I said," she said eagerly. "And--" she looked up at
the hills with a sudden widening of her eyes--"I think I shall not
remain."
He waited for her and they crossed to the entrance together.
Luncheon was quite well over before the spirits of the party reacted
from the depression due to the shooting. Chase made light of the
occurrence, but sought to impress upon the others the fact that it was
prophetic of more serious events in the future. In a perfectly
cold-blooded manner he told them that the islanders might rise against
them at any time, overstepping the bounds of England's law in a return
to the primeval law of might. He advised the occupants of the château to
exercise extreme caution at all times.
"The people are angry and they will become desperate. Their interests
are mine, of course. I am perfectly sincere in saying to you, Lady
Deppingham, and to you, Mr. Browne, that in time they will win out
against you in the courts. But they are impatient; they are not the kind
who can wait and be content. It is impossible for you to carry out the
provisions of the will, and they know it. That is why they resent the
delays that are impending."
Deppingham told him of the scheme proposed by Saunders, treating it as a
vast joke. Chase showed a momentary sign of uneasiness, but covered it
instantly by laughing with the others. Strange to say, he had been
instructed from London to look out for just such a coup on the part of
the heirs. Not that the marriage could be legally established, but that
it might create a complication worth avoiding.
He could not help looking from Lady Deppingham to Bobby Browne, a
calculating gleam in his grey eyes. How very dangerous she could be! He
was quite ready to feel very sorry for pretty Mrs. Browne. Browne, of
course, revealed no present symptom of surrender to the charms of his
co-legatee. Later on, he was to recall this bit of calculation and to
enlarge upon it from divers points of view.
Just now he was enjoying himself for the first time since his arrival in
Japat. He sat opposite to the Princess; his eyes were refreshing
themselves after months of fatigue; his blood was coursing through new
veins. And yet, his head was calling his heart a fool.
CHAPTER XVII
THE PRINCESS GOES GALLOPING
A week passed--an interesting week in which few things happened openly,
but in which the entire situation underwent a subtle but complete
change. The mail steamer had come and gone. It brought disconcerting
news from London. Chase was obliged to tell the islanders that notice of
a contest had been filed. The lineal heirs had pooled their issues and
were now fighting side by side. The matter would be in chancery for
months, even years. He could almost feel the gust of rage and
disappointment that swept over the island--although not a word came from
the lips of the sullen population. The very silence was foreboding.
He did not visit the château during that perplexing week. It was hard,
but he resolutely kept to the path of duty, disdaining the pleasures
that beckoned to him. Every day he saw and talked with Britt and
Saunders. They, as well as the brisk Miss Pelham, gave him the "family
news" from the château. Saunders, when he was not moping with the ague
of love, indulged in rare exhibitions of joy over the turn affairs were
taking with his client and Bobby Browne. It did not require
extraordinary keenness on Chase's part to gather that her ladyship and
Browne had suddenly decided to engage in what he would call a mild
flirtation, but what Saunders looked upon as a real attack of love.
"If I had the nerve, I'd call Browne good and hard," said Britt, over
his julep. "It isn't right. It isn't decent. No telling what it will
come to. The worst of it is that his wife doesn't blame him. She blames
her. They disappear for hours at a time and they've always got their
heads together. I've noticed it for a month, but it's got worse in the
last week. Poor little Drusilla. She's from Boston, Chase, and can't
retaliate. Besides, Deppingham wouldn't take notice if she tried."
"There's one safeguard," said Chase. "They can't elope on this island."
"They can't, eh? Why, man, they could elope in the château and nobody
could overtake 'em. You've no idea how big it is. The worst of it is,
Deppingham has got an idea that they may try to put him out of the
way--him and Drusilla. Awful, isn't it?"
"Perfect rot, Britt. You'll find that it turns out all right in the end.
I'd bank on Lady Deppingham's cool little head. Browne may be mad, but
she isn't."
"It won't help me any unless both of 'em are mad," said Britt, with a
wry face. "And, say, by the way, Saunders is getting to dislike you
intensely."
"I can't help it if he loves the only stenographer on the island," said
Chase easily. "You seem to be the only one who isn't in hot water all
the time, Britt."
"Me and the Princess," said Britt laconically. Chase looked up quickly,
but the other's face was as straight as could be. "If you were a real
gentleman you would come around once in a while and give her something
to talk to, instead of about."
"Does she talk about me?" quite steadily.
"They all do. I've even heard the white handmaidens discussing you in
glowing terms. You're a regular matinee hero up there, my--"
"Selim!" broke in Chase. The Arab came to the table immediately. "Don't
put so much liquor in Mr. Britt's drinks after this. Mostly water."
Britt grinned amiably.
They sipped through their straws in silence for quite a while. Both were
thinking of the turn affairs were taking at the château.
"I say, Britt, you're not responsible for this affair between Browne and
Lady Deppingham, are you?" demanded Chase abruptly.
"I? What do you mean?"
"I was just wondering if you could have put Browne up to the game in the
hope that a divorce or two might solve a very difficult problem."
"Now that you mention it, I'm going to look up the church and colonial
divorce laws," said Britt non-committally, after a moment.
"I advise you to hurry," said Chase coolly. "If you can divorce and
marry 'em inside of four weeks, with no court qualified to try the case
nearer than India, you are a wonder."
Chase was in the habit of visiting the mines two or three times a week
during work hours. The next morning after his conversation with Britt,
he rode out to the mines. When he reached the brow of the last hill,
overlooking the wide expanse in which the men toiled, he drew rein
sharply and stared aghast at what lay before him.
Instead of the usual activity, there was not a man in sight. It was some
time before his bewildered brain could grasp the meaning of the puzzle.
Selim, who rode behind, came up and without a word directed his master's
attention to the long ridge of trees that bordered the broken hillsides.
Then he saw the miners. Five hundred half-naked brown men were
congregated in the shade of the trees, far to the right. By the aid of
his glasses he could see that one of their number was addressing them in
an earnest, violent harangue. It was not difficult, even at that
distance, to recognise the speaker as Von Blitz. From time to time, the
silent watchers saw the throng exhibit violent signs of emotion. There
were frequent gesticulations, occasional dances; the faint sound of
shouts came across the valley.
Chase shuddered. He knew what it meant. He turned to Selim, who sat
beside him like a bronze statue, staring hard at the spectacle.
"How about Allah now, Selim?" he asked sententiously.
"Allah is great, Allah is good," mumbled the Moslem youth, but without
heart.
"Do you think He can save me from those dogs?" asked the master, with a
kindly smile.
"Sahib, do not go among them to-day," implored Selim impulsively.
"They are expecting me, Selim. If I don't come, they will know that I
have funked. They'll know I am afraid of them."
"Do not go to-day," persisted Selim doggedly. Suddenly he started,
looking intently to the left along the line of the hill. Chase followed
the direction of his gaze and uttered a sharp exclamation of surprise.
Several hundred yards away, outlined against the blue sky beyond the
knob, stood the motionless figure of a horse and its rider--a woman in a
green habit. Chase could hardly believe his eyes. It did not require a
second glance to tell him who the rider was; he could not be mistaken in
that slim, proud figure. Without a moment's hesitation he turned his
horse's head and rode rapidly toward her. She had left the road to ride
out upon the crest of the green knob. Chase was in the mood to curse her
temerity.
As he came up over the slope, she turned in the saddle to watch his
approach. He had time to see that two grooms from the stables were in
the road below her. There was a momentary flash of surprise and
confusion in her eyes, succeeded at once by a warm glow of excitement.
She smiled as he drew up beside her, not noticing his unconscious frown.
"So those are the fabulous mines of Japat," she said gaily, without
other greeting. "Where is the red glow from the rubies?"
His horse had come to a standstill beside hers. Scarcely a foot
separated his boot from her animal's side. If she detected the serious
look in his face, she chose to ignore it.
"Who gave you permission to ride so far from the château?" he demanded,
almost harshly. She looked at him in amazement.
"Am I a trespasser?" she asked coldly.
"I beg your pardon," he said quickly. "I did not mean to offend. Don't
you know that it is not safe for you to--"
"Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "I am not afraid of your shadows. Why should
they disturb me?"
"Look!" He pointed to the distant assemblage. "Those are not shadows.
They are men and they are making ready to transform themselves into
beasts. Before long they will strike. Von Blitz and Rasula have sunk my
warships. You _must_ understand that it is dangerous to leave the
château on such rides as this. Come! We will start back together--at
once."
"I protest, Mr. Chase, that you have no right to say what I shall do
or--"
"It isn't a question of right. You are nearly ten miles from the
château, in the most unfrequented part of the island. Some day you will
not return to your friends. It will be too late to hunt for you then."
"How very thrilling!" she said with a laugh.
"I beg of you, do not treat it so lightly," he said, so sharply that she
flushed. He was looking intently in the direction of the men. She was
not slow to see that their position had been discovered by the miners.
"They have seen us," he said briefly. "It is quite possible that they do
not mean to do anything desperate at this time, but you can readily see
that they will resent this proof of spying on our part. They mistake me
for one of the men from the château. Will you come with me now?"
"It seems so absurd--but I will come, of course. I have no desire to
cause you any uneasiness."
As they rode swiftly back to the tree-lined road, a faint chorus of
yells came to them across the valley. For some distance they rode
without speaking a word to each other. They had traversed two miles of
the soft dirt road before Chase discovered that Selim was the only man
following them. The two men who had come out with the Princess were not
in sight. He mentioned the fact to her, with a peculiar smile on his
lips. They slackened the pace and Chase called Selim up from behind. The
little Arab's face was a study in its display of unwonted emotion.
"Excellency," he replied, in answer to Chase's question, his voice
trembling with excitement, "they left me at the bend, a mile back. They
will not return to the château."
"The dogs! So, you see, Princess, your escort was not to be trusted,"
said Chase grimly.
"But they have stolen the horses," she murmured irrelevantly. "They
belong to the château stables."
"Which direction did they take, Selim?"
"They rode off by the Carter's highway, Excellency, toward Aratat."
"It may not appeal to your vanity, your Highness, but it is my duty to
inform you that they have gone to report our clandestine meeting."
"Clandestine! What do you mean, sir?"
"The islanders are watching me like hawks. Every time I am seen with any
one from the château, they add a fresh nail to the coffin they are
preparing for me. It's really more serious than you imagine. I must,
therefore, forbid you to ride outside of the park."
They rode swiftly for another mile, silence being unbroken between them.
She was trying to reconcile her pride to the justice of his command.
"I daresay you are right, Mr. Chase," she said at last, quite frankly.
"I thank you."
"I am glad that you understand," he said simply. His gaze was set
straight before him, keen, alert, anxious. They were riding through a
dark stretch of forest; the foliage came down almost to their faces;
there was an almost impenetrable green wall on either side of them. He
knew, and she was beginning to suspect, that danger lurked in the
peaceful, sweet-smelling shades.
"I begin to fear, Mr. Chase," she said, with a faint smile, "that Lady
Deppingham deceived me in suggesting Japat as a rest cure. It may
interest you to know that the court at Rapp-Thorberg has been very gay
this winter. Much has happened in the past few months."
"I know," he said briefly, almost bitterly.
"My brother, Christobal, has been with us after two years' absence. He
came with his wife from the ends of the earth, and my father forgave him
in good earnest. Christobal was very disobedient in the old days. He
refused to marry the girl my father chose for him. Was it not foolish of
him?"
"Not if it has turned out well in the end."
"I daresay it has--or will. She is delightful. My father loves her. And
my father--the Grand Duke, I should say--does not love those who cross
him. One is very fortunate to have been born a prince." He thought he
detected a note of bitterness in this raillery.
"I can conceive of no greater fortune than to have been born Prince Karl
of Brabetz," he said lightly. She flashed a quick glance at his face,
her eyes narrowing in the effort to divine his humour. He saw the cloud
which fell over her face and was suddenly silent, contrite for some
unaccountable reason.
"As I was saying," she resumed, after a moment, "Lady Deppingham has
lured me from sunshowers into the tempest. Mr. Chase," and her face was
suddenly full of real concern, "is there truly great danger?"
"I fear so," he answered. "It is only a question of time. I have tried
to check this uprising, but I've failed. They don't trust me. Last night
Von Blitz, Rasula and three others came to the bungalow and coolly
informed me that my services were no longer required. I told them to--to
go to--"
"I understand," she said quickly. "It required courage to tell them
that." He smiled.
"They protested friendship, but I can read very well as I run. But can't
we find something more agreeable to talk about? May I say that I have
not seen a newspaper in three months? The world has forgotten me. There
must be news that you can give me. I am hungry for it."
"You poor man! No newspapers! Then you don't know what has happened in
all these months?"
"Nothing since before Christmas. Would you like to see a bit of news
that I clipped from the last Paris paper that came into my hands?"
"Yes," she said, vaguely disturbed. He drew forth his pocketbook and
took from its interior a small bit of paper, which he handed to her, a
shamed smile in his eyes. She read it at a glance and handed it back. A
faint touch of red came into her cheeks.
"How very odd! Why should you have kept that bit of paper all these
months?"
"I will admit that the announcement of the approaching nuptials of two
persons whom I had met so casually may seem a strange thing to cherish,
but I am a strange person. You have been married nearly three months,"
he said reflectively. "Three months and two days, to be precise."
She laughed outright, a bewitching, merry laugh that startled him.
"How accurate you would be," she exclaimed. "It would be a highly
interesting achievement, Mr. Chase, if it were only borne out by facts.
You see, I have not been married so much as three minutes."
He stared at her, uncomprehending.
She went on: "Do you consider it bad luck to postpone a wedding?"
Involuntarily he drew his horse closer to hers. There was a new gleam in
his eyes; her blood leaped at the challenge they carried.
"Very bad luck," he said quite steadily; "for the bridegroom."
In an instant they seemed to understand something that had not even been
considered before. She looked away, but he kept his eyes fast upon her
half-turned face, finding delight in the warm tint that surged so
shamelessly to her brow. He wondered if she could hear the pounding of
his heart above the thud of the horses' feet.
"We are to be married in June," she said somewhat defiantly. Some of the
light died in his eyes. "Prince Karl was very ill. They thought he might
die. His--his studies--his music, I mean, proved more than he could
carry. It--it is not serious. A nervous break-down," she explained
haltingly.
"You mean that he--" he paused before finishing the
sentence--"collapsed?"
"Yes. It was necessary to postpone the marriage. He will be quite well
again, they say--by June."
Chase thought of the small, nervous, excitable prince and in his mind
there arose a great doubt. They might pronounce him cured, but would it
be true? "I hope he may be fully recovered, for your sake," he managed
to say.
"Thank you." After a long pause, she turned to him again and said: "We
are to live in Paris for a year or two at least."
Then Chase understood. Prince Karl would not be entirely recovered in
June. He did not ask, but he knew in some strange way that his
physicians were there and that it would be necessary for him to be near
them.
"He is in Paris now?"
"No," she answered, and that was all. He waited, but she did not expand
her confidence.
"So it is to be in June?" he mused.
"In June," she said quietly. He sighed.
"I am more than sorry that you are a princess," he said boldly.
"I am quite sure of that," she said, so pointedly that he almost gasped.
She was laughing comfortably, a mischievous gleam in her dark eyes. His
laugh was as awkward as hers was charming.
"You _do_ like to be flattered," he exclaimed at random. "And I shall
take it upon myself to add to to-day's measure." He again drew forth his
pocketbook. She looked on curiously. "Permit me to restore the lace
handkerchief which you dropped some time ago. I've been keeping it for
myself, but----"
"My handkerchief?" she gasped, her thoughts going at once to that
ridiculous incident of the balcony. "It must belong to Lady Deppingham."
"Oh, it isn't the one you used on the balcony," he protested coolly. "It
antedates that adventure."
"Balcony? I don't understand you," she contested.
"Then you are exceedingly obtuse."
"I never dreamed that you could see," she confessed pathetically.
"It was extremely nice in you and very presumptuous in me. But, your
highness, this is the handkerchief you dropped in the Castle garden six
months ago. Do you recognise the perfume?"
She took it from his fingers gingerly, a soft flush of interest
suffusing her cheek. Before she replied, she held the dainty bit of lace
to her straight little nose.
"You are very sentimental," she said at last. "Would you care to keep
it? It is of no value to me."
"Thanks, I will keep it."
"I've changed my mind," she said inconsequently, stuffing the fabric in
her gauntlet. "You have something else in that pocketbook that I should
very much like to possess."
"It can't be that Bank of England--"
"No, no! You wrapped it in a bit of paper last week and placed it there
for safe keeping."
"You mean the bullet?"
"Yes. I should like it. To show to my friends, you know, when I tell
them how near you were to being shot." Without a word he gave her the
bullet that had dropped at his feet on that first day at the château.
"Thank you. Oh, isn't it a horrid thing! Just to think, it might have
struck you!" She shuddered.
He was about to answer in his delirium when a sharp turn in the road
brought them in view of the château. Not a hundred yards ahead of them
two persons were riding slowly, unattended, very much occupied in
themselves. Their backs were toward Chase and the Princess, but it was
an easy matter to recognise them. The glance which shot from the
Princess to Chase found a peculiar smile disappearing from his lips.
"I know what you are thinking," she cried impulsively "You are
wrong--very wrong, Mr. Chase. Lady Deppingham is a born coquette--a born
trifler. It is ridiculous to think that she can be seriously engaged in
a--"
"It isn't that, Princess," he interrupted, a dark look in his eyes. "I
was merely wondering whether dear little Mrs. Browne is as happy as she
might be."
Genevra was silent for a moment.
"I had not thought of that," she said soberly.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE BURNING OF THE BUNGALOW
He went in and had tiffin with them in the hanging garden. Deppingham
was surly and preoccupied. Drusilla Browne was unusually vivacious. At
best, she was not volatile; her greatest accomplishment lay in the
ability to appreciate what others had to say. This in itself is a treat
so unusual that one feels like commending the woman who carries it to
excess.
Her husband, aside from a natural anxiety, was the same blithe optimist
as ever. He showed no sign of restraint, no evidence of compunction.
Chase found himself secretly speculating on the state of affairs. Were
the two heirs working out a preconceived plan or were they, after all,
playing with the fires of spring? He recalled several of Miss Pelham's
socialistic remarks concerning the privileges of the "upper ten," the
intolerance of caste and the snobbish morality which attaches folly to
none but the girl who "works for a living."
Immediately after tiffin, Genevra carried Lady Deppingham off to her
room. When they came forth for a proposed stroll in the grounds, Lady
Agnes was looking very meek and tearful, while the Princess had about
her the air of one who has conquered by gentleness. In the upper
corridor, where it was dark and quiet, the wife of Deppingham halted
suddenly and said:
"It has been so appallingly dull, Genevra, don't you understand? That's
why. Besides, it isn't necessary for her to be so horrid about it.
She--"
"She isn't horrid about it, dear. She's most self-sacrificing."
"Rubbish! She talks about the Puritans, and all that sort of thing. I
know what she means. But there's no use talking about it. I'll do as you
say--command, I mean. I'll try to be a prude. Heaven alone knows what a
real prude is. I don't. All this tommy-rot about Bobby and me wouldn't
exist if that wretched Chase man had been a little more affable. He
never noticed us until you came. No wife to snoop after him and--why, my
dear, he would have been ideal."
"It's all very nice, Agnes, but you forget your husband," said Genevra,
with a tolerant smile.
"Deppy? Oh, my dear," and she laughed gaily once more. "Deppy doesn't
mind. He rather likes me to be nice to other men. That is, if they are
nice men. Indeed, I don't forget Deppy! I shall remember him to my dying
day."
"Your point of view is quite different from that of a Boston wife, I'd
suggest."
"Certainly. We English have a colonial policy. We've spread out, my
dear."
"You are frivolous once more, Agnes."
"Genevra," said Lady Agnes solemnly, "if you'd been on a barren island
for five months as I have, with nothing to look at but your husband and
the sunsets, you would not be so hard on me. I wouldn't take Drusilla's
husband away from her for the world; I wouldn't even look at him if he
were not on the barren island, too. I've read novels in which a man and
woman have been wrecked on a desert island and lived there for months,
even years, in an atmosphere of righteousness. My dear, those novelists
are ninnies. Nobody could be so good as all that without getting wings.
And if they got wings they'd soon fly away from each other. Angels are
the only creatures who can be quite circumspect, and they're not real,
after all, don't you know. Drusilla may not know it yet, but she's not
an angel, by any means; she's real and doesn't know it, that's all. I am
real and know it only too well. That's the difference. Now, come along.
Let's have a walk. I'm tired of men and angels. That's why I want you
for awhile. You've got no wings, Genevra; but it's of no consequence, as
you have no one to fly away from."
"Or to, you might add," laughed Genevra.
"That's very American. You've been talking to Miss Pelham. She's always
adding things. By the way, Mr. Chase sees quite a lot of her. She types
for him. I fancy she's trying to choose between him and Mr. Saunders. If
you were she, dear, which would you choose?"
"Mr. Saunders," said Genevra promptly. "But if I were myself, I'd choose
Mr. Chase."
"Speaking of angels, he must have wings a yard long. He has been chosen
by an entire harem and he flies from them as if pursued by the devil. I
imagine, however, that he'd be rather dangerous if his wings were to get
out of order unexpectedly. But he's nice, isn't he?"
The Princess nodded her head tolerantly.
Her ladyship went on: "I don't want to walk, after all. Let us sit here
in the corridor and count the prisms in the chandeliers. It's such fun.
I've done it often. You can imagine how gay it has been here, dear. Have
you heard the latest gossip? Mr. Britt has advanced a new theory. We are
to indulge in double barrelled divorce proceedings. As soon as they are
over, Mr. Browne and I are to marry. Then we are to hurry up and get
another divorce. Then we marry our own husband and wife all over again.
Isn't it exciting? Only, of course, it isn't going to happen. It would
be so frightfully improper--shocking, don't you know. You see, I should
go on living with my divorced husband, even after I was married to
Bobby. I'd be obliged to do that in order to give Bobby grounds for a
divorce as soon as the estate is settled. There's a whole lot more to
Mr. Britt's plan that I can't remember. It's a much gentler solution
than the polygamy scheme that Mr. Saunders proposes; I will say that for
it. But Deppy has put his foot down hard. He says he had trouble enough
getting me to marry him the first time; he won't go through it again.
Besides, he loathes grass widows, as Mrs. Browne calls them. Mr. Britt
told him he'll be sure to love me more than ever as soon as I become a
guileless divorcee. Of course, it's utter nonsense."
"A little nonsense now and then is--" began the Princess, and paused
amiably.
"Is Mr. Chase to stay for lunch?" asked Lady Agnes irrelevantly.
"How should I know? I am not his hostess."
"Hoity-toity! I've never known you to look like that before. A little
dash of red sets your cheeks off--" But Genevra threw up her hands in
despair and started toward the stairway, her chin tilted high. Lady
Agnes, laughing softly, followed. "It's too bad she's down to marry that
horrid little Brabetz," she said to herself, with a sudden wistful
glance at the proud, vibrant, loveable creature ahead. "She deserves a
better fate than that."
Genevra waited for her at the head of the stairway.
"Agnes, I'd like you to promise that you will keep your avaricious claws
off Mrs. Browne's husband," she said, seriously.
"I'll try, my dear," said Lady Agnes meekly.
When they reached the garden, they found Deppingham smoking furiously
and quite alone. Chase had left some time before, to give warning to the
English bank that trouble might be expected. The shadow of
disappointment that flitted across Genevra's face was not observed by
the others. Bobby Browne and his wife were off strolling in the lower
end of the park.
"Poor old Deppy," cried his wife. "I've made up my mind to be
exceedingly nice to you for a whole day."
"I suppose I ought to beat you," he said slowly.
"Beat me? Why, pray?"
"I received an anonymous letter this morning, telling me of your
goings-on with Bobby Browne," said he easily. "It was stuck under my
door by Bromley, who said that Miss Pelham gave it to her. Miss Pelham
referred me to Mr. Britt and Mr. Britt urged me to keep the letter for
future reference. I think he said it could be used as Exhibit A. Then he
advised me to beat you only in the presence of witnesses."
"The whole household must be going mad," cried Genevra with a laugh.
"Oh, if something only would happen!" exclaimed her ladyship. "A riot, a
massacre--anything! It all sounds like a farce to you, Genevra, but you
haven't been here for five months, as we have."
As they moved away from the vine-covered nook in the garden, a hand
parted the leaves in the balcony above and a dark, saturnine face
appeared behind it. The two women would have felt extremely
uncomfortable had they known that a supposedly trusted servant had
followed them from the distant corridor, where he had heard every word
of their conversation. This secret espionage had been going on for days
in the château; scarcely a move was made or a word spoken by the white
people that escaped the attention of a swarthy spy. And, curiously
enough, these spies were no longer reporting their discoveries to
Hollingsworth Chase.
The days passed. Hollingsworth Chase now realised that he no longer had
authority over the natives; they suffered him to come and go, but gave
no heed to his suggestions. Rasula made the reports for the islanders
and took charge of the statements from the bank.
Every morning he rode boldly into the town, transacted what business he
could, talked with the thoroughly disturbed bankers, and then defiantly
made his way to the château. He was in love with the Princess--
desperately in love. He understood perfectly--for he was a man of
the world and cosmopolitan--that nothing could come of it. She was a
princess and she was not in a story book; she _could_ not marry him. It
was out of the question; of that he was thoroughly convinced, even in
the beginning.
So far as Genevra was concerned, on her part it could mean no more than
a diversion, a condescension to coquetry, a simple flirtation; it meant
the passing of a few days, the killing of time, the pleasure of gentle
conquest, and then--forgetfulness. All this he knew and reckoned with,
for she was a princess and he but a plebeian passing by.
At first she revolted against the court he so plainly paid to her in
these last few days; it was bold, conscienceless, impertinent. She
avoided him; she treated him to a short season of disdain; she did all
in her power to rebuke his effrontery--and then in the end she
surrendered to the overpowering vanity which confronts all women who put
the pride of caste against the pride of conquest.
She decided to give him as good as he sent in this brief battle of
folly; it mattered little who came off with the fewest scars, for in a
fortnight or two they would go their separate ways, no better, no worse
for the conflict. And, after all, it was very dull in these last days,
and he was very attractive, and very brave, and very gallant, and, above
all, very sensible. It required three days of womanly indecision to
bring her to this way of looking at the situation.
They rode together in the park every morning, keeping well out of range
of marksmen in the hills. A sense of freedom replaced the natural
reserve that had marked their first encounters in this little campaign
of tenderness; they gave over being afraid of each other. He was too
shrewd, too crafty to venture an open declaration; too much of a
gentleman to force her hand ruthlessly. She understood and appreciated
this considerateness. Their conflict was with the eyes, the tone of the
voice, the intervals of silence; no touch of the hand--nothing, except
the strategies of Eros.
What did it matter if a few dead impulses, a few crippled ideals, a few
blasted hopes were left strewn upon the battlefield at the end of the
fortnight? What mattered if there was grave danger of one or both of
them receiving heart wounds that would cling to them all their lives?
What did anything matter, so long as Prince Karl of Brabetz was not
there?
One night toward the end of this week of enchanting rencontres--this
week of effort to uncover the vulnerable spot in the other's
armour--Genevra stood leaning upon the rail which enclosed the hanging
garden. She was gazing abstractedly into the black night, out of which,
far away, blinked the light in the bungalow. A dreamy languor lay upon
her. She heard the cry of the night birds, the singing of woodland
insects, but she was not aware of these persistent sounds; far below in
the grassy court she could hear Britt conversing with Saunders and Miss
Pelham; behind her in the little garden, Lady Deppingham and Browne had
their heads close together over a table on which they were playing a
newly discovered game of "solitaire"; Deppingham and Mrs. Browne leaned
against the opposite railing, looking down into the valley. The soft
night wind fanned her face, bringing to her nostrils the scent of the
fragrant forest. It was the first night in a week that he had missed
coming to the château.
She missed him. She was lonely.
He had told her of the meeting that was to be held at the bungalow that
night, at which he was to be asked to deliver over to Rasula's committee
the papers, the receipts and the memoranda that he had accumulated
during his months of employment in their behalf. She had a feeling of
dread--a numb, sweet feeling that she could not explain, except that
under all of it lay the proud consciousness that he was a man who had
courage, a man who was not afraid.
"How silly I am," she said, half aloud in her abstraction.
She turned her gaze away from the blinking light in the hills, a queer,
guilty smile on her lips. The wistful, shamed smile faded as she looked
upon the couple who had given her so much trouble a week ago. She felt,
with a hot flash of self-abasement, as if she was morally responsible
for the consequences that seemed likely to attend Lady Deppingham's
indiscretions.
Across the garden from where she was flaying herself bitterly, Lady
Deppingham's husband was saying in low, agitated tones to Bobby Browne's
wife, with occasional furtive glances at the two solitaire workers:
"Now, see here, Brasilia, I'm not saying that our--that is, Lady
Deppingham and Bobby--are accountable for what has happened, but that
doesn't make it any more pleasant! It's of little consequence _who_ is
trying to poison us, don't you know. And all that. _They_ wouldn't do
it, I'm sure, but _somebody_ is! That's what I mean, d'ye see? Lady
Dep--"
"I _know_ my husband wouldn't--couldn't do such a thing, Lord
Deppingham," came from Drusilla's stiff lips, almost as a moan. She was
very miserable.
"Of course not, my dear Drusilla," he protested nervously. Then
suddenly, as his eye caught what he considered a suspicious movement of
Bobby's hand as he placed a card close to Lady Deppingham's fingers:
"Demme, I--I'd rather he wouldn't--but I beg your pardon, Drusilla! It's
all perfectly innocent."
"Of course, it's innocent!" whispered Drusilla fiercely.
"You know, my dear girl, I--I don't hate your husband. You may have a
feeling that I do, but----"
"I suppose you think that I hate your wife. Well, I don't! I'm very fond
of her."
"It's utter nonsense for us to suspect them of--Pray don't be so upset,
Drusilla. It's all right----"
"If you think I am worrying over your wife's _harmless_ affair with my
husband, you are very much mistaken."
Deppingham was silent for a long time.
"I don't sleep at all these night," he said at last, miserably. She
could not feel sorry for him. She could only feel for herself and _her_
sleepless nights. "Drusilla, do--do you think they want to get rid of
us? We're the obstacles, you know. We can't help it, but we are.
Somebody put that pill in my tea to-day. It must have been a servant. It
couldn't have been--er----"
"My husband, sir?"
"No; my wife. You know, Drusilla, she's not that sort. She has a horror
of death and--" he stopped and wiped his brow pathetically.
"If the servants are trying to poison any of us, Lord Deppingham, it is
reasonable to suspect that your wife and my husband are the ones they
want to dispose of, not you and me. I don't believe it was poison you
found in your tea. But if it was, it was intended for one of the heirs."
"Well, there's some consolation in that," said Deppy, smiling for the
first time. "It's annoying, however, to go about feeling all the time
that one is likely to pass away because some stupid ass of an assassin
makes a blunder in giving--"
The sharp rattle of firearms in the distance brought a sudden stop to
his lugubrious reflections. Five, a dozen--a score of shots were heard.
The blood turned cold in the veins of every one in the garden; faces
blanched suddenly and all voices were hushed; a form of paralysis seized
and held them for a full minute.
Then the voice of Britt below broke harshly upon the tense, still air:
"Good God! Look! It is the bungalow!"
A bright glow lighted the dark mountain side, a vivid red painted the
trees; the smell of burning wood came down with the breezes. Two or
three sporadic shots were borne to the ears of those who looked toward
the blazing bungalow.
"They've killed Chase!" burst from the stiff lips of Bobby Browne.
"Damn them!" came up from below in Britt's hoarse voice.
CHAPTER XIX
CHASE COMES FROM THE CLOUDS
For many minutes, the watchers in the château stared at the burning
bungalow, fascinated, petrified. Through the mind of each man ran the
sudden, sharp dread that Chase had met death at the hands of his
enemies, and yet their stunned sensibilities refused at once to grasp
the full horror of the tragedy.
Genevra felt her heart turn cold; then something seemed to clutch her by
the throat and choke the breath out of her body. Through her brain went
whirling the recollection of his last words to her that afternoon:
"They'll find me ready if they come for trouble." She wondered if he had
been ready for them or if they had surprised him! She had heard the
shots. Chase could not have fired them all. He may have fired
once--perhaps twice--that was all! The fusilade came from the guns of
many, not one. Was he now lying dead in that blazing--She screamed aloud
with the thought of it!
"Can't something be done?" she cried again and again, without taking her
gaze from the doomed bungalow. She turned fiercely upon Bobby Browne,
his countryman. Afterward she recalled that he stood staring as she had
stared, Lady Deppingham clasping his arm with both of her hands. The
glance also took in the face of Deppingham. He was looking at his wife
and his eyes were wide and glassy, but not with terror. "It may not be
too late," again cried the Princess. "There are enough of us here to
make an effort, no matter how futile. He may be alive and trapped, up--"
"You're right," shouted Browne. "He's not the kind to go down with the
first rush. We must go to him. We can get there in ten minutes. Britt!
Where are the guns? Are you with us, Deppingham?"
He did not wait for an answer, but dashed out of the garden and down the
steps, calling to his wife to follow.
"Stop!" shouted Deppingham. "We dare not leave this place! If they have
turned against Chase, they are also ready for us. I'm not a coward,
Browne. We're needed here, that's all. Good God, man, don't you see what
it means? It's to be a general massacre! We all are to go to-night. The
servants may even now be waiting to cut us down. It's too late to help
Chase. They've got him, poor devil! Everybody inside! Get to the guns if
possible and cut off the servants' quarters. We must not let them
surprise us. Follow me!"
There was wisdom in what he said, and Browne was not slow to see it
clearly. With a single penetrating glance at Genevra's despairing face,
he shook his head gloomily, and turned to follow Deppingham, who was
hurrying off through the corridor with her ladyship.
"Come," he called, and the Princess, feeling Drusilla's hand grasping
her arm, gave one helpless look at the fire and hastened to obey.
In the grand hallway, they came upon Britt and Saunders white-faced and
excited. The white servants were clattering down the stairways, filled
with alarm, but there was not one of the native attendants in sight.
This was ominous enough in itself. As they huddled there for a moment,
undecided which way to turn, the sound of a violent struggle in the
lower corridor came to their ears. Loud voices, blows, a single shot,
the rushing of feet, the panting of men in fierce combat--and then, even
as the whites turned to retreat up the stairway, a crowd of men surged
up the stairs from below, headed by Baillo, the major-domo.
"Stop, excellencies!" he shouted again and again. Bobby Browne and
Deppingham were covering the retreat, prepared to fight to the end for
their women, although unarmed. It was the American who first realised
that Baillo was not heading an attack upon them. He managed to convey
this intelligence to the others and in a moment they were listening in
wonder to the explanations of the major-domo.
Surprising as it may appear, the majority of the servants were faithful
to their trust, Baillo and a score of his men had refused to join the
stable men and gardeners in the plot to assassinate the white people. As
a last resort, the conspirators contrived to steal into the château,
hoping to fall upon their victims before Baillo could interpose. The
major-domo, however, with the wily sagacity of his race, anticipated the
move. The two forces met in the south hall, after the plotters had
effected an entrance from the garden; the struggle was brief, for the
conspirators were outnumbered and surprised. They were even now lying
below, bound and helpless, awaiting the disposition of their intended
victims.
"It is not because we love you, excellencies," explained Baillo, with a
sudden fierce look in his eyes, "but because Allah has willed that we
should serve you faithfully. We are your dogs. Therefore we fight for
you. It is a vile dog which bites its master."
Browne, with the readiness of the average American, again assumed
command of the situation. He gave instructions that the prisoners, seven
in number, be confined in the dungeon, temporarily, at least. Bobby did
not make the mistake of pouring gratitude upon the faithful servitors;
it would have been as unwise as it was unwelcome. He simply issued
commands; he was obeyed with the readiness that marks the soldier who
dies for the cause he hates, but will not abandon.
"There will be no other attack on us to-night," said Browne, rejoining
the women after his interview with Baillo. "It has missed fire for the
present, but they will try to get at us sooner or later from the
outside. Britt, will you and Mr. Saunders put those prisoners through
the 'sweat' box? You may be able to bluff something out of them, if you
threaten them with death. They--"
"It won't do, Browne," said Deppingham, shaking his head. "They are
fatalists, they are stoics. I know the breed better than you. Question
if you like, but threats will be of no avail. Keep 'em locked up, that's
all."
Firearms and ammunition were taken from the gunroom to the quarters
occupied by the white people. Every preparation was made for a defence
in the event of an attack from the outside or inside. Strict orders were
given to every one. From this night on, the occupants of the château
were to consider themselves in a state of siege, even though the enemy
made no open display against them. Every precaution against surprise was
taken. The white servants were moved into rooms adjoining their
employers; Britt and Saunders transferred their belongings to certain
gorgeous apartments; Miss Pelham went into a Marie Antoinette suite
close by that of the Princess. The native servants retained their
customary quarters, below stairs. It was a peculiar condition that all
of the native servants were men; no women were employed in the great
establishment, nor ever had been.
Far in the night, Genevra, sleepless and depressed, stole into the
hanging garden. Her mind was full of the horrid thing that had happened
to Hollingsworth Chase. He had been nothing to her--he could not have
been anything to her had he escaped the guns of the assassins. And yet
her heart was stunned by the stroke that it had sustained. Wide-eyed and
sick, she made her way to the railing, and, clinging to the vines,
stared for she knew not how long at the dull red glow on the mountain.
The flames were gone, but the last red tinge of their anger still clung
to the spot where the bungalow had stood. Behind her, there were lights
in a dozen rooms of the château. She knew that she was not the only
sleepless one. Others were lying wide awake and tense, but for reasons
scarcely akin to hers; they were appalled, not heartsick.
The night was still and ominously dark. She had never known a night
since she came to Japat when the birds and insects were so mute. A
sombre, supernatural calm hung over the island like a pall. Far off,
over the black sea, pulsed the fitful glow of an occasional gleam of
lightning, faint with the distance which it traversed. There was no
moon; the stars were gone; the sky was inky and the air somnolent. The
smell of smoke hung about her. She could not help wondering if his fine,
strong body was lying up there, burnt to a crisp. It was far past
midnight; she was alone in the garden. Sixty feet below her was the
ground; above, the black dome of heaven.
She was not to know till long afterward that one of her faithful
Thorberg men stood guard in the passage leading up from the garden,
armed and willing to die. One or the other slept in front of her door
through all those nights on the island.
Something hot trickled down her cheeks from the wide, pitying eyes that
stared so hard. She was wondering now if he had a mother--sisters. How
their hearts would be wrenched by this! A mute prayer that he might have
died in the storm of bullets before the fire swept over him struggled
against the hope that he might have escaped altogether. She was thinking
of him with pity and horror in her heart, not love.
A question was beginning to form itself vaguely in her troubled mind.
Were all of them to die as Chase had died?
Suddenly there came to her ears the sound of something swishing through
the air. An instant later, a solid object fell almost at her feet. She
started back with a cry of alarm. A broad shaft of light crossed the
garden, thrown by the lamps in the upper hall of the château. Her eyes
fell upon a wriggling, snakelike thing that lay in this path of light.
Fascinated, almost paralysed, she watched it for a full minute before
realising that it was the end of a thick rope, which lost itself in the
heavy shadows at the cliff end of the garden. Looking about in terror,
as if expecting to see murderous forms emerge from the shadows, she
turned to flee. At the head of the steps which led downward into the
corridor, she paused for a moment, glancing over her shoulder at the
mysterious, wriggling thing. She was standing directly in the shaft of
light. To her surprise, the wriggling ceased. The next moment, a faint,
subdued shout was borne to her ears. Her flight was checked by that
shout, for her startled, bewildered ears caught the sound of her own
name. Again the shout, from where she knew not, except that it was
distant; it seemed to come from the clouds.
At last, far above, she saw the glimmer of a light. It was too large to
be a star, and it moved back and forth.
Sharply it dawned upon her that it was at the top of the cliff which
overhung the garden and stretched away to the sea. Some one was up there
waving a lantern. She was thinking hard and fast, a light breaking in
upon her understanding. Something like joy shot into her being. Who else
could it be if not Chase? He alone would call out her name! He was
alive!
She called out his name shrilly, her face raised eagerly to the bobbing
light. Not until hours afterward was Genevra to resent the use of her
Christian name by the man in the clouds.
In her agitation, she forgot to arouse the château, but undertook to
ascertain the truth for herself. Rushing over, she grasped the knotted
end of the rope. A glance and a single tug were sufficient to convince
her that the other end was attached to a support at the top of the
cliff. It hung limp and heavy, lifeless. A sharp tug from above caused
it to tremble violently in her hands; she dropped it as if it were a
serpent. There was something weird, uncanny in its presence, losing
itself as it did in the darkness but a few feet above her head. Again
she heard the shout, and this time she called out a question.
"Yes," was the answer, far above. "Can you hear me?" Greatly excited,
she called back that she could hear and understand. "I'm coming down the
rope. Pray for us--but don't worry! Please go inside until we land in
the garden. It's a long drop, you know."
"Are you quite sure--is it safe?" she called, shuddering at the thought
of the perilous descent of nearly three, hundred feet, sheer through the
darkness.
"It's safer than stopping here. Please go inside."
She dully comprehended his meaning: he wanted to save her from seeing
his fall in the event that the worst should come to pass. Scarcely
knowing what she did, she moved over into the shadow near the walls and
waited breathlessly, all the time wondering why some one did not come
from the château to lend assistance.
At last that portion of the rope which lay in the garden began to jerk
and writhe vigorously. She knew then that he was coming down, hand over
hand, through that long, dangerous stretch of darkness. Elsewhere in
this narrative, it has been stated that the cliff reared itself sheer to
the height of three hundred and fifty feet directly behind the château.
At the summit of this great wall, a shelving ledge projected over the
hanging garden; a rope dangling from this ledge would fall into the
garden not far from the edge nearest the cliff. The summit of the cliff
could be gained only by traversing the mountain slope from the other
side; it was impossible to scale it from the floor of the valley which
it bounded. A wide table-land extended back from the ledge for several
hundred yards and then broke into the sharp, steep incline to the summit
of the mountain. This table-land was covered by large, stout trees,
thickly grown.
The rope was undoubtedly attached to the trunk of a sturdy tree at the
brow of the cliff.
She could look no longer; it seemed hours since he started from the top.
Every heart-beat brought him nearer to safety, but would he hold out?
Any instant might bring him crashing to her feet--dead, after all that
he may have lived through during that awful night.
At last she heard his heavy panting, groaning almost; the creaking and
straining of the rope, the scraping of his hands and body. She opened
her eyes and saw the bulky, swaying shadow not twenty feet above the
garden. Slowly it drew nearer the grass-covered floor--foot by foot,
straining, struggling, gasping in the final supreme effort--and then,
with a sudden rush, the black mass collapsed and the taut rope sprung
loose, the end switching and leaping violently.
Genevra rushed frantically across the garden, half-fearful, half-joyous.
As she came up, the mass seemed to divide itself into two parts. One
sank limply to the ground, the other stood erect for a second and then
dropped beside the prostrate, gasping figure.
Chase had come down the rope with another human being clinging to his
body!
Genevra fell to her knees beside the man who had accomplished this
miracle. She gave but a passing glance at the other dark figure beside
her. All of her interest was in the writhing, gasping American. She
grasped his hands, warm and sticky with blood; she tried to lift his
head from the ground, moaning with pity all the time, uttering words of
encouragement in his ear.
Many minutes passed. At last Chase gave over gasping and began to
breathe regularly but heavily. The strain had been tremendous; only
superhuman strength and will had carried him through the ordeal. He
groaned with pain as the two beside him lifted him to a sitting posture.
"Tell Selim to come ahead," he gasped, his bloody hand at his throat.
"We're all right!"
Then, for the first time, Genevra peered in the darkness at the figure
beside her. She stared in amazement as it sprang lightly erect and
glided across to the patch of light. It was then that she recognised the
figure of a woman--a slight, graceful woman in Oriental garb. The woman
turned and lifted her face to the heights from which she had descended.
In a shrill, eager voice she called out something in a language strange
to the Princess, who knelt there and stared as if she were looking upon
a being from another world. A faint shout came from on high, and once
more the rope began to writhe.
The Princess passed her hand over her eyes, bewildered. The face of the
woman in the light, half-shaded, half-illumined, was gloriously
beautiful--young, dark, brilliant!
"Oh!" she exclaimed, starting to her feet, a look of understanding
coming into her eyes. This was one of the Persians! He had saved her! A
feeling of revulsion swept over her, combatting the first natural,
womanly pride in the deed of a brave man.
Chase struggled weakly to his feet. He saw the tense, strained figure
before him, and, putting out his hand, said:
"She is Selim's wife. I am stronger than he, so I brought her down."
Then looking upward anxiously, he shouted:
"Be careful, Selim! It's easy if you take your time to it."
CHAPTER XX
NEENAH
"Selim's wife, Neenah, saved my life." It was the next morning and Chase
was relating his experiences to an eager marvelling company in the
breakfast room. "She has a sister whose husband was one of the leaders
in the attack. Neenah told Selim and Selim told me. That's all. We were
prepared for them when they came last night. Days ago, Selim and I
cached the rope at the top of the cliff, anticipating just such an
emergency as this, and intending to use it if we could reach the château
in no other way. I figured that they would cut off all other means of
getting into your grounds.
"Neenah came up from the village ahead of the attacking party, out of
breath and terribly frightened. We didn't waste a second, let me tell
you. Grabbing up our guns, we got out through the rear and made a dash
across the stable yard. It was near midnight. I had received the
committee at nine and had given them my reasons for not resigning the
post. They went away apparently satisfied, which aroused my suspicions.
I knew that there was something behind that exhibition of meekness.
"The servants, all of whom were up and ready to join in the fight,
attempted to head us off. We had a merry little touch of real warfare
just back of the stables. It was as dark as pitch, and I don't believe
we hit anybody. But it was lively scrambling for a minute or two, let me
tell you." Chase shook his head in sober recollection of the preliminary
affray.
Deppingham's big blue eyes were fairly snapping. His wife put her hand
on his shoulder with an impulse strange to her and Genevra saw a light
blaze in her eyes. "I hope you potted a few of 'em. Serve 'em jolly well
right if----"
"Selim says he stumbled over something that groaned as we were racing
for the back road. I was looking out for Neenah." He glanced
involuntarily from Lady Agnes to the Princess, a touch of confusion
suddenly assailing him. "Selim covered the retreat," he added hastily.
"Instead of keeping the road, we turned up the embankment and struck
into the forest. Dropping down behind the bushes, we watched those
devils from the town race pell-mell, howling and shooting, down the
château road. There must have been a hundred of 'em. Five minutes later,
the bungalow was afire. It was as bright as day and I had no trouble in
recognising Rasula in the crowd. Selim led the way and I followed with
Neenah. It was hard going, let me tell you, up hill and down, stumbles
and tumbles, scratches and bumps, through five miles of the blackest
night imaginable. Hang it all, Browne, I didn't have time to save that
case of cigarettes; I'm out nearly a hundred boxes. And those novels you
lent me, Lady Deppingham--I can't return. Sorry."
"You might have saved the cigarettes and novels if you hadn't been so
occupied in saving the fair Neenah," said her ladyship, with a provoking
smile.
"Alas! I thought of that also, but too late. Still, virtue was its own
reward. Imagine my delight when we stopped to rest to have Neenah divide
her own little store of Turkish cigarettes with me. We had a bully smoke
up there in the wood."
"Selim, too?" asked Browne casually.
"Oh, no! Selim was exploring," said Chase easily.
"Neenah is very beautiful," ventured Lady Agnes.
"She is exquisite," replied Chase with the utmost _sang froid_. "Selim
bought her last winter for a ten karat ruby and a pint of sapphires."
"That explains her overwhelming love for Selim," said the Princess
quietly. Chase looked into her eyes for a moment and smiled inwardly.
"I'll be happy to tell you all about her some other time," he said. "Her
story is most interesting."
"That will be perfectly delightful," chimed in Drusilla. "We shan't miss
those racy novels, after all."
"We finally got to the edge of the cliff and unearthed the rope, which
we already had fastened to the trunk of a tree. It had been securely
spliced in three places beforehand, giving us the proper length. It was
a frightful trip we had over the ridge. Exhibit: the scratches upon my
erstwhile beautiful countenance; reserved: the bruises upon my unhappy
knees and elbows. I was obliged to carry Neenah for the last quarter of
a mile, poor little girl. She was tied to my back, leaving my throat and
chest free, and down we came. Simplest thing in the world. Presto! Here
am I, with my happy family at my heels."
"Well, we can't sit here and dawdle all day," exclaimed Deppingham. "We
must be moving about--arrange our batteries, and all that, don't you
know. Get out a skirmish line, nominate our spies, bolster up our
defences, set a watch, court-martial the prisoners, and look into the
commissariat. We've got to stave these devils off for two or three
weeks, at least, and we'll have to look sharp. Browne, that's the third
cup of coffee you've had. Come along! This isn't Boston."
As they left the breakfast room, Chase stepped to Genevra's side and
walked with her. They traversed the full length of the long hall in
silence. At the foot of the stairs, where they were to part, she
extended her hand, a bright smile in her eyes.
"You were and are very brave and good," she said. He withheld his hand
and she dropped hers, hurt and strangely vexed. "Don't you care for my
approval? Or do you--"
"You forget, Princess, that my hands are still suffering from the
bravery you would laud," he said, holding them resolutely behind his
back.
"Oh, I remember!" she cried in quick comprehension. "They were cut and
bruised by the rope. How thoughtless of me. What are you doing for them?
Come, Mr. Chase, may I not dress them for you? I am capable--I am not
afraid of wounds. We have had many of them in our family--and fatal ones
too." She was eager now, and earnest.
He shook his head, with a smile on his lips. "I thank you. They are
better--much better, and they have been quite properly bandaged
already."
"Neenah?"
"Yes," he replied gently. She seemed to search his mind with a quick,
intense look into his eyes. Then she smiled and said: "I'll promise not
to bruise the wounds if you'll only be so good as to shake hands with
me."
He took her slender hand in his broad, white-swathed palm and pressed it
fervently, regardless of the pain which would have caused him to cringe
if engaged in any other pursuit.
The forenoon was fully occupied with the preparations for defence. Every
precaution was taken to circumvent the plans of the enemy. There was no
longer any doubt as to the intentions of the disappointed islanders. Von
Blitz and Rasula had convinced them that their cause was seriously
jeopardised; they were made to see the necessity for permanently
removing the white pretenders from their path.
Deppingham, on account of his one time position in the British army, was
chosen chief officer of the beleaguered "citadel." A strict espionage
was set upon the native servants, despite Baillo's assurances of
loyalty. Lookouts were posted in the towers and a ceaseless watch was to
be kept day and night. Chase, on his first visit to the west tower,
discovered a long unused searchlight of powerful dimensions. Fortunately
for the besieged, the electric-light plant was located in the château
grounds and could not be tampered with from the outside. A quantity of
fuel, sufficient to last for a couple of months, was found in the bins.
Britt was put in charge of the night patrol, Saunders the day. Strict
orders were given that no one was to venture into that portion of the
park open to long-range shots from the hills. Chase set the minds of all
at rest by announcing that the islanders would not seek to set fire to
the château from the cliffs: such avaricious gentlemen as Von Blitz and
Rasula would never consent to the destruction of property so valuable.
Selim, under orders, had severed the long rope with a single rifle shot;
no one could hope to reach the château by way of the cliff.
Extra precautions were taken to guard the women from attacks from the
inside. The window bars were locked securely and heavy bolts were placed
on the doors leading to the lower regions. It was now only too apparent
that Skaggs and Wyckholme had wrought well in anticipation of a
rebellion by the native shareholders. Each window had its adjustable
grates, every outer door was protected by heavy iron gates.
By nightfall Deppingham's forces were in full possession of every
advantage that their position afforded. In the cool of the evening, they
sat down to rest in the great stone gallery overlooking the sea,
satisfied that they were reasonably secure from any assault that their
foes might undertake. No sign of hostility had been observed during the
day. Japat looked, as observed from the château, to be the most peaceful
spot in the world.
Chase came from his room, still stiff and sore, but with fresh, white
bandages on his blistered hands. He asked and received permission to
light a cigarette, and then dropped wearily into a seat near the
Princess, who sat upon the stone railing. She was leaning back against
the column and looking dreamily out across the lowlands toward the
starlit sea. The never-ceasing rush of the mountain stream came plainly
up to them from below; now and then a cool dash of spray floated to
their faces from the waterfall hard by.
The soft light from the shaded windows fell upon her glorious face.
Chase sat in silence for many minutes, covertly feasting his eyes upon
her loveliness. Her trim, graceful, seductive figure was outlined
against the darkness; a delicate, sensuous fragrance exhaled from her
person, filling him with an indescribable delight and languor; the spell
of her beauty was upon him and he felt the leap of his blood.
"If I were you," he said at last, reluctant to despoil the picture, "I
wouldn't sit up there. It would be a very simple matter for one of our
friends to pick you off with a shot from below. Please let me pull up a
chair for you."
She smiled languidly, without a trace of uneasiness in her manner.
"Dear officer of the day, do you think they are so foolish as to pick us
off in particles? Not at all. They will dispose of us wholesale, not by
the piece. By the way, has Neenah been made quite comfortable?"
"I believe so. She and Selim have the room beyond mine, thanks to Lady
Deppingham."
"Agnes tells me that she is very interesting--quite like a princess out
of a fairy book. You recall the princesses who were always being
captured by ogres and evil princes and afterward satisfactorily rescued
by those dear knights admirable? Did Selim steal her in the beginning?"
"You forget the pot of sapphires and the big ruby."
"They say that princesses can be bought very cheaply."
"Depends entirely upon the quality of princess you desire. It's very
much like buying rare gems or old paintings, I'd say."
"Very much, I'm sure. I suppose you'd call Neenah a rare gem?"
"She is certainly not an old painting."
"How old is she, pray?"
"Seventeen--by no means an antique. Speaking of princesses and ogres,
has it occurred to you that you would bring a fortune in the market?"
"Mr. Chase!"
"You know, it's barely possible that you may be put in a matrimonial
shop window if Von Blitz and his friends should capture you alive. Ever
think of that?"
"Good heavens! You--why, what a horrible thing to say!"
"You won't bring as much in the South Sea market as you would in
Rapp-Thorberg or Paris, but I daresay you could be sold for--"
"Please, Mr. Chase, don't suggest anything so atrocious," she cried,
something like terror in her voice.
"Neenah's father sold her for a handful of gems," said he, with distinct
meaning in his voice. She was silent, and he went on after a moment. "Is
there so much difference, after all, where one is sold, just so long as
the price is satisfactory to all concerned?"
"You are very unkind, Mr. Chase," she said with quiet dignity. "I do not
deserve your sarcasm."
"I humbly plead for forgiveness," he said, suddenly contrite. "It was
beastly."
"American wit, I imagine you call it," she said scornfully. "I don't
care to talk with you any longer."
"Won't you forgive me? I'm a poor brute--don't lash me. In two or three
weeks I'll step down and out of your life; that will be penalty enough,
don't you think?"
"For whom?" she asked in a voice so low that he could scarcely hear the
words. Then she laughed ironically. "I _do_ forgive. It is all that a
prince or a princess is ever asked to do, I'm beginning to believe. I
also forgive you for coming into my life."
"If I had been a trifle more intelligent, I should not have come into it
at all," he said. She turned upon him quickly, stung by the remark.
"Is that the way you feel about it?" she asked sharply.
"You don't understand. A man of intelligence would never have kicked
Prince Karl. As a matter of fact, in trying to kick Prince Karl out of
your life, I kicked myself into it. A very simple process, and yet
scarcely intellectual. A jackass could have done as much."
"A jackass may kick at a king," she paraphrased casually. "A cat may
only look at him. But let us go back to realities. Do you mean to tell
me that they--these wretches--would dare to sell me--us, I mean--into
the kind of slavery you mention?" A trace of anxiety deepened the tone
of her voice. She was now keenly alert and no longer trivial.
"Why not?" he asked soberly, arising and coming quite close to her side.
"You are beautiful. If they should take you alive, it would be a very
simple matter for any one of these men to purchase you from the others.
You might easily be kept on this island for the rest of your days, and
the world would be none the wiser. Or you could be sold into Persia, or
Arabia, or Turkey. I am not surprised that you shudder. Forgive me for
alarming you, perhaps needlessly. Nevertheless, it is a thing to
consider. I have learned all of the plans from Selim's wife. They do not
contemplate the connubial traffic, 'tis true, but that would be a
natural consequence. Von Blitz and Rasula mean to destroy all of us. We
are to disappear from the face of the earth. When our friends come to
look for us, we will have died from the plague and our bodies will have
been burned, as they always are in Japat. There will be no one left to
deny the story. All outsiders are to be destroyed--even the Persian and
Turkish women, who hate their liege lords too well. After to-morrow, no
ship is due to put in here for three weeks. They will see to it that
none of us get out to that ship; nor will the ship's officers know of
our peril. The word will go forth that the plague has come to the
island. That is the first step, your highness. But there is one obstacle
they have overlooked," he concluded. She looked up inquiringly.
"My warships," he said, the whimsical smile broadening.
CHAPTER XXI
THE PLAGUE IS ANNOUNCED
The next morning, a steamship flying the English flag came to anchor off
Aratat, delivered and received mail bags, and after an hour's stay
steamed away in the drift of the southeast trade winds, Bombay to Cape
Colony. The men at the château gazed longingly, helplessly through their
glasses at this black hulled visitor from the world they loved; they
watched it until nothing was left to be seen except the faint cloud of
smoke that went to a pin point in the horizon. There had been absolutely
no opportunity to communicate with the officers of the ship; they sailed
away hurriedly, as if in alarm. Their haste was significant.
"I guess we'd better not tell the women," said Bobby Browne, heaving a
deep sigh. "It won't add to their cheerfulness if they hear that a ship
has called here."
"It couldn't matter in any event," said Deppingham. "We've got to stick
here two weeks longer, no matter how many ships call. I'm demmed if I'll
funk now, after all these rotten months."
"Perhaps Bowles succeeded in getting a word with the officer who came
ashore," said Browne hopefully. "He knows the danger we are in."
"My dear Browne, Bowles hadn't the ghost of a chance to communicate with
the ship," said Chase. "He can't bully 'em any longer with his Tommy
Atkins coat. They've outgrown it, just as he has. It was splendid while
it lasted, but they're no more afraid of it now than they are of my
warships. I wish there was some way to get him and his English
assistants into the château. It's awful to think of what is coming to
them, sooner or later."
"Good God, Chase, is there no way to help them?" groaned Deppingham.
"I'll never forget poor Bowles, the first time I saw him in his dinky
red jacket and that Hooligan cap of his," reflected Chase, as if he had
not heard Deppingham's remark. "He put them on and tried to overawe the
crowd that night when I was threatened in the market-place. He did his
best, poor chap, and I----"
"Look!" exclaimed Britt suddenly, pointing toward one of the big gates
in the upper end of the park. "I believe they're making an attack!"
The next instant the men in the balcony were leaving it pell-mell,
picking up the ever-ready rifles as they dashed off through the halls
and out into the park. What they had seen at the gate--which was one
rarely used--was sufficient to demand immediate action on their part; a
demonstration of some sort was in progress at this particular entrance
to the grounds. Saunders was left behind with instructions to guard the
château against assault from other sources. Headed by Chase, the four
men hurried across the park, prepared for an encounter at the gate. They
kept themselves as well covered as possible by the boxed trees, although
up to this time there had been no shooting.
Chase, in advance, suddenly gave vent to a loud cry and boldly dashed
out into the open, disregarding all shelter. Two of the native park
patrol were hastening toward the gate from another direction. Outside
the huge, barred gate a throng of men and women were congregated. Some
of the men were vigorously slashing away at the bars with sledges and
crow-bars; others were crouching with rifles levelled--in the other
direction!
"It's Bowles!" shouted Chase eagerly.
The situation at once became clear to those inside the walls. Bowles and
his friends, a score all told, had managed to reach the upper gate and
were now clamouring for admission, beset on all sides by the pickets who
were watching the château. Bowles, with his pathetic red jacket, could
be distinguished in the midst of his huddled followers, shouting
frantically for haste on the part of those inside. Some one was waving a
white flag of truce. A couple of shots were fired from the forest above,
and there were screams from the frightened women, shouts from the men,
who had ceased battering the gates at the signs of rescue from within.
"For God's sake, be quick," shouted Bowles. "There's a thousand of them
coming up the mines' road!"
The gates were unlocked by the patrol and the panic-stricken throng
tumbled through them and scattered like sheep behind the high,
sheltering walls. Once more the massive gates were closed and the bolts
thrown down, just in time to avoid a fusillade of bullets from the
outside. It was all over in a minute. A hundred throats emitted shouts
of rage, curses and threats, and then, as if by magic, the forest became
as still as death.
Once inside the château, the fugitives, shivering with terror, fairly
collapsed. There were three Englishmen in the party besides Bowles,
scrubby, sickly chaps, but men after all. It was with unfeigned surprise
that Chase recognised the Persian wives of Jacob von Blitz among the
women who had been obliged to cast their lot with the refugees from
Aratat. The sister of Neenah and five or six other women who had been
sold into the island made up the remainder of the little group of
trembling females. Their faces were veiled; their persons were bedecked
with all of the gaudy raiment and jewels that their charms had won from
their liege lords. They were slaves, these Persians and Turks and
Egyptians, but they came out of bondage with the trophies of queens
stuck in their hair, in their ears, on their hands and arms and about
their waists and throats.
The remainder of the men in the party, fourteen or fifteen in all, were
of many castes and nationalities, and of various ages. There were
brown-skinned fellows from Calcutta, a couple of sturdy Greeks, an
Egyptian and a Persian, three or four Assyrians and as many Maori. As to
their walks in life: among them were clerks and guards from the bank,
members of the native constabulary, Indian fakirs and showmen, and
venders of foreign gewgaws.
Bowles, his thin legs still shaking perceptibly, although he strove
mightily to hold them at strict "attention," was the spokesman. A
valiant heart thumped once more against the seams of the little red
jacket; if his hand trembled and his voice shook, it was because of the
unwonted exertion to which both had been put in that stirring flight at
dawn. He had eager, anxious listeners about him, too--and of the
nobility. Small wonder that his knees were intractable.
"For some time we have been preparing for the outbreak," he said,
fingering the glass of brandy that Britt had poured for him. "Ever since
Chase began to go in so noticeably for the ladies--ahem!"
Chase glared at him. The others tittered.
"I don't mean the old story, sir, of the Persians--and I'm saying, sir,
what's more, there wasn't a word of truth in it--I mean the ladies of
the château, begging pardon, too. Von Blitz came to me often with
complaints that you were being made a fool of by a pretty face or two,
and that you were going over to the enemy, body and soul. Of course, I
stood out for you, sir. It wasn't any use. They'd made up their minds to
get rid of you. When I heard that they tried to kill you the night
before last, I made up my mind that no white man was to be left to tell
the tale. Last night we locked all the company's books in the vaults,
got together all the banknotes and gold we had on hand, and made
preparations to go on board the steamer when she called this morning. My
plan was to tell them of the trouble here and try to save you. We were
all expected to die of the plague, that's what we were, and I realised
that Tommy Atkins was off the boards forever.
"We hadn't any more than got the cash and valuables ready to smuggle
aboard, when down came Rasula upon us. Ten o'clock last night, your
lordship. That's what it was--ten P.M. He had a dozen men with him and
he told every mother's son of us that our presence in the town was not
desired until after the ship had sailed away. We were ordered to leave
the town and go up into the hills under guard. There wasn't any chance
to fight or argue. We said we'd go, but we'd have the government on them
for the outrage. We left the rooms in the bank building, carrying away
what money we could well conceal. Later we were joined by the other men
you found with us, all of whom had refused to join in the outrage.
"We were taken up into the hills by a squad of men. There wasn't a man
among us that didn't know that we were to be killed as soon as the ship
had gone. With our own eyes, we saw the mail bags rifled, and nearly all
of the mail destroyed. The pouches from the château were burned. Rasula
politely informed us that the plague had broken out among the château
servants and that no mail could be sent out from that place. He said he
intended to warn the ship's officer of the danger in landing and--well,
that explains the short stay of the ship and the absence of nearly all
mail from the island. We had no means of communicating with the
officers. There won't be another boat for three weeks, and they won't
land because of the plague. They will get word, however, that every one
in the château has died of the disease, and that scores of natives are
dying every day.
"Well, we decided to break away from the guard and try to get to the
château. It was our only chance. It was their intention to take some of
us back to the bank this morning to open the vault and the safes. That
was to be our last act, I fancy. I think it was about four this morning
when a dozen of the women came up to where we were being held. They were
flying from the town and ran into the arms of our guard before they knew
of their presence. It seems that those devils down there had set out to
kill their women because it was known that one of them had warned Mr.
Chase of his danger. According to the women who came with us, at least a
score of these unlucky wives were strangled. Von Blitz's wives succeeded
in getting word to a few of their friends and they fled.
"During the excitement brought about by their arrival in our camp, we
made a sudden attack upon our guards. They were not expecting it and we
had seized their rifles before they could recover from their surprise. I
regret to say that we were obliged to kill a few of them in the row that
followed. But that is neither here nor there. We struck off for the
lower park as lively as possible. The sun was well up, and we had no
time to lose. We found the gates barred and went on to the upper gates.
You let us in just in time. The alarm had gone back to the town and we
could see the mob coming up the mines' road. My word, it was a close
shave."
He mopped his brow with trembling hand and smiled feebly at his
countrymen for support. The colour was coming back into their faces and
they could smile with the usual British indifference.
"A very close shave, my crimes!" vouchsafed the stumpy gentleman who
kept the books at the bank.
"It's an ill wind that blows all evil," said Deppingham. "Mr. Bowles,
you are most welcome. We were a bit short of able-bodied soldiers. May
we count on you and the men who came with you?"
"To the end, my lord," said Bowles, almost bursting his jacket by
inflation. The others slapped their legs staunchly.
"Then, we'll all have breakfast," announced Lord Deppingham. "Mr.
Saunders, will you be good enough to conduct the recruits to quarters?"
The arrival of the refugees from Aratat gave the château a staunch
little garrison, not counting the servants, whose loyalty was an
uncertain quantity. The stable men in the dungeon below served as
illustrations of what might be expected of the others, despite their
profession of fidelity. Including the house servants, who, perforce,
were loyal, there was an able-bodied garrison of sixty men. After
luncheon, Deppingham called his forces together. He gave fresh
instructions, exacted staunch promises, and heard reports from all of
his aides. The château by this time had been made practically
impregnable to attack from the outside.
"For the time being we are as snug as bugs in a rug," said Deppingham,
when all was over. "Shall we rejoin the ladies, gentlemen?" He was as
calm as a May morning.
The three leaders found the ladies in the shaded balcony, lounging
lazily as if no such thing as danger existed. Below them in the grassy
courtyard, a dozen indolent, sensuous Persians were congregated, lying
about in the shade with all the abandon of absolute security. The three
women in the balcony had been watching them for an hour, commenting
freely upon these creatures from another world. Neenah, the youngest and
prettiest of them all, had wafted kisses to the proud dames above. She
had danced for their amusement. Her companions sat staring at the ladies
at the railing, dark eyes peering with disdain above the veils which hid
their faces.
Lady Agnes waved her hand lazily toward the group below, sending a
mocking smile to Chase. "The Asiatic plague," she said cheerfully.
"The deuce," broke in her husband, not catching her meaning. "Has it
really broken out--"
"Deppy, you are the dumbest creature I know," exclaimed his wife.
Chase smiled broadly. "She refers to the newly acquired harem, Lord
Deppingham. We're supposed to die with the Asiatic plague, not to--not
to--"
"Not to live with it! Ho, ho, I see, by Jove!" roared Deppingham
amiably. "Splendid! Harem! I get the point. Ripping!"
"They're not so bad, are they, Bobby?" asked Lady Agnes coolly, going to
Browne's side at the railing. Chase hesitated a moment and then walked
over to Drusilla Browne, who was looking pensively into the courtyard
below. He was sorry for her. She laughed and chatted with him for ten
minutes, but there was a strained note in her voice that did not escape
his notice. It may not have been true that Browne was in love with Lady
Deppingham, but it was more than evident that his wife felt convinced
that he was.
"Splendid!" was the sudden exclamation of Drusilla's vagrant lord. The
others looked up, interested. "Say, everybody, Lady Agnes and I have hit
upon a ripping scheme. It's great!"
"To better our position?" asked Deppingham.
"Position? What--oh, I see. Not exactly. What do you say to a charity
ball, the proceeds to go to the survivors of the plague we're expected
to have?"
The Princess gave a quick, involuntary look at Chase's face. Browne's
tall fellow-countryman was now leaning against the rail beside her
chair. She saw a look of surprised amusement flit across his face,
succeeded almost instantly by a hard, dark frown of displeasure. He
waited a moment and then looked down at her with unmistakable shame and
disapproval in his eyes. Bobby Browne was going on volubly about the
charity ball, Deppingham listening with a fair show of tolerance.
"We might just as well be merry while we can," he was saying. "Think of
what the French did at the time of the Commune. They danced and died
like ladies and gentlemen. And our own forefathers, Chase, at the time
of the American Revolution--remember them, too. They gave their balls
and parties right under the muzzles of British cannon. And
Vicksburg--New Orleans, too--in the Civil War! Think of 'em! Why
shouldn't we be as game and as gay as they?"
"But they were earnest in their distractions," observed Deppingham, with
a glance at his wife's eager face. "This could be nothing more than a
travesty, a jest."
"Oh, let us be sports," cried Lady Agnes, falling into an Americanism
readily. "It may be a jest, but what odds? Something to kill time with."
Chase and the Princess watched Deppingham's expressionless face as he
listened to his wife and Bobby Browne. They were talking of
arrangements. He looked out over the roof of the opposite wing, beyond
the group of Persians, and nodded his head from time to time. There was
no smile on his lips, however.
"I don't like Mr. Browne," whispered Genevra suddenly. Chase did not
reply. She waited a moment and then went on. "He is not like Deppingham.
Do you understand?"
Lady Deppingham came over to them at that instant, her eyes sparkling.
"It's to be to-night," she said. "A fashionable charity ball--everything
except the newspaper accounts, don't you know. Committees and all that.
It's short notice, of course, but life may be short. We'll have Arab
acrobatics, Persian dances, a grand march, electric lights and
absolutely no money to distribute. That's the way it usually is. Now,
Mr. Chase, don't look so sour! Be nice, please!" She put her hand on his
arm and smiled up at him so brightly that he could not hold out against
her. She caught the touch of disapproval in Genevra's glance, and a
sharp, quick flash of rebellion came into her own eyes--a stubborn line
stopped for an instant at the corners of her mouth.
"What is a charity ball?" asked Genevra after a moment.
"A charity ball is a function where one set of women sit in the boxes
and say nasty things about the women on the floor, and those on the
floor say horrid things about the women in the boxes. It's great fun."
"Charity is simply a hallucination, then?"
"Yes, but don't mention it aloud. Mr. Britt is trying with might and
main to prove that Bobby and I have hallucinations without end. If I
happen to look depressed at breakfast time, he jots it down--spells of
depression and melancholia, do you see? He's a dreadful man."
Saunders was approaching from the lower end of the balcony. He appeared
flustered. His face was red and perspiring and his manner distrait.
Saunders, since his failure to establish the advantages of polygamy, had
shrunk farther into the background than ever, quite unlike Britt, who
had not lost confidence in the divorce laws. The sandy-haired solicitor
was now exhibiting symptoms of unusual discomfiture.
"Well, Saunders?" said Deppingham, as the lawyer stopped to clear his
throat obsequiously.
"I have found sufficient food of all descriptions, sir, to last for a
month, at least," said Saunders, in a strained, unnatural voice.
"Good! Has Miss Pelham jilted you, Saunders?" He put the question in a
jocular way. Its effect on Saunders was startling. His face turned
almost purple with confusion.
"No, sir, she has not, sir," he stammered.
"Beg pardon, Saunders. I didn't mean to offend. Where is she, pray, with
the invoice?"
"I'm--I'm sure I don't know, sir," responded Saunders, striving to
regain his dignity.
"Have a cigarette, Deppy?" interposed Browne, seeing that something was
amiss with Saunders. In solemn order the silver box went the rounds.
Drusilla alone refused to take one. Her husband looked surprised.
"Want one, Drusie?"
"No, thank you, Bobby," she said succinctly. "I've stopped. I don't
think it's womanly."
Lady Deppingham's hand was arrested with the match half way to her lips.
She looked hard at Drusilla for a moment and then touched the light
serenely to her cigarette.
"Pooh!" was all that she said. Genevra did not light hers at all.
Saunders spoke up, as if suddenly recollecting something. "I have also
to report, sir, that the stock of cigarettes is getting very low. They
can't last three days at this rate, sir."
The three men stared at him.
"Good Lord!" exclaimed Chase, who could face any peril and relish the
experience if needs be, but who now foresaw a sickening deprivation.
"You can't mean it, Saunders?"
"I certainly do, sir. The mint is holding out well, though, sir. I think
it will last."
"By George, this is a calamity," groaned Chase. "How is a man to fight
without cigarettes?"
Genevra quietly proffered the one she had not lighted, a quizzical smile
in her eyes.
"My contribution to the cause," she said gaily. "What strange creatures
men are! You will go out and be shot at all day and yet--" she paused
and looked at the cigarette as if it were entitled to reverence.
"It does seem a bit silly, doesn't it?" lamented the stalwart Chase.
Then he took the cigarette.
CHAPTER XXII
THE CHARITY BALL
They were not long in finding out what had happened to Saunders. After
luncheon, while Browne and the three ladies were completing the
preparations for the entertainment. Miss Pelham appeared before
Deppingham and Chase in the former's headquarters. She had asked for an
interview and was accompanied by Mr. Britt.
"Lord Deppingham," she began, seating herself coolly before the two men,
her eyes dark with decision, "I approach you as the recognised head of
this establishment. I shan't detain you long. My attorney, Mr. Britt,
will explain matters to you after I have retired. He--"
"Your attorney? What does this mean?" gasped Deppingham, visions of
blackmail in mind. "What's up, Britt? I deny every demmed word of it,
whatever it is!"
"Just a little private affair," murmured Britt, uncomfortably.
"Private?" sniffed Miss Pelham, involuntarily rearranging her hat. "I
think it has been quite public, Mr. Britt. That's the trouble." Lord
Deppingham looked worried and Chase had the feeling that some wretched
disclosure was about to be made by the sharp-tongued young woman. He
looked at her with a hard light in his eyes. She caught the glance and
stared back for a moment defiantly. Then she appeared to remember that
she always had longed for his good opinion--perhaps, she had dreamed of
something more--and her eyes fell; he saw her lip tremble. "I've simply
come to ask Lord Deppingham to stand by me. Mr. Saunders is in his
employ--or Lady Deppingham's, I should say--"
"Which is the same thing," interposed Deppingham, drawing a deeper
breath. He had been trying to recollect if he ever had said anything to
Miss Pelham that might not appear well if repeated.
"Mr. Saunders has deceived me," she announced steadily. "I leave it to
you if his attentions have not been most pronounced. Of course, if I
wanted to, I could show you a transcript of everything he has said to me
in the last couple of months. He didn't know it, but I managed to get
most everything down in shorthand. I did it at the risk, too, your
lordship, of being considered cold and unresponsive by him. It's most
difficult to take conversation without the free use of your hands, I
must say. But I've preserved in my own black and white, every promise he
made and--"
"I'm afraid it won't be good evidence," volunteered her lawyer. "It will
have to be substantiated, my dear."
"Please don't call me 'my dear,' Mr. Britt. Never you mind about it not
being good evidence. Thomas Saunders won't enjoy hearing it read in
court, just the same. What I want to ask of you, Lord Deppingham, as a
friend, is to give Mr. Britt your deposition regarding Mr. Saunders's
attitude toward me, to the best of your knowledge and belief. I'll take
it verbatim and put it into typewriting, free of charge. I--I don't see
anything to laugh at, Mr. Chase!" she cried, flushing painfully.
"My dear girl," he said, controlling himself, "I think you are
misjudging the magnitude of a lover's quarrel. Don't you think it is
rather a poor time to talk breach of promise with the guns of an enemy
ready to take a pop at us at any moment?"
"It's no worse than a charity ball, Mr. Chase," she said severely.
"Charity begins at home, gentlemen, and I'm here to look out for myself.
No one else will, let me tell you that. I want to get the deposition of
every person in the château. They can be sworn to before Mr. Bowles, who
is a magistrate, I'm told. He can marry people and--"
"By Jove!" exclaimed Deppingham suddenly. "Can he? Upon my soul!"
"His manner changed as soon as that horrid little wife of Selim came to
the château. I don't like the way she makes eyes at him and I told him
so this morning, down in the storerooms. My, but he flew up! He said
he'd be damned if he'd marry me." She began to use her handkerchief
vigorously. The men smiled as they looked away.
"I--I intend to sue him for breach of promise," she said thickly.
"Is it as bad as all that?" asked Deppingham consolingly.
"What do you mean by 'bad as all that'? He's kissed me time and again,
but that's all."
"I'll send for Saunders," said Deppingham sternly.
"Not while I'm here," she exclaimed, getting up nervously.
"Just as you like, Miss Pelham. I'll send for you after we've talked it
over with Saunders. We can't afford a scandal in the château, don't you
know."
"No, I should think not," she said pointedly. Then she looked at Chase
and winked, with a meaning nod at the unobserving Deppingham. Chase
followed her into the hall.
"None of that, Miss Pelham," he said severely.
Saunders came in a few minutes later, nervous and uncomfortable.
"You sent for me, my lord," he said weakly.
"Sit down, Saunders. Your knees seem to be troubling you. Miss Pelham is
going to sue you for breach of promise."
"Good Lord!"
"What have you promised her, sir?"
"That I _wouldn't_ marry her, that's all, sir," floundered Saunders.
"She's got no right to presume, sir. Gentlemen always indulge in little
affairs--flirtations, I might say, sir--it's most common. Of course, I
thought she'd understand."
"Don't you love her, Saunders?"
"Oh, I say, my lord, that's rather a pointed question. My word, it is,
sir! There may have been a bit of--er--well, you know--between us, sir,
but--that's all, that's quite all. Absurdly all, 'pon my soul."
"Saunders," said Britt solemnly, "I am her attorney. Be careful what you
say in my presence."
"Britt," said Saunders distinctly, "you are a blooming traitor! You told
me yourself that she was used to all that sort of thing and wouldn't
mind. Now, see what you do? It's--it's outrageous!" He was half in
tears. Then turning to Deppingham, he went on fiercely, "I won't be
bullyragged by any woman, sir. We got along beautifully until she began
to shy figurative pots at me because Selim's wife looked at me
occasionally. Hang it all, sir, I can't help it if the ladies choose to
look at me. Minnie--Miss Pelham--was perfectly silly about it. Good
Lord," he groaned in recollection. "It was a very trying scene she made,
sir. More than ever, it made me realise that I can't marry beneath me.
You see, my lord, we've got a fairish sort of social position out
Hammersmith way--as far out as Putney, I might say, where we have rather
swell friends, my mother and I--and I don't think--"
"Saunders," said Lord Deppingham sternly, "she loves you. I don't
understand why or how, but she does. Just because you have obtained an
exalted social position at Hammersmith Bridge is no reason you should
become a snob. I daresay she stands just as well at Brooklyn Bridge as
you do at Hammersmith. She's a fine girl and would be an adornment to
you, such as Hammersmith could be proud of. If you want my candid
opinion, Saunders, I think you're a silly ass!"
"Do you really, my lord?" quite humbly.
"Shall I prove it to you by every man on the place? Miss Pelham is quite
good enough for any one of us. I'd be proud to have her as my wife--if I
lived at Hammersmith Bridge."
"You amaze me, sir!"
"She's a very pretty girl," volunteered Chase glibly.
"Oh, she could marry like a flash in New York," said Britt. "A dozen men
I know of are crazy about her. Good-looking chaps, too," The sarcasm
escaped Saunders, who was fidgeting uncomfortably.
"Of course--you know--the breaking of the engagement--I should say the
row, wasn't of my doing," he submitted, pulling at his finger joints
nervously.
"I'm afraid it can't be patched up, either," said Britt dolefully.
"She's been insulted, you see--"
"Insulted? My eye! I wouldn't say anything to hurt her for the world. I
may have been agitated--very likely I said a sharp word or two. But as
for insulting her--never! She's told me herself a thousand times that
she doesn't mind the word 'damn' in the least. That may have misled
me--"
"Saunders, we can't have our only romance marred by a breach of promise
suit," said his lordship resolutely. "There is simply got to be a
wedding in the end or the whole world will hate us. Every romance must
have its young lovers, and even though it doesn't run smooth, love will
triumph. So far you have been our prize young lover. You are the
undisputed hero. Don't spoil everything at the last moment, Saunders.
Patch it up, and let's have a wedding in the last chapter. You should
not forget that it was you who advocated multi-marriage. Try it once for
yourself, and, if you like it, by Jove, we'll all come to your
succeeding marriages and bless you, no matter how many wives you take
unto yourself."
Saunders, very much impressed by these confidences, bowed himself out of
the room, followed by Britt, of whom he implored help in the effort to
bring about a reconciliation. He was sorely distressed by Britt's
apparent reluctance to compromise the case without mature deliberation.
"You see, old chap," mused Deppingham, after their departure, "matrimony
is no trifling thing, after all. No matter whether it contemplates a
garden in Hammersmith or an island in the South Seas, it has its
drawbacks."
The charity ball began at ten o'clock, schedule time. If all of those
who participated were not in perfect sympathy with the spirit of the mad
whim, they at least did not deport themselves after the fashion of wet
blankets. To be quite authentic, but two of the promoters were heartily
involved in the travesty--Lady Agnes, whose sprightliness was never
dormant, and Bobby Browne, who shone in the glamour of his first
encounter with the nobility. Drusilla Browne, asserting herself as an
American matron, insisted that the invitation list should include the
lowly as well as the mighty. She had her way, and as a result, the bank
employés, the French maids, Antoine and the two corporals of
Rapp-Thorberg's Royal Guard appeared on the floor in the grand march
directly behind Mr. Britt, Mr. Saunders, and Miss Pelham.
"One cannot discriminate at the charity ball," Drusilla had stoutly
maintained. "The _hoi polloi_ and the riff-raff always get in at home.
So, why not here? If we're going to have a charity ball, let's give it
the correct atmosphere."
"I shall feel as if I were dancing with my green grocer," lamented Lady
Agnes. Later on, when the dancing was at its height, she exclaimed with
all the fervour of a charmed imagination: "I feel as the Duchess de
What's-her-name must have felt, Bobby, when she danced all night at her
own ball, and then dressed for the guillotine instead of going to bed.
We may all be shot in the morning."
The Indian fakirs and showmen gave a performance in the courtyard at
midnight. They were followed by the Bedouin tumblers and the inspired
Persians, who danced with frantic abandon and the ripe lust of joy.
There was but one unfortunate accident. Mr. Rivers, formerly of the
bank, got very tight and fell down the steps leading to the courtyard,
breaking his left arm.
Lord Deppingham and Chase kept their heads. They saw to it that the
watch over the grounds and about the château was strictly maintained.
The former led the grand march with the Princess. She was more
ravishingly beautiful than ever. Her gown, exquisitely cool and simple,
suggested that indefinable, unmistakable touch of class that always
marks the distinction between the woman who subdues the gown and the
gown which subdues the woman.
Hollingsworth Chase was dazzled. He discovered, much to his subsequent
amusement, that he was holding his breath as he stared at her from the
opposite side of the banquet hall, which had been transformed into a
ballroom. She had just entered with the Deppinghams. Something seemed to
shout coarsely, scoffingly in his ear: "Now, do you realise the distance
that lies between? She was made for kings and princes, not for such as
you!"
He waited long before presenting himself in quest of the dance he
hungered for so greedily--afraid of her! She greeted him with a new,
brighter light in her eyes; a quiver of delight, long in restraint, came
into her voice; he saw and felt the welcome in her manner.
The blood surged to his head; he mumbled his request. Then, for the
first time, he was near to holding her close in his arms--he was
clasping her fingers, touching her waist, drawing her gently toward his
heart. Once, as they swept around the almost empty ballroom, she looked
up into his eyes. Neither had spoken. His lips parted suddenly and his
fingers closed down upon hers. She saw the danger light in his eyes and
knew the unuttered words that struggled to his lips and stopped there.
She never knew why she did it, but she involuntarily shook her head
before she lowered her eyes. He knew what she meant. His heart turned
cold again and the distance widened once more to the old proportions.
He left her with Bobby Browne and went out upon the cool, starlit
balcony. There he gently cursed himself for a fool, a dolt, an idiot.
The shouts of laughter and the clapping of hands on the inside did not
draw him from his unhappy reverie. He did not know until afterward that
the official announcement of the engagement of Miss Minnie Pelham and
Thomas Saunders was made by Bobby Browne and the health of the couple
drunk in a series of bumpers.
Chase's bitter reflections were at last disturbed by a sound that came
sharply to his attention. He was staring moodily into the night, his
cigarette drooping dejectedly in his lips. The noise came from directly
below where he stood. He peered over the stone railing. The terrace was
barely ten feet below him; a mass of bushes fringed the base of the
wall, dark, thick, fragrant. Some one was moving among these stubborn
bushes; he could hear him plainly. The next moment a dark figure shot
out from the shadows and slunk off into night, followed by another and
another and yet others, seven in all. Chase's mind refused to work
quickly. He stood as one petrified for a full minute, unable to at once
grasp the meaning of the performance.
Then the truth suddenly dawned upon him. The prisoners had escaped from
the dungeon!
He dashed into the ballroom and shouted the alarm. Confusion ensued. He
called out sharp commands as he rushed across to where Deppingham was
chatting with the Princess.
"There's been treachery," he explained quickly. "Some one has released
the prisoners. We must keep them from reaching the walls. They will
overpower our guards and open the gates to the enemy. Britt, see that
the searchlight is trained on the gates. We must stop those fellows
before it is too late. Time enough to hunt for the traitor later on!"
Two minutes later, a swarm of armed men forsook the mock charity ball
and sallied forth to engage in realities. Firing was soon heard at the
western gate, half a mile away. Thither, the eager pursuers rushed. The
wide ray from the searchlight swung down upon this gate and revealed the
forms of struggling men.
The prisoners had fallen suddenly upon the two Greeks who guarded the
western gate, surprising them cleverly. The Greeks fought for their
lives, but were overwhelmed in plain view of the relief party which
raced toward them. Both fell under the clubbed guns of their
adversaries.
Chase and Selim were not more than a hundred yards away when the
desperate Greeks went down. The blinding glare of the searchlight aided
the pursuers, who kept outside its radius. The fugitives, bewildered,
confused by the bright glare in which they found themselves, faced the
light boldly, five of them kneeling with guns raised to protect their
two companions who started across the narrow strip which separated them
from the massive gate. Selim gave a shout and stopped suddenly, throwing
his rifle to his shoulder.
"They have the keys!" he cried. "Shoot!"
His rifle cracked a second later and one of the two men leaped into the
air and fell like a log. Chase understood the necessity for quick work
and fired an instant later. The second man fell in a heap, thirty feet
from the gate. His companions returned the fire at random in the
direction from which the well-aimed shots had come.
"Under cover!" shouted Chase. He and Selim dropped into the shrubbery in
time to escape a withering fire from outside the gates. The searchlight
revealed a compact mass of men beyond the walls. It was then that the
insiders realised how near they had come to being surprised and
destroyed. A minute more, and the gates would have been opened to this
merciless horde.
The prisoners, finding themselves trapped, threw themselves upon the
ground and shrieked for mercy. Lord Deppingham and the others came up
and, scattering well, began to fire at the mass outside the wall. The
islanders were at a disadvantage. They could not locate the opposing
marksmen on account of the blinding light in their faces. It was but a
moment before they were scampering off into the dark wood, shrieking
with rage.
The five fugitives were compelled to carry their fallen comrades and the
two Greeks from the open space in front of the gates to a point where it
was safe for the defenders to approach them without coming in line with
a possible volley from the forest.
A small force was left to guard the gate; the remainder returned as
quickly as possible to the château. The Greeks were unconscious, badly
battered by the clubbed guns. Browne, once more the doctor, attended
them and announced that they would be on their feet in a day or two--"if
complications don't set in." One of the prisoners was dead, shot through
the heart by the deadly Selim. The other had a shattered shoulder.
Immediately upon the return to the château, an inspection of the
dungeons was made, prior to an examination of the servants in the effort
to apprehend the traitor.
The three men who went down into the damp, chill regions below ground
soon returned with set, pale faces. There had been no traitor!
The man whose duty it was to guard the prisoners was found lying inside
the big cell, his throat cut from ear to ear, stone dead!
There was but one solution. He had been seized from within as he came to
the grating in response to a call. While certain fingers choked him into
silence, others held his hands and still others wrenched the keys from
his sash. After that it was easy. Deppingham, Chase and Selim looked at
each other in horror--and, strange as it may seem, relief.
Death was there, but, after all, Death is no traitor.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE JOY OF TEMPTATION
The revolting details were kept from the women. They were not permitted
to know of the ugly thing that sweltered in the dark corridor below
their very feet. Late in the night, a small body of men, acting under
orders, carried the unfortunate guard down into the valley and buried
him. Only the most positive stand on the part of the white men prevented
the massacre of the prisoners by the friends and fellow-servants of the
murdered man. A secret trial by jury, at a later day, was promised by
Lord Deppingham.
There was but little sleep in the château that night. The charity ball
was forgotten--or if recalled at all, only in connection with the
thought of what it came so near to costing its promoters.
No further disturbances occurred. A strict watch was preserved; the
picturesque drawbridge was lifted and there were lights on the terrace
and galleries; men slept within easy reach of their weapons. The siege
had begun in earnest. Men had been slain and their blood was crying out
for vengeance; the voice of justice was lost in the clamourings of rage.
Breakfast found no laggards; the lazy comforts of the habitually late
were abandoned for the more stirring interests that had come to occupy
the time and thoughts of all concerned. The Princess was quite serene.
She lightly announced that the present state of affairs was no worse
than that which she was accustomed to at home. The court of
Rapp-Thorberg was ever in a state of unrest, despite its outward
suggestion of security. Outbreaks were common among the masses; somehow,
they were suppressed before they grew large enough to be noticed by the
wide world.
"We invariably come out on top," she philosophised, "and so shall we
here. At home we always eat, drink and make merry, for to-morrow never
comes."
"That's all very nice," said Lady Agnes plaintively, "but I'm thinking
of yesterday. Those fellows who were killed can't die to-morrow, you
know; it occurred to them yesterday. It's always yesterday after one
dies."
Soon after breakfast was over, Chase announced his intention to visit
each of the gates in turn. The Princess strolled with him as far as the
bridge at the foot of the terrace. They stopped in the shade of a clump
of trees that hung upon the edge of the stream. As they were gravely
discussing the events of the night, Neenah came up to them from beyond
the bridge. Her dark, brilliant face was glowing with excitement; the
cheerful adoration that one sees in a dog's eyes shone in hers as she
salaamed gracefully to the "Sahib." She had no eyes for royalty.
"Excellency," she began breathlessly, "it is Selim who would have
private speech with the most gracious sahib. It is to be quick,
excellency. Selim is under the ground, excellency."
"In the cellars?"
"Yes, excellency. It is so dark there that one cannot see, but Neenah
will lead you. Selim has sent me. But come now!"
Chase felt his ears burn when he turned to find a delicate, significant
smile on Genevra's lips. "Don't let me detain you," she said, ever so
politely.
"Wait, please!" he exclaimed. "Is Selim hurt?" he demanded of Neenah,
who shook her head vigorously.
"Then, there is no reason why you should not accompany us. Princess."
"I am not at all necessary to the undertaking," she said coldly, turning
to leave him.
"Selim has found fuses and gunpowder laid in the cellars, excellency--in
the secret vaults," began Neenah eagerly, divining the cause of the
white lady's hesitation.
This astounding piece of news swept away the feeble barrier Genevra
would have erected in her pique. Eagerly she joined in questioning the
Persian girl, but Neenah would only reply that Selim was waiting for the
sahib. The Princess was immeasurably consoled to find that the
body-servant had destroyed the fuses and that they were in no immediate
danger of being blown to pieces. She consented to accompany Chase into
the cellars, a spirit of adventure overcoming certain scruples which
might have restrained her under other conditions.
Neenah led them through the wine cellars and down into the vaults beyond
the dungeons. They descended three steep flights of stone steps, into
the cold, damp corridors of the lowermost cellars. Neenah explained that
it was necessary to move cautiously and without lights. Selim was
confident that there was at least one traitor among the servants. The
Princess clutched Chase's hand tightly as they stole through the bleak,
chill corridor; she found herself wondering if the girl was to be
trusted. What if she were leading them into a trap? She would have
whispered her fears into Chase's ear had not a sharp "sh!" come from the
girl who was leading. Genevra felt a queer little throb of hatred for
the girl--she could not explain it.
The dungeon was off to the right. They could hear the insistent murmur
of voices, with now and then a laugh from the distant cells. The guard
could be heard scoffing at his charges. With a caution that seemed
wholly absurd to the two white people, Neenah guided them through the
maze of narrow passages, dark as Erebus and chill as the grave. Chase
checked a hysterical impulse to laugh aloud at the proceedings; it was
like playing at a children's game.
He was walking between the two women, Neenah ahead, Genevra behind; each
clasped one of his hands. Suddenly he found himself experiencing an
overpowering desire to exert the strength of his arm to draw the
Princess close--close to his insistent body. The touch of her flesh, the
clutch of her cold little hand, filled him with the most exquisite sense
of possession; the magnetism of life charged from one to the other,
striking fire to the blood; sex tingled in this delicious riot of the
senses; all went to inspire and encourage the reckless joy that was
mastering him. He felt his arm grow taut with the irresistible impulse.
He was forgetting Neenah, forgetting himself--thinking only of the
opportunity and its fascination. In another instant he would have drawn
her hand to his lips: Neenah came to a standstill and uttered a warning
whisper. Chase recovered himself with a mighty start, a chill as of one
avoiding an unseen peril sweeping over him. Genevra heard the sharp,
painful intake of his breath and felt the sudden relaxation of his
fingers. She was not puzzled; she, too, had felt the magic of the touch
and her blood was surging red; she knew, then, that she had been
clasping his hand with a fervour that was as unmistakable as it was
shameless.
She was again forgetting that princesses should dwell in the narrow
realm of self.
Neenah may have felt the magnetic current that coursed through these
surcharged creatures: she was smiling mysteriously to herself.
"Wait here," she whispered to Chase, ever so softly. She released his
hand and moved off in the blackness of the passage. "I will bring
Selim," came back to them.
"Oh!" fell faintly, tremulously from Genevra's lips. It was a trap,
after all! But it was not the trap laid by a traitor. She fell all
a-quiver. Her heart fluttered violently, her breath came quickly. Alone
with him--and their blood leaping to the touch that thrilled!
Chase could no more have restrained the hand that went out suddenly in
quest of hers than he could have checked his own heart throbs. A wave of
exquisite joy swept over him--the joy of a temptation that knew no fear
or conscience. He found her cold little hand and clasped it in tense
fingers--fingers that throbbed with the call to passion. He drew her
close--their bodies touched and sweetly trembled. His lips were close to
her ear--the smell of her hair was in his quivering nostrils. He heard
her quick, sharp breathing.
"Are you afraid?" he whispered in tones he had never heard before.
"Yes," she murmured convulsively--"of you! Please, please, don't!" At
the same time, she tightened her clutch upon his hand and crept closer
to him, governed by an unconquerable craving. Chase had the sensation of
smothering; he could not believe the senses which told him that she was
responding to his appeal. His brain was whirling, his heart bounding
like mad. Her voice, soft and appealing, turned his blood to fire.
"Genevra!" he murmured--almost gasped--in his delirium. Their bodies
were pressed close to each other--his arms went about her slender figure
suddenly and she was strained to his breast, locked to him with bonds
that seemed unbreakable. Her face was lifted to his. The blackness of
the passage was impenetrable, but love was the guide. He found her lips
in one wild, glorious kiss.
A door creaked sharply. He released her. Their quivering arms fell away;
they drew ever so slightly apart, still under the control of the
influence which had held them for that brief moment. She was trembling
violently. A soft, wailing sigh, as of pain, came from her lips.
Then the glimmer of a light came to them through the half open door at
the end of the passage. They gazed at it without comprehension, dumb in
their sudden weakness. A shadowy figure came out through the door and
Selim's voice, low and tense, called to them.
Still speechless, they moved forward involuntarily. He did not attempt
to take her hand. He was afraid--vastly afraid of what he had done,
unaccountable as it may seem. That piteous sigh wrought shame in his
heart. He felt that he had wronged her--had seized upon a willing,
hapless victim when she had not the power to defend herself against her
own impulses.
"Forgive me," he murmured.
"It is too late," she replied. Then his hand sought hers again and,
dizzy with emotion, he led her up to the open door. As they passed into
the huge, dimly lighted chamber, he turned to look into her face. She
met his gaze and there were tears in her eyes. Selim was ahead of them.
She shook her head sadly and he understood.
"Can we ever forget?" she murmured plaintively.
"Never!" he whispered.
"Then we shall always regret--always regret!" she said, withdrawing her
hand. "It was the beginning and the end."
"Not the end, dearest one--if we are always to regret," he interposed
eagerly. "But why the end? You _do_ love me! I know it! And I worship
you--oh, you don't know how I worship you, Genevra! I--"
"Hush! We were fools! Don't, please! I do _not_ love you. I was carried
away by--Oh, can't you understand? Remember what I am! You knew and yet
have degraded me in my own eyes. Is my own self-respect nothing? You
will laugh and you may boast after I am married to--"
"Genevra!" he protested as if in great pain.
"Excellency," came from the lips of Selim, at the lower end of the
chamber, breaking in sharply upon their little world. "There is no time
to be lost." Time to be lost! And he had held her in his arms! Time to
be lost! All the rest of Time was to be lost! "They may return at any
moment."
Chase pulled himself together. He looked into her eyes for a moment,
finding nothing there but a command to go. She stood straight and
unyielding on the very spot which had seen her trembling with emotion
but a moment before.
"Coming, Selim," he said, and moved away from her side as Neenah came
toward them from the opposite wall. Genevra did not move. She stood
quite still and numb, watching his tall figure crossing the stone floor.
Ah, what a man he was! The little Persian wife of Selim, after waiting
for a full minute, gently touched the arm of the Princess. Genevra
started and looked down into the dark, accusing, smiling eyes. She
flushed deeply and hated herself.
"Shall we go back?" she asked nervously. "I--I have seen enough. Come,
Neenah. Lead me back to--"
"Most glorious excellency," said Neenah, shaking her pretty head, "we
are to wait here. The sahib and Selim will join us soon."
"Where are they going?" demanded the Princess, a feeling of awe coming
over her. "I don't want to be left here alone." Chase and Selim had
opened a low, heavy iron door at the lower end and were peering into the
darkness beyond.
"Selim will explain. He has learned much. It is the secret passage to
the coast. Be not afraid."
Genevra looked about her for the first time. They were standing in a
long, low room, the walls of which reeked with dampness and gave out a
noxious odour. A single electric light provided a faint, almost
unnatural light. Selim raised a lighted lantern as he led Chase through
the squat door. Behind Genevra were enormous casks, a dozen or more,
reaching almost to the ceiling. A number of boxes stood close by, while
on the opposite side of the chamber four small iron chests were to be
seen, dragged out from recesses in the distant corner. It was not unlike
the mysterious treasure cave of the pirates that her brother had
stealthily read about to her in childhood days. Observing her look of
wonder, Neenah vouchsafed a casual explanation.
"It is the wine cellar and the storeroom. The iron chests contain the
silver and gold plate that came from the great Rajah of Murpat in
exchange for the five huge rubies which now adorn his crown. The Rajah
bartered his entire service of gold and silver for those wonderful gems.
The old sahibs stored the chests here many years ago. But few know of
their existence. See! They were hidden in the walls over there. Von
Blitz has found them."
"Von Blitz!" in amazement.
"He has been here. He has carried away many chests. There were twenty in
all."
"And--and he will return for these?" queried the Princess in alarm.
"Assuredly, most glorious one. Soon, perhaps. But be not afraid. Selim
can close the passage door. He cannot get in. He will be fooled, eh? Why
should you be afraid? Have you not with you the most wonderful, the most
brave sahib? Would he not give his life for you?" The dark eyes sparkled
with understanding--aye, even mischief. Genevra felt that this Oriental
witch knew everything. For a long time she looked in uncertain mood upon
that smiling, wistful face. Then she said softly, moved by an
irresistible impulse to confess something, even obscurely:
"Oh, if only I were such as you, Neenah, and could live forever on this
dear island!"
Neenah's smile deepened, her eyes glowed with discernment. With a
meaning gleam in their depths, she said: "But, most high, there are no
princes here. There is no one to whom the most gracious one could be
sold. No one who could pay more than a dozen rubies. Women are cheap
here, and you would be a woman, not a most beautiful princess."
"I would not care to be a princess, perhaps."
"You love my Sahib Chase?" demanded Neenah abruptly, eagerly.
"Neenah!" gasped Genevra, with a startled look. Neenah looked intently
into the unsteady, blue-grey eyes and then bent over to kiss the hand of
the Princess. The latter laughed almost aloud in her confusion. She
caught herself up quickly and said with some asperity: "You foolish
child, I am to become a prince's wife. How can I love your sahib? What
nonsense! I am to marry a prince and he is not to pay for me in rubies."
"Ah, how wonderful!" cried Neenah, with ravishing candour. "A prince for
a husband and the glorious Sahib Chase for a lover all your life! Ah!"
The exclamation was no less than a sigh of rapturous endorsement.
The Princess stared at her first in consternation, then in dismay.
Before she could find words to combat this alarming prophecy, so
ingenuously presented to her reflections, Selim and Hollingsworth Chase
returned to the chamber. She was distressed, even confounded, to find
that she was staring at Chase with a strange, abashed curiosity growing
in her eyes--a stare that she suddenly was afraid he might observe and
appreciate. A wave of revulsion, of shame, spread over her whole being.
She shuddered slightly as she turned her face away from his eager gaze:
it was as if she recognised the fear that he was even now contemplating
the future as Neenah had painted it for her.
She caught and checked a horrid arraignment of herself. Such conditions
as Neenah presented were not unknown to her. With the swiftness of
lightning, she recalled the things that had been said of more than one
grand dame in Europe--aye, of women at her own court. Even a princess
she had known who--but for shame! she cried in her heart. It could not
be! Despite herself, a cruel, distressing shyness came over her as he
approached, his eyes glowing with the light she feared yet craved. Was
this man to remain in her life? _Was he?_ Would he come to her and wage
the unfair war? Was he honest? Was he even now coveting her as other men
had coveted the women she knew and despised? She found herself
confronted by the shocking conviction that he _knew_ she could never be
his wife. He _knew_ she was to wed another, and yet--It was
unbelievable!
She met his eager advance with a quick, shrill laugh of defiance, and
noted the surprise in his eyes. Dim as the light was, she could have
sworn that the look in those eyes was honest. Ah, that silly Neenah! The
reaction was as sudden as the revolt had been. Her smile grew warm and
shy.
"Von Blitz has been here," he was saying, half diffidently, still
searching deep in her eyes. "He's played hob. And he's likely to return
at any minute."
"Then let us go quickly. I have no desire to meet the objectionable Mr.
Von Blitz. Isn't it dreadfully dangerous here, Mr. Chase?" He mistook
the slight tremour in her voice for that of fear. A quaint look came
into his face, the lines about the corners of his mouth drooping
dolefully.
"Mr. Chase?" he said, with his winning smile. "Now?"
"Yes, now and always, Mr. Chase," she said steadily. "You know that it
cannot be otherwise. I can't always be a fool."
His face turned a deep red; his lips parted for retort to this truculent
estimate, but he controlled himself.
"Yes, it is dangerous here," he said quietly, answering her question.
"As soon as Selim bars that door upon the inside, we'll go. I was a fool
to bring you here."
"How could you know what the dangers would be?" she asked.
"I'll confess I didn't expect Von Blitz," he said drily.
"But you did expect--" she began, with a start, biting her lips.
"There's a vast difference between expectation and hope, Princess."
Neenah had joined Selim at the door when the men re-entered the chamber.
Now she was approaching with her husband.
"May Allah bless you and profit for Himself, excellencies," said the
good Selim. Neenah plainly had advanced her suspicions to the brown
body-servant. Genevra blushed and then her eyes blazed. She gave the
girl a scornful look; Neenah smiled happily, unreservedly in return.
"Allah help us, you should say, if Von Blitz returns," interposed Chase
hastily. "Is the door barred?"
"No, excellency. The bars have sprung, I cannot drop them in place. As
you know, the lock has been blown away. The charge sprung the bolts. We
must go at once."
"Then there is no way to keep them out of the château?" cried Genevra
anxiously.
"They can go no farther than this room," explained Selim. "We lock the
double iron doors from the other side--the door through which you came,
most glorious excellency--and they cannot enter the cellars above. This
is the chamber which opens into the underground passage to the coast.
The passage was made for escape from the château in case of trouble and
was known to but few. My father was the servant of Sahib Wyckholme, and
I used to live in the château. We came to the island when I was a baby.
My father had been with the sahib in Africa. I came to know of this
passage, for my father and my mother were to go with the masters if
there was an attack. Five years ago I was given a place in the company's
office, and I never came up here after my parents died of the plague. We
were--"
"The plague!" cried the Princess.
"It was said to have been the plague," said Selim bitterly. "They died
in great convulsions while spending the night in the Khan. That's the
inn of Aratat, excellencies. The great sahibs sent their stomachs away
to be examined--"
"Never mind, Selim," said Chase. "Tell us about the passage there."
"Once there was a boat--a launch, which lay hidden below the cliffs on
the north coast. The passage led to this boat. It was always ready to
put out to sea. But one night it was destroyed by the great rocks which
fell from the cliffs in an earthquake. When I came here, I at once
thought of the passage. You will see that the doors into the cellar
cannot be opened from this chamber; the locks and bolts are on the other
side. I knew where the keys were hidden. It was easy to unlock the doors
and come into this room. I found that some one had been here before me.
The door to the passage had been forced open from without--cracked by
dynamite. Many of the treasure boxes have been removed. Von Blitz was
here not an hour ago. He wears boots. I saw the footprints among the
naked ones in the passage. They will come back for the other chests.
Then they will blow up the passage way with powder and escape from the
château through it will be cut off. I have found the kegs of powder in
the passage and have destroyed the fuses. It will be of no avail, sahib.
They will blow it up at the other end, which will be just the same."
"There's no time to be lost," cried Chase. "We must bring enough men
down here to capture them when they return--shoot 'em if necessary. Come
on! We can surprise them if we hurry."
They were starting across the chamber toward the door, when a gruff,
sepulchral oath came rolling up to the chamber through the secret
passage. Quick as a flash Selim, who realised that they could not reach
and open the door leading to the stairs, turned in among the huge wine
casks, first blinding his lantern. He whispered for the others to
follow. In a moment they were squeezing themselves through the narrow
spaces between the dark, strong-smelling casks, back into a darkness so
opaque that it seemed lifeless. Selim halted them in a recess near the
wall and there they huddled, breathlessly awaiting the approach of the
invaders.
"They won't suspect that we are here," whispered Selim as the door to
the passage creaked. "Keep quiet! Don't breathe!"
The single electric light was still burning, as Selim had found it when
he first came. The door swung open slowly, heavily, and Jacob von Blitz,
half naked, mud-covered, reeking with perspiration, and panting
savagely, stepped into the light. Behind him came a man with a lantern,
and behind him two others.
They were white men, all. Von Blitz turned suddenly and cursed the man
with the lantern. The fellow was ready to drop with exhaustion.
Evidently it had been no easy task to remove the chests.
CHAPTER XXIV
SEVERAL PHILOSOPHERS
The four burly men sat down upon the chests, Von Blitz alone being
visible to the watchers. They were fagged to the last extreme.
"Dis is der last," panted Von Blitz, blowing hard and stretching his big
arms. The guttural German tones were highly accentuated by the effort
required in speaking. His three helpers said nothing in reply. For fully
five minutes the quartette sat silent, collecting their strength for the
next trip with the chests. Again it was Von Blitz who spoke. He had been
staring savagely at the floor for several minutes, brooding deeply.
"I fix him," he growled. "His time vill come, by tarn! I let him know he
can't take my vives avay mit him. Der dog! I fix him some day purdy
soon. Und dem tarn vimmens! Dem tarn hyenas! Dey run avay mit him, eh?
Ach, Gott, if I could only put my hands by deir necks yet!"
"Vat for you fret, Yacob?" growled one of the Boers. "You couldn't take
dose vimmens back by Europe mit you. I tink you got goot luck by losing
dem. Misder Chase can't take dem back needer--so, dey go to hell yet.
Don't fret."
"Veil," said Von Blitz, arising. "Come on, boys. Dis is der lasd of dem.
Den ve blow der tarn t'ing up. Grab hold dere, Joost. Up mit it, Jan.
Vat? No?"
"Gott in himmel, Yacob, vait a minutes. My back is proke," protested
Joost stubbornly. Von Blitz swore steadily for a minute, but could not
move the impassive Boers. He began pacing back and forth, growling to
himself. At last he stopped in front of the tired trio.
"Vat for you tink I vant you in on dis, you svine? To set aroundt und
dream? Nobody else knows aboud dis treasures, und ve got it all for
ourselves--ve four und no more, und you say, 'Vat's der hurry?' It's all
ours. Ve divide it oop in der cave mit all der money ve get from der
bank. Vat? Yes? Den, ven der time comes, ve send it all by Australia und
no von is der viser. Der natives von't know und der white peebles von't
be alive to care aboudt it. Ve let it stay hided in der cave undil dis
drouble is all over und den it vill be easy to get it avay from der
island, yoost so quiet. Come on, boys! Don't be lazy!"
"I don't like dot scheme to rob der bank," growled Jan. "If der peeples
get onto us, dey vould cut us to bieces."
"But dey von't get onto us, you fool. Dey vouldn't take it demselves if
it vas handed to dem. Dey're too honest, yes. Vell, don't dey say ve're
honest, too? Vell, vat more you vant? Dey don't know how much money und
rubies dere is in der bank. Ve von't take all of it--und dey von't know
der difference. Ve burn der books. Das is all. Ve get in by der bank
to-night, boys."
"I don't like id," said Joost. "Id's stealing from our freunds, Yacob.
Besides, if der oder heirs should go before der government mit der
story. Vat den?"
"Der oder heirs vill never get der chance, boys. Dey vill die mit der
plague--ha, ha! Sure! Dere von't be no oder heirs. Rasula says it must
be so. Ve can'd vait, boys. It vill be years before der business is
settled. Ve must get vat ve can now and vait for der decision
aftervards. Brodney has wrote to Rasula, saying dat dot Chase feller is
to stay here vedder ve vant him or not. He says Chase is a goot man! By
tarn, it makes me cry to fink of vot he has done by me--dot goot man!"
To the amazement of all, the burly German began to blubber.
"Don't cry, Yacob," cried Joost, coming to his master's side and shaking
him by the shoulder. "You can get oder vives some day--besser as dese,
yes!"
"Joost, I can't help crying--I can't. Ven I t'ink how I got to kill dem
yet! I hates to kill vimmens."
They permitted him to weep and swear for a few minutes. Then, without
offering further consolation, the three foremen made ready to take up
the remaining chests.
"Come on, Yacob," said Jan gruffly.
Von Blitz shook his fist at the door across the chamber and thundered
his final maledictions.
"Sir John says in der letter to Misder Chase dere is a movements on foot
in London to settle der contest out of court," volunteered Joost.
"Sure, but he also say dat ve all may die mit old age before it is over
yet."
"Don't forget der plague!" said Jan.
They groaned mightily as they lifted the heavy chests to their shoulders
and started for the door.
"Close der door, Jan," commanded Von Blitz from the passage. "Ve vill
light der fuse ven ve haf got beyond der first bend. Vat? Look! By tam,
von of you swine has broke der fuse. Vait! Ve vill fix him now."
The door was closed behind them, but the listeners could hear them
repairing the damage that Selim had done to the fuse.
Led by Selim, the four made a rush for the door leading into the
château. They threw it open and passed through, flying as if for their
lives. No one could tell how soon an explosion might bring disaster to
the region; they put distance between them and the powder keg. Selim
paused long enough to drop the bolts and turn the great key with the
lever. At the second turn in the narrow corridor, he overtook Chase and
the scurrying women.
"Is there nothing to be done?" cried the Princess. "Can we not prevent
the explosion? They will cut off our means of escape in that--"
"I know too much about gunpowder, Princess," said Chase drily, "to fool
with it. It's like a mule. It kicks hard. 'Gad, it was hard to stand
there and hear those brutes planning it all and not be able to stop
them."
The Princess was once more at his side; he had clasped her arm to lead
her securely in the wake of Neenah's electric lantern. She came to a
sudden stop.
"And pray, Mr. Chase," she said sharply, as if the thought occurred to
her for the first time, "why _didn't_ you stop them? You had the
advantage. You and Selim could have surprised them--you could have taken
them without a struggle!"
He laughed softly, deprecatingly, not a little impressed by the justice
of her criticism.
"No doubt you consider me a coward," he said ruefully.
"You know that I do not," she protested. "I--I can't understand your
motive, that is all."
"You forget that I am the representative of these very men. I am the
trusted agent of Sir John Brodney, who has refused to supplant me with
another. All this may sound ridiculous to you, when you take my
anomalous position into account. I can't very well represent Sir John
and at the same time make prisoners or corpses of his clients, even
though I am being shielded by their legal foes. I don't mean to say that
I condone the attempt Von Blitz is making to rob his fellow-workmen of
this hidden plate and the plunder in the bank. They are traitors to
their friends and I shall turn them over sooner or later to the people
they are looting. I'll not have Von Blitz saying, even to himself, that
I have not only stolen his wives but have also cast him into the hands
of his philistines. It may sound quixotic to you, but I think that Lord
Deppingham and Mr. Browne will understand my attitude."
"But Von Blitz has sworn to kill you," she expostulated with some heat.
"You are wasting your integrity, I must say, Mr. Chase."
"Would you have me shoot him from ambush?" he demanded.
"Not at all. You could have taken him captive and held him safe until
the time comes for you to leave the island."
"He would not have been my captive in any event. I could do no more than
deliver him into the hands of his enemies. Would that be fair?"
"But he is a thief!"
"No more so than Taswell Skaggs and John Wyckholme, who unquestionably
cheated the natives out of the very treasure we have seen carried away."
"Admitting all that, Mr. Chase, you still forget that he has stolen
property which now belongs quite as much to Lady Deppingham and Mr.
Browne as it does to the natives."
"Quite true. But I am not a constable nor a thief catcher. I am a
soldier of the defence, not an officer of the Crown at this stage of the
game. To-day I shall contrive to send word to Rasula that Von Blitz has
stolen the treasure chests. Mr. Von Blitz will have a sad time
explaining this little defection to his friends. We must not overlook
the fact that Lady Deppingham and Robert Browne are quite willing to
take everything from the islanders. Everything that Taswell Skaggs and
John Wyckholme possessed in this island belongs to them under the terms
of the will."
They were at the top of the second flight of stairs by this time and
quite a distance from the treasure chamber. His coolness, the absence of
any sign of returning sentiment, was puzzling her sorely. Every vestige
of that emotion which had overwhelmed him during their sweet encounter
was gone, to all appearances: he was as calm and as matter-of-fact as if
she were the merest stranger. She was trying to find the
solution--trying to read the mind of this smiling philosopher. Half an
hour before, she had been carried away, rendered, helpless by the
passion that swayed him; now he spoke and looked as if he had forgotten
the result of his storming. Strangely enough, she was piqued.
When they came into the well-lighted upper corridor he proceeded
ruthlessly to upset all of her harsh calculations. They were now
traversing the mosaic floors of the hall that led to the lower terraces.
He stopped suddenly, stepping directly in front of her. As she drew up
in surprise, he reached down and took both of her hands in his. For the
moment, she was too amazed to oppose this sudden action. She looked up
into his face, many emotions in her own--reproof, wonder, dismay,
hauteur--joy!
"Wait," he said gently. They were quite alone. The stream of daylight
from the distant French windows barely reached to this quiet spot. She
saw the most wonderful light in his grey eyes; her lips parted in quick,
timorous confusion. "I love you. I am sorry for what I did down there. I
couldn't help it--nor could you. Yet I took a cruel advantage of you. I
know what you've been thinking, too. You have been saying to yourself
that I wanted to see how far I could go--don't speak! I know. You are
wrong. I've absolutely worshipped you since those first days in
Thorberg--wildly, hopelessly--day and night. I was afraid of you--yes,
afraid of you because you are a princess. But I've got over all that,
Genevra. You are a woman--a living, real woman with the blood and the
heart and the lips that were made for men to crave. I want to tell you
this, here in the light of day, not in the darkness that hid all the
truth in me except that which you might have felt in my kiss."
"Please, please don't," she said once more, her lip trembling, her eyes
full of the softness that the woman who loves cannot hide. "You shall
not go on! It is wrong!"
"It is not wrong," he cried passionately. "My love is not wrong. I want
you to understand and to believe. I can't hope that you will be my
wife--it's too wildly improbable. You are not for such as I. You are
pledged to a man of your own world--your own exalted world. But listen,
Genevra--see, my eyes call you darling even though my lips dare not---
Genevra, I'd give my soul to hear you say that you will be my wife. You
_do_ understand how it is with me?"
The delicious sense of possession thrilled her; she glowed with the
return of her self-esteem, in the restoration of that quality which
proclaimed her a princess of the blood. She was sure of him now! She was
sure of herself. She had her emotions well in hand. And so, despite the
delicious warmth that swept through her being, she chose to reveal no
sign of it to him.
"I do understand," she said quietly, meeting his gaze with a directness
that hurt him sorely. "And you, too, understand. I could not be your
wife. I am glad yet sorry that you love me, and I am proud to have heard
you say that you want me. But I am a sensible creature, Mr. Chase, and,
being sensible, am therefore selfish. I have seen women of my unhappy
station venture out side of their narrow confines in the search for
life-long joy with men who might have been kings had they not been born
under happier stars--men of the great wide world instead of the
soulless, heartless patch which such as I call a realm. Not one in a
hundred of those women found the happiness they were so sure of grasping
just outside their prison walls. It was not in the blood. We are the
embodiment of convention, the product of tradition. Time has proved in
nearly every instance that we cannot step from the path our prejudices
know. We must marry and live and die in the sphere to which we were
born. It must sound very bald to you, but the fact remains, just the
same. We must go through life unloved and uncherished, bringing princes
into the world, seeing happiness and love just beyond our reach all the
time. We have hearts and we have blood in our veins, as you say, and we
may love, too, but believe me, dear friend, we are bound by chains no
force can break--the chains of prejudice."
She had withdrawn her hands from his; he was standing before her as calm
and unmoved as a statue.
"I understand all of that," he said, a faint smile moving his lips. She
was not expecting such resignation as this.
"I am glad that you--that you understand," she said.
"Just the same," he went on gently, "you love me as I love you. You
kissed me. I could feel love in you then. I can see it in you now.
Perhaps you are right in what you say about not finding happiness
outside the walls, but I doubt it, Genevra. You will marry Prince Karl
in June, and all the rest of your life will be bleak December. You will
never forget this month of March--our month." He paused for a moment to
look deeply into her incredulous eyes. His face writhed in sudden pain.
Then he burst forth with a vehemence that startled her. "My God, I pity
you with all my soul! All your life!"
"Don't pity me!" she cried fiercely. "I cannot endure that!"
"Forgive me! I shouldn't say such things to you. It's as if I were
bullying you,"
"You must not think of me as unhappy--ever. Go on your own way,
Hollingsworth Chase, and forget that you have known me. _You_ will find
happiness with some one else. You have loved before; you can and will
love again. I--- I have never loved before--but perhaps, like you, I
shall love again. You _will_ love again?" she demanded, her lip
trembling with an irresolution she could not control.
"Yes," he said calmly, "I'll love the wife of Karl Brabetz." His eyes
swept hungrily over the golden bronze hair; then he turned away with the
short, hard laugh of the man who scoffs at his own despair. She started
violently; her cheek went red and white and her eyes widened as though
they were looking upon something unpleasant; her thoughts went back to
the naïve prophecy in the treasure chamber.
She followed him slowly to the terrace. He stopped in the doorway and
leisurely drew forth his cigarette case.
"Shall we wait for the explosion?" he asked without a sign of the
emotion that had gone before. She gravely selected a cigarette from the
case which he extended. As he lighted his own, he watched her draw from
her little gold bag a diamond-studded case, half filled. Without a word
of apology, she calmly deposited the cigarette in the case and restored
it to the bottom of the bag.
Then she looked up brightly. "I am not smoking, you see," she said, with
a smile. "I am saving all of these for you when the famine comes."
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, something like incredulity in the smile that
transfigured his face.
"I _could_ be a thrifty housewife, couldn't I?" she asked naïvely.
At that moment, a dull, heavy report, as of distant thunder, came to
their ears. The windows rattled sharply and the earth beneath them
seemed to quiver. Involuntarily she drew nearer to him, casting a glance
of alarm over her shoulder in the direction from which they had come.
"You could, if you had half a chance," he said drily, and then casually
remarked the explosion.
CHAPTER XXV
THE DISQUIETING END OF PONG
Later on, he and Deppingham visited the underground chamber, accompanied
by Mr. Britt. They found that the door to the passage had been blown
away by the terrific concussion. Otherwise, the room was, to all
appearances, undamaged, except that some of the wine casks were leaking.
The subterranean passage at this place was completely filled with earth
and stone.
Deppingham stared at the closed mouth of the passage. "They've cut off
our exit, but they've also secured us from invasion from this source. I
wonder if the beggars were clever enough to carry the plunder above the
flood line. If not, they've had their work for nothing."
"Selim says there is a cave near the mouth of the passage," said Chase.
"The tunnel comes out half way up the side of the mountain, overlooking
the sea, and the hole is very carefully screened by the thick shrubbery.
Trust Von Blitz to do the safe thing."
"I don't mind Von Blitz escaping so much, Chase," said his lordship
earnestly, "as I do the unfortunate closing of what may have been our
only way to leave the château in the end."
"You must think me an ungrateful fool," said Chase bitterly. He had
already stated his position clearly.
"Not at all, old chap. Don't get that into your head. I only meant that
a hole in the ground is worth two warships that won't come when we need
'em."
Chase looked up quickly. "You don't believe that I can call the
cruisers?"
"Oh, come now, Chase, I'm not a demmed native, you know."
The other grinned amiably. "Well, you just wait, as the boy says."
Deppingham put his eyeglass in more firmly and stared at his companion,
not knowing whether to take the remark as a jest or to begin to look for
signs of mental collapse. Britt laughed shortly.
"I guess we'll have to," said the stubby lawyer.
After satisfying themselves that there was no possibility of the enemy
ever being able to enter the château through the collapsed passage, the
trio returned to the upper world.
Involuntarily their gaze went out searchingly over the placid sea. The
whole sky glared back at them, unwrinkled, smokeless, cloudless. Chase
turned to Deppingham, a word of encouragement on his lips. His lordship
was looking intently toward the palm-shaded grotto at the base of the
lower terrace. Britt moved uneasily and then glanced at his
fellow-countryman, a queer expression in his eyes. A moment later
Deppingham was clearing his throat for the brisk comment on the beauty
of the view from the rather unfrequented spot on which they stood.
Robert Browne and Lady Agnes were seated on the edge of the fountain in
Apollo's Grotto, conversing earnestly, even eagerly, with Mr. Bowles,
who stood before them in an unmistakable attitude of indecision and
perturbation. Deppingham's first futile attempt to appear unconcerned
was followed by an oppressive silence, broken at last by the Englishman.
He gave Chase a look which plainly revealed his uneasiness.
"Ever since I've heard that Bowles has the power to marry people, Chase,
I've been upset a bit," he explained nervously.
"You don't mean to say, Lord Deppingham, that you're afraid the heirs
will follow the advice of that rattle-headed Saunders," said Chase, with
a laugh, "Why, it wouldn't hold in court for a second. Ask Britt."
Britt cleared his throat. "Not for half a second," he said. "I'm only
wondering if Bowles has authority to grant divorces."
"I daresay he has," said Deppingham, tugging at his moustache.
"He's--he's a magistrate."
"It doesn't follow," said Chase, "that he has unlimited legal powers."
"But _what_ are they ragging him about down there, Chase," blurted out
the unhappy Deppingham.
"Come in and have a drink," said Chase suddenly. Deppingham was
shivering. "You've got a chill in that damp cellar. I can assure you
positively, as representative of the opposition, that the grandchildren
of Skaggs and Wyckholme are not going to divorce or marry anybody while
I'm here, Britt and Saunders and Bowles to the contrary. And Lady
Deppingham is no fool. Come on and have something to warm the cockles.
You're just childish enough to have the croup to-night." He said it with
such fine humour that Deppingham could not take offence.
"All right, old chap," he said with a laugh. "I am chilled to the bone.
I'll join you in a few minutes." To their surprise, he started off
across the terrace in the direction of the consulting trio. Chase and
Britt silently watched his progress. They saw him join the others,
neither of whom seemed to be confused or upset by his appearance, and
subsequently enter into the discussion that had been going on.
"Just the same, Chase," said Britt, after a long silence, "he's worried,
and not about marriage or divorce, either. He's jealous. I didn't
believe it was in him."
"See here, Britt, you've no right to stir him up with those confounded
remarks about divorce. You know that it's rot. Don't do it."
"My dear Chase," said Britt, waving his hand serenely, "we can't always
see what's in the air, but, by the Eternal, we usually can feel it.
'Nough said. Give you my word, I can't help laughing at the position
you're in at present. It doesn't matter what you get onto in connection
with our side of the case, you're where you can't take advantage of it
without getting killed by your own clients. Horrible paradox, eh?"
When Deppingham rejoined them, he was pale and very nervous. His wife,
who had been weeping, came up with him, while Browne went off toward the
stables with the ex-banker.
"What do you think has happened?" demanded his lordship, addressing the
two men, who stood by, irresolutely. "Somebody's trying to poison us!"
"What!" from both listeners.
"I've said it all along. Now, we know! Lady Deppingham's dog is
dead--poisoned, gentlemen." He was wiping the moisture from his brow.
"I'm sorry, Lady Deppingham," said Chase earnestly. "He was a nice dog.
But I hardly think he could have eaten what was intended for any of us.
If he was poisoned, the poison was meant for him and for no one else. He
bit one of the stable boys yesterday. It--"
"That may all be very true, Chase," protested his lordship, "but don't
you see, it goes to show that some one has a stock of poison on hand,
and we may be the next to get it. He died half an hour after
eating--after eating a biscuit that was intended for _me_! It's--it's
demmed uncomfortable, to say the least."
"Mr. Bowles has been questioning the servants," said Lady Agnes
miserably.
"Of course," said Chase philosophically, "it's much better that Pong
should have got it than Lord Deppingham. By the way, who gave him the
biscuit?"
"Bromley. She tossed it to him and he--he caught it so cleverly. You
know how cunning he was, Mr. Chase. I loved to see him catch--"
"Then Bromley has saved your life, Deppingham," said Chase. "I'm sure
you need the brandy, after all this. Come along. Will you join us, Lady
Deppingham?"
"No. I'm going to bed!" She started away, then stopped and looked at her
husband, her eyes wide with sudden comprehension. "Oh, Deppy, I should
have died! I should have died!"
"My dear!"
"I couldn't have lived if--"
"But, my dear, I _didn't_ eat it--and here we are! God bless you!" He
turned abruptly and walked off beside her, ignoring the two distressed
Americans. As they passed through the French window, Deppingham put his
arm about his wife's waist. Chase turned to Britt.
"I don't know what you're thinking, Britt, but it isn't so, whatever it
is."
"Good Lord, man, I wasn't thinking _that_!"
A very significant fact now stared the occupants of the château in the
face. There was not the slightest doubt in the minds of those conversant
with the situation that the poison had been intended for either Lord or
Lady Deppingham. The drug had been subtly, skilfully placed in one of
the sandwiches which came up to their rooms at eleven o'clock, the hour
at which they invariably drank off a cup of bouillon. Lady Deppingham
was not in her room when Bromley brought the tray. She was on the
gallery with the Brownes. Bromley came to ask her if she desired to have
the bouillon served to her there. Lady Agnes directed her to fetch the
tray, first inviting Mrs. Browne to accept Lord Deppingham's portion.
Drusilla declined and Bromley tossed a sandwich to Pong, who was always
lying in wait for such scraps as might come his way. Lady Agnes always
ate macaroons--never touching the sandwiches. This fact, of course, it
was argued, might not have been known to the would-be poisoner. Her
ladyship, as usual, partook of the macaroons and felt no ill effects. It
was, therefore, clear that the poison was intended for but one of them,
as, on this occasion, a single sandwich came up from the buffet. No one
but Deppingham believed that it was intended for him.
In any event, Pong, the red cocker, was dead. He was in convulsions
almost immediately after swallowing the morsel he had begged for, and in
less than three minutes was out of his misery, proving conclusively that
a dose of deadly proportions had been administered. It is no wonder that
Deppingham shuddered as he looked upon the stiff little body in the
upper hall.
Drusilla Browne was jesting, no doubt, but it is doubtful if any one
grasped the delicacy of her humour when she observed, in mock concern,
addressing the assembled mourners, that she believed the heirs were
trying to get rid of their incumbrances after the good old Borgia
fashion, and that she would never again have the courage to eat a
mouthful of food so long as she stood between her husband and a hymeneal
fortune.
"You know, my dear," she concluded, turning to her Husband, "that I
_might_ have had Lord Deppingham's biscuit. His wife asked me to take
it. Goodness, you're a dreadful Borgia person, Agnes," she went on,
smiling brightly at her ladyship. Deppingham was fumbling nervously at
his monocle. "I should think you _would_ be nervous, Lord Deppingham."
The most rigid questioning elicited no information from the servants.
Baillo's sudden, involuntary look of suspicion, directed toward Lady
Agnes and Robert Browne, did not escape the keen eye of Hollingsworth
Chase.
"Impossible!" he said, half aloud. He looked up and saw that the
Princess was staring at him questioningly. He shook his head, without
thinking.
Despair settled upon the white people. They were confronted by a new and
serious peril: poison! At no time could they feel safe. Chase took it
upon himself to talk to the native servants, urging them to do nothing
that might reflect suspicion upon them. He argued long and forcefully
from the standpoint of a friend and counsellor. They listened stolidly
and repeated their vows of fidelity and integrity. He was astute enough
to take them into his confidence concerning the treachery of Jacob Von
Blitz. It was only after most earnest pleading that he persuaded them
not to slay the German's wives as a temporary expedient.
One of the stable boys volunteered to carry a note from Chase to Rasula,
asking the opportunity to lay a question of grave importance before him.
Chase suggested to Rasula that he should meet him that evening at the
west gate, under a flag of truce. The tone of the letter was more or
less peremptory.
Rasula came, sullen but curious. At first he would not believe; but
Chase was firm in his denunciation of Jacob von Blitz. Then he was
pleased to accuse Chase of duplicity and double-dealing, going so far as
to charge the deposed American with plotting against Von Blitz to
further his own ends in more ways than one. At last, however, when he
was ready to give up in despair, Chase saw signs of conviction in the
manner of the native leader. His own fairness, his courage, had appealed
to Rasula from the start. He did not know it then, but the dark-skinned
lawyer had always felt, despite his envy and resentment, a certain
respect for his integrity and fearlessness.
He finally agreed to follow the advice of the American; grudgingly, to
be sure, but none the less determined.
"You will find everything as I have stated it, Rasula," said Chase. "I'm
sorry you are against me, for I would be your friend. I've told you how
to reach the secret cave. The chests are there. The passage is closed.
You can trap him in the attempt to rob the bank. I could have taken him
red-handed and given him over to Lord Deppingham. But you would never
have known the truth. Now I ask you to judge for yourselves. Give him a
fair trial, Rasula--as you would any man accused of crime--and be just.
If you need a witness--an eye-witness--call on me. I will come and I
will appear against him. I've been honest with you. I am willing to
trust you to be honest with me."
CHAPTER XXVI
DEPPINGHAM FALLS ILL
That evening Lord Deppingham took to his bed with violent chills. He
shivered and burned by turns and spent a most distressing night. Bobby
Browne came in twice to see him before retiring. For some reason unknown
to any one but himself, Deppingham refused to be treated by the young
man, notwithstanding the fact that Browne laid claim to a physician's
certificate and professed to be especially successful in breaking up
"the ague." Lady Agnes entreated her liege lord to submit to the doses,
but Deppingham was resolute to irascibility.
"A Dover's powder, Deppy, or a few grains of quinine. Please be
sensible. You're just like a child."
"What's in a Dover's powder?" demanded the patient, who had never been
ill in his life.
"Ipecac and opium, sugar of milk or sulphate of potash. It's an anodyne
diaphoretic," said Browne.
"Opium, eh?" came sharply from the couch. "Good Lord, an overdose of it
would--" he checked the words abruptly and gave vent to a nervous fit of
laughter.
"Don't be a fool, George," commanded his wife. "No one is trying to
poison you."
"Who's saying that he's going to poison me?" demanded Deppingham
shortly. "I'm objecting because I don't like the idea of taking medicine
from a man just out of college. Now judge for yourself, Browne: would
you take chances of that sort, away off here where there isn't a
physician nearer than twelve hundred miles? Come now, be frank."
Bobby Browne leaned back and laughed heartily. "I daresay you're right.
I should be a bit nervous. But if we don't practise on some one, how are
we to acquire proficiency? It's for the advancement of science. Lots of
people have died in that service."
"By Jove, you're cold-blooded about it!" He stared helplessly at his
wife's smiling face. "It's no laughing matter, Agnes. I'm a very sick
man."
"Then, why not take the powders?"
"I've just given my wife a powder, old man. She's got a nervous
headache," urged Browne tolerantly.
"Your wife?" exclaimed Deppingham, sitting up. "The devil!" He looked
hard at Browne for a moment. "Oh, I say, now, old chap, don't you think
it's rather too much of a coincidence?"
Browne arose quickly, a flash of resentment in his eyes. "See here,
Deppingham--"
"Don't be annoyed, Bobby," pleaded Lady Agnes. "He's nervous. Don't mind
him."
"I'm not nervous. It's the beastly chill."
"Just the same. Lady Agnes, I shall not give him a grain of anything if
he persists in thinking I'm such a confounded villain as to--"
"I apologise, Browne," said Deppingham hastily. "I'm not afraid of your
medicine. I'm only thinking of my wife. If I _should_ happen to die,
don't you know, there would be people who might say that you could have
cured me. See what I mean?"
"You dear old goose," cried his wife.
"I fancy Selim or Baillo or even Bowles knows what a fellow doses
himself with when he's bowled over by one of these beastly island
ailments. Oblige me, Agnes, and send for Bowles."
Bowles came bowing and scraping into the room a few minutes later. He
immediately recommended an old-fashioned Dover's powder and ventured the
opinion that "good sweat" would soon put his lordship on his feet,
"better than ever." Deppingham kept Bowles beside him while Browne
generously prepared and administered the medicine.
Later in the night the Princess came to see how the patient was getting
on. He was in a dripping perspiration.
Genevra drew a chair up beside his couch and sat down.
Lady Agnes was yawning sleepily over a book.
"Do you know, I believe I'd feel better if I could have another chill,"
he said. "I'm so beastly hot now that I can't stand it. Aggie, why don't
you turn out on the balcony for a bit of fresh air? I'm a brute to have
kept you moping in here all evening."
Lady Agnes sighed prettily and--stepped out into the murky night. There
were signs of an approaching storm in the sultry air.
"I say, Genevra, what's the news?" demanded his lordship.
"The latest bulletin says that you are very much improved and that you
expect to pass a comfortable night."
"'Gad I _do_ feel better. I'm not so stuffy. Where is Chase?"
Now, the Princess, it is most distressing to state, had wilfully avoided
Mr. Chase since early that morning.
"I'm sure I don't know. I had dinner with Mrs. Browne in her room. I
fancy he's off attending to the guard. I haven't seen him."
"Nice chap," remarked Deppingham. "Isn't that he now, speaking to Agnes
out there?"
Genevra looked up quickly. A man's voice came in to them from the
balcony, following Lady Deppingham's soft laugh.
"No," she said, settling back calmly. "It's Mr. Browne."
"Oh," said Deppingham, a slight shadow coming into his eyes. "Nice chap,
too," he added a moment later.
"I don't like him," said she, lowering her voice. Deppingham was silent.
Neither spoke for a long time The low voices came to them indistinctly
from the outside.
"I've no doubt Agnes is as much to blame as he," said his lordship at
last. "She's made a fool of more than one man, my dear. She rather likes
it."
"He's behaving like a brute. They've been married less than a year."
"I daresay I'd better call Aggie off," he mused.
"It's too late."
"Too late? The deuce--"
"I mean, too late to help Drusilla Browne. She's had an ideal
shattered."
"It really doesn't amount to anything, Genevra," he argued. "It will
blow over in a fortnight. Aggie's always doing this sort of thing, you
know."
"I know, Deppy," she said sharply. "But this man is different. He's not
a gentleman. Mr. Skaggs wasn't a gentleman. Blood tells. He will boast
of this flirtation until the end of his days."
"Aggie's had dozens of men in love with her--really in love," he
protested feebly. "She's not--"
"They've come and gone and she's still the same old Agnes and you're the
same old Deppy. I'm not thinking of you or Aggie. It's Drusilla Browne."
"I see. Thanks for the confidence you have in Aggie. I daresay I know
how Drusilla feels. I've--I've had a bad turn or two, myself, lately,
and--but, never mind." He was silent for some time, evidently turning
something over in his mind. "By the way, what does Chase say about it?"
he asked suddenly.
She started and caught her breath. "Mr. Chase? He--he hasn't said
anything about it," she responded lamely. "He's--he's not that sort,"
"Ah," reflected Deppingham, "he _is_ a gentleman?"
Genevra flushed. "Yes, I'm sure he is."
"I say, Genevra," he said, looking straight into her rebellious eyes,
"you're in love with Chase. Why don't you marry him?"
"You--you are really delirious, Deppy," she cried. "The fever has----"
"He's good enough for any one--even you," went on his lordship coolly.
"He may have a wife," said she, collecting her wits with rare swiftness.
"Who knows? Don't be silly, Deppy."
"Rubbish! Haven't you stuffed Aggie and me full of the things you found
out concerning him before he left Thorberg--and afterward? The letters
from the Ambassador's wife and the glowing things your St. Petersburg
friends have to say of him, eh? He comes to us well recommended by no
other than the Princess Genevra, a most discriminating person. Besides,
he'd give his head to marry you--having already lost it."
"You are very amusing, Deppy, when you try to be clever. Is there a
clause in that silly old will compelling me to marry any one?"
"Of course not, my dear Princess; but I fancy you've got a will of your
own. Where there's a will, there's a way. You'd marry him to-morrow
if--if----"
"If I were not amply prepared to contest my own will?" she supplied
airily.
"No. If your will was not wrapped in convention three centuries old. You
won't marry Chase because you are a princess. That's the long and the
short of it. It isn't your fault, either. It's born in you. I daresay it
would be a mistake, after a fashion, too. You'd be obliged to give up
being a princess, and settle down as a wife. Chase wouldn't let you
forget that you were a wife. It would be hanging over you all the time.
Besides, he'd be a husband. That's something to beware of, too."
"Deppy, you are ranting frightfully," she said consolingly. "You should
go to sleep."
"I'm awfully sorry for you, Genevra."
"Sorry for me? Dear me!"
"You're tremendously gone on him."
"Nonsense! Why, I couldn't marry Mr. Chase," she exclaimed, irritable at
last. "Don't put such things into my head--I mean, don't get such things
into that ridiculous old head of yours. Are you forgetting that I am to
become Karl's wife in June? You are babbling, Deppy----"
"Well, let's say no more about it," he said, lying back resignedly.
"It's too bad, that's all. Chase is a man. Karl isn't. You loathe him. I
don't wonder that you turn pale and look frightened. Take my advice!
Take Chase!"
"Don't!" she cried, a break in her voice. She arose and went swiftly
toward the window. Then she stopped and turned upon him, her lips parted
as if to give utterance to the thing that was stirring her heart so
violently. The words would not come. She smiled plaintively and said
instead: "Good-night! Get a good sleep."
"The same to you," he called feverishly.
"Deppy," she said firmly, a red spot in each cheek, her voice tense and
strained to a high pitch of suppressed decision, "I shall marry Karl
Brabetz. That will be the end of your Mr. Chase."
"I hope so," he said. "But I'm not so sure of it, if you continue to
love him as you do now."
She went out with her cheeks burning and a frightened air in her heart.
What right, what reason had he to say such things to her? Her thoughts
raced back to Neenah's airy prophecy.
Bobby Browne and Agnes were approaching from the lower end of the
balcony. She drew back into the shadow suddenly, afraid that they might
discover in her flushed face the signs of that ugly blow to her pride
and her self-respect. "I'm not so sure of it," was whirling in her
brain, repeating itself a hundred times over, stabbing her each time in
a new and even more tender spot.
"If you continue to love him as you do now," fought its way through the
maze of horrid, disturbing thoughts. How could she face the charge: "I'm
not so sure of it," unless she killed the indictment "if you love him as
you do now?"
Lady Agnes and Browne passed by without seeing her and entered the
window. She heard him say something to his companion, softly,
tenderly--she knew not what it was. And Lady Agnes laughed--yes,
nervously. Ah, but Agnes was playing! She was not in love with this man.
It was different. It was not what Neenah meant--nor Deppingham, honest
friend that he was.
Down below she heard voices. She wondered--inconsistently alert--whether
_he_ was one of the speakers. Thomas Saunders and Miss Pelham were
coming in from the terrace. They were in love with each other! They
_could_ be in love with each other. There was no law, no convention that
said them nay! They could marry--and still love! "If you continue to
love him as you do now," battered at the doors of her conscience.
Silently she stole off to her own rooms; stealthily, as if afraid of
something she could not see but felt creeping up on her with an evil
grin. It was Shame!
Her maid came in and she prepared for bed. Left alone, she perched
herself in the window seat to cool her heated face with the breezes that
swept on ahead of the storm which was coming up from the sea. Her heart
was hot; no breeze could cool it--nothing but the ice of decision could
drive out the fever that possessed it. Now she was able to reason calmly
with herself and her emotions. She could judge between them. Three
sentences she had heard uttered that day crowded upon each other to be
uppermost: not the weakest of which was one which had fallen from the
lips of Hollingsworth Chase.
"It is impossible--incredible!" she was saying to herself. "I could not
love him like that. I should hate him. God above me, am I not different
from those women whom I have known and pitied and despised? Am I not
different from Guelma von Herrick? Am I not different from Prince
Henri's wife? Ah, and they loved, too! And is _he_ not different from
those other men--those weak, unmanly men, who came into the lives of
those women? Ah, yes, yes! He _is_ different."
She sat and stared out over the black sea, lighted fitfully by the
distant lightning. There, she pronounced sentence upon him--and herself.
There was no place for him in her world. He should feel her disdain--he
should suffer for his presumption. Presumption? In what way had he
offended? She put her hands to her eyes but her lips smiled--smiled with
the memory of the kiss she had returned!
"What a fool! What a fool I am," she cried aloud, springing up
resolutely. "I _must_ forget. I told him I couldn't, but I--I can." Half
way across the room she stopped, her hands clenched fiercely. "If--if
Karl were only such as he!" she moaned.
[Illustration: 'No' she said to herself, 'I told him I was keeping them
for him.']
She went to her dressing table and resolutely unlocked one of the
drawers, as one would open a case in which the most precious of
treasures was kept. A cautious, involuntary glance over her shoulder,
and then she ran her hand into the bottom of the drawer.
"It was so silly of me," she muttered. "I shall not keep them for him."
The drawer was partly filled with cigarettes. She took one from among
the rest and placed its tip in her red lips, a reckless light in her
eyes. A match was struck and then her hand seemed to be in the clutch of
some invisible force. The light flickered and died in her fingers. A
blush suffused her face, her eyes, her neck. Then with a guilty, shamed,
tender smile she dropped the cigarette into the drawer. She turned the
key.
"No," she said to herself, "I told him that I was keeping them for him."
CHAPTER XXVII
THE TRIAL OF VON BLITZ
The next morning found the weather unsettled. There had been a fierce
storm during the night and a nasty mist was blowing up from the sea.
Deppingham kept to his room, although his cold was dissipated. For the
first time in all those blistering, trying months, they felt a chill in
the air; raw, wet, unexpected.
Chase had been up nearly all of the night, fearful lest the islanders
should seize the opportunity to scale the walls under cover of the
tempest. All through the night he had been possessed of a spirit of wild
bravado, a glorious exaltation: he was keeping watch over her, standing
between her and peril, guarding her while she slept. He thought of that
mass of Henner hair--he loved to think of her as a creation of the
fanciful Henner--he thought of her asleep and dreaming in blissful
security while he, with all the loyalty of an imaginative boy, was
standing guard just as he had pictured himself in those heroic days when
he substituted himself for the story-book knight who stood beneath the
battlements and defied the covetous ogre. His thoughts, however, did not
contemplate the Princess fair in a state of wretched insomnia, with
himself as the disturbing element.
He looked for her at breakfast time. They usually had their rolls and
coffee together. When she did not appear, he made more than one pretext
to lengthen his own stay in the breakfast-room. "She's trying to forget
yesterday," he reflected. "What was it she said about always regretting?
Oh, well, it's the way of women. I'll wait," he concluded with the
utmost confidence in the powers of patience.
Selim came to him in the midst of his reflections, bearing a thick,
rain-soaked envelope.
"It was found, excellency, inside the southern gate, and it is meant for
you," said Selim. Chase gingerly slashed open the envelope with his
fruit knife. He laughed ruefully as he read the simple but laborious
message from Jacob von Blitz.
"_Where are your warships all this time? They are not coming to you
ever. Good-bye. You got to die yet, too. Your friend, Jacob von Blitz.
And my wives, too._"
Chase stuffed the blurred, sticky letter into his pocket and arose to
stretch himself.
"There's something coming to you, Jacob," he said, much to the wonder of
Selim. "Selim, unless I miss my guess pretty badly, we'll be having a
message--not from Garcia--but from Rasula before long. You've never
heard of Garcia? Well, come along. I'll tell you something about him as
we take our morning stroll. How are my cigarettes holding out?"
"They run low, sahib. Neenah has given all of hers to me for you,
excellency, and I have demanded those of the wives of Von Blitz."
"Selim, you must not forget that you are a gentleman. That was most
ungallant. But I suppose you got them?"
"No, sahib. They refused to give them up. They are saving them for Mr.
Britt," said Selim dejectedly.
"Ah, the ficklety of women!" he sighed. "There's a new word for you,
Selim--ficklety. I like it better than fickleness, don't you? Sounds
like frailty, too. Was there any shooting after I went to bed?" His
manner changed suddenly from the frivolous to the serious.
"No, sahib."
"I don't understand their game," he mused, a perplexed frown on his
brow. "They've quit popping away at us."
It was far past midday when he heard from Rasula. The disagreeable
weather may have been more or less responsible for the ruffling of
Chase's temper during those long, dreary hours of waiting. Be that as it
may, he was sorely tried by the feeling of loneliness that attached
itself to him. He had seen the Princess but once, and then she was
walking briskly, wrapped in a rain coat, followed by her shivering dogs,
and her two Rapp-Thorberg soldiers! Somehow she failed to see Chase as
he sauntered hungrily, almost imploringly across the upper terrace, in
plain view. Perhaps, after all, it was not the weather.
Rasula's messenger came to the gates and announced that he had a letter
for Mr. Chase. He was admitted to the grounds and conducted to the sick
chamber of "the commandant." Hollingsworth Chase read the carefully
worded, diplomatic letter from the native lawyer, his listeners paying
the strictest attention. After the most courteous introductory, Rasula
had this to say:
"We have reason to suspect that you were right in your suspicions. The
golden plate has been found this day in the cave below the château, just
as you have said. This much of what you have charged against Jacob von
Blitz seems to be borne out by the evidence secured. Last night there
was an attempt to rob the vaults in the company's bank. Again I followed
your advice and laid a trap for the men engaged. They were slain in the
struggle which followed. This fact is much to be deplored. Your command
that these men be given a fair trial cannot be obeyed. They died
fighting after we had driven them to the wall. I have to inform you,
sir, that your charge against Jacob von Blitz does not hold good in the
case of the bank robbery. Therefore, I am impelled to believe that you
may have unjustly accused him of being implicated in the robbery of the
treasure chests. He was not among the bank thieves. There were but three
of them--the Boer foremen. Jacob von Blitz came up himself and joined us
in the fight against the traitors. He was merciless in his anger against
them. You have said that you will testify against him. Sir, I have taken
it upon myself to place him under restraint, notwithstanding his actions
against the Boers. He shall have a fair trial. If it is proved that he
is guilty, he shall pay the penalty. We are just people.
"Sir, we, the people of Japat, will take you at your word. We ask you to
appear against the prisoner and give evidence in support of your charge.
He shall be placed on trial to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. On my
honour as a man and a Believer, I assure safety to you while you are
among us on that occasion. You shall find that we are honourable--more
honourable than the people you now serve so dearly. I, Rasula, will meet
you at the gates and will conduct you back to them in safety. If you are
a true man, you will not evade the call. I beg to assure you that your
testimony against Jacob von Blitz shall be weighed carefully and without
prejudice by those who are to act as his judges. My messenger will carry
your reply to us. RASULA."
"Well, it looks as though Von Blitz has spiked your guns," said
Deppingham. "The dog turns against his confederates and saves his own
skin by killing them."
"In any event," said Browne, "you spoiled his little game. He loses the
treasure and he didn't get into the vaults. Rasula should take those
points into consideration."
"He won't forget them, rest assured. That's why I'm sure that he'll take
my word at the trial as against that of Von Blitz," said Chase.
"You--you don't mean to say, Mr. Chase, that you are going into the
town?" cried Lady Agnes, wide-eyed.
"Certainly, Lady Deppingham. They are expecting me."
"Don't be foolhardy, Chase. They will kill you like a rat," exclaimed
Deppingham.
"Oh, no, they won't," said the other confidently. "They've given their
promise through Rasula. Whatever else they may be, they hold a promise
sacred. They know I'll come. If I don't, they'll know that I am a
coward. You wouldn't have them think I _am_ a coward, would you, Lady
Deppingham?" he said, turning to look into her distressed face with his
most winning smile.
The next morning he coolly set forth for the gates, scarcely thinking
enough of the adventure to warrant the matter-of-fact "good-byes" that
he bestowed upon those who were congregated to see him off. His heart
was sore as he strode rapidly down the drive. Genevra had not come down
to say farewell.
"By heaven," he muttered, strangely vexed with her, "I fancy she means
it. She's bent on showing me my place. But she might have come down and
wished me good luck. That was little enough for her to do. Ah, well," he
sighed, putting it away from him.
As he turned into the tree-lined avenue near the gate, a slender young
woman in a green and white gown arose from a seat in the shade and
stepped a pace forward, opening her parasol quite leisurely as he
quickened his steps. His eyes gleamed with the sudden rush of joy that
filled his whole being. She stood there, waiting for him, under the
trees. There was an expression in her face that he had never seen there
before. She was smiling, it is true, but there was something like
defiance--yes, it was the set, strained smile of resolution that greeted
his eager exclamation. Her eyes gleamed brightly and she was breathing
as one who has run swiftly.
"You are determined to go down there among those men?" she demanded, the
smile suddenly giving way to a look of disapproval. She ignored his
hand.
"Certainly," he said, after the moment of bewilderment. "Why not? I--I
thought you had made up your mind to let me go without a--a word for
good luck." She found great difficulty in meeting the wistful look in
his eyes. "You are good to come down here to say good-bye--and howdy do,
for that matter. We're almost strangers again."
"I did not come down to say good-bye," she said, her lips trembling ever
so slightly.
"I don't understand," he said.
"I am going with you into the town--as a witness," she said, and her
face went pale at the thought of it. He drew back in amazement, staring
at her as though he had not heard aright.
"Genevra," he cried, "you--you would do _that_?"
"Why not, Mr. Chase?" She tried to speak calmly, but she was trembling.
After all, she was a slender, helpless girl--not an Amazon! "I saw and
heard everything. They won't believe you unsupported. They won't harm
me. They will treat me as they treat you. I have as much right to be
heard against him as you. If I swear to them that what you say is true
they----"
Her hand was on his arm now, trembling, eager, yet charged with fear at
the prospect ahead of her. He clasped the little hand in his and quickly
lifted it to his lips.
"I'm happy again," he cried. "It's all right with me now." She withdrew
her hand on the instant.
"No, no! It isn't that," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Don't
misinterpret my coming here to say that I will go. It isn't because--no,
it isn't that!"
He hesitated an instant, looking deep into the bewildered eyes that met
his with all the honesty that dwelt in her soul. He saw that she trusted
him to be fair with her.
"I was unhappy because you had forsaken me," he said gently. "You are
brave--you are wonderful! But I can't take you down there. I know what
will happen if they find him guilty. Good-bye, dear one. I'll come
back--surely I'll come back. Thank you for sending me away happy."
"Won't you let me go with you?" she asked, after a long, penetrating
look into his eyes.
"I would not take you among them for all the world. You forget. Neither
of us would come back."
"Neither of us?" she said slowly.
"I wouldn't come back without you," he said quietly, earnestly. She
understood. "Good-bye! Don't worry about me. I am in no danger."
"Good-bye," she said, the princess once more. "I shall pray for
you--with all my soul." She gave him her hand. It was cold and lifeless.
He pressed it warmly and went quickly away, leaving her standing there
in the still shade of the satinwoods, looking after him with eyes that
grew wider and wider with the tears that welled up from behind.
Hours went by--slow, tortuous hours in which the souls of those who
watched and waited for his return were tried to the utmost. A restless,
uncanny feeling prevailed: as if they were prisoners waiting in dead
silence for the sickening news that the trap on the scaffold had been
dropped with all that was living of a fellow-cellmate, whom they had
known and pitied for weeks.
Once there came to the ears of the watchers on the mountainside the
sound of distant shouts, later, the brief rattle of firearms. The blood
of every one turned cold with, apprehension; every voice was stilled,
every eye wide with dread. Neenah screamed as she fled across the
terrace toward the drawbridge, where Selim stood as motionless as a
statue.
Luncheon-time passed, and again, as if drawn by a magnet, the entire
household made its way to the front of the château.
At last Selim uttered a shout of joy. He forgot the deference due his
betters and unceremoniously dashed off toward the gates, followed by
Neenah, who seemed possessed of wings.
Chase was returning!
They saw him coming up the drive, his hat in his hand, his white
umbrella raised above his head. He drew nearer, sauntering as carelessly
as if nothing unusual lay behind him in the morning hours. The eager,
joyous watchers saw him greet Selim and his fluttering wife; they saw
Selim fall upon his knees, and they felt the tears rushing to their own
eyes.
"Hurray!" shouted little Mr. Saunders in his excitement. Bowles and the
three clerks joined him in the exhibition. Then the Persians and the
Turks and the Arabs began to chatter; the servants, always cold and
morose, revealed signs of unusual emotion; the white people laughed as
if suddenly delivered from extreme pain. The Princess was conscious of
the fact that at least five or six pairs of eyes were watching her face.
She closed her lips and compelled her eyelids to obey the dictates of a
resentful heart: she lowered them until they gave one the impression of
indolent curiosity, even indifference. All the while, her
incomprehensible heart was thumping with a rapture that knew no
allegiance to royal conventions.
A few minutes later he was among them, listening with his cool,
half-satirical smile to their protestations of joy and relief, assailed
by more questions than he could well answer in a day, his every
expression a protest against their contention that he had done a brave
and wonderful thing.
"Nonsense," he said in his most deprecating voice, taking a seat beside
the Princess on the railing and fanning himself lazily with his hat to
the mortification of his body-servant, who waved a huge palm leaf in
vigorous adulation. "It was nothing. Just being a witness, that's all.
You'll find how easy it is when you get back to London and have to
testify in the Skaggs will contest. Tell the truth, that's all." The
Princess was now looking at his brown face with eyes over which she had
lost control. "Oh, by the by," he said, as if struck by a sudden
thought. He turned toward the shady court below, where the eager
refugees from Aratat were congregated. A deep, almost sepulchral tone
came into his voice as he addressed himself to the veiled wives of Jacob
von Blitz. "It is my painful duty to announce to the Mesdames von Blitz
that they are widows."
There was a dead silence. The three women stared up at him,
uncomprehending.
"Yes," he went on solemnly, "Jacob is no more. He was found guilty by
his judges and executed with commendable haste and precision. I will say
this for your lamented husband: he met his fate like a man and a
German--without a quiver. He took his medicine bravely--twelve leaden
pills administered by as many skilful surgeons. It is perhaps just as
well for you that you are widows. If he had lived long enough he would
have made a widower of himself." The three wives of Von Blitz hugged
themselves and cried out in their joy! "But it is yet too early to
congratulate yourselves on your freedom. Rasula has promised to kill all
of us, whether we deserve it or not, so I daresay we'd better postpone
the celebration until we're entirely out of the woods."
"They shot him?" demanded Deppingham, when he had finished.
"Admirably. By Jove, those fellows _can_ shoot! They accepted my word
against his--which is most gratifying to my pride. One other man
testified against him--a chap who saw him with the Boers not ten minutes
before the attempt was made to rob the vaults. Rasula appeared as
counsel for the defence. Merely a matter of form. He _knew_ that he was
guilty. There was no talk of a new trial; no appeal to the supreme
court, Britt; no expense to the community."
He was as unconcerned about it as if discussing the most trivial
happening of the day. Five ancient men had sat with the venerable Cadi
as judges in the market-place. There were no frills, no disputes, no
summing up of the case by state or defendant. The judges weighed the
evidence; they used their own judgment as to the law and the penalty.
They found him guilty. Von Blitz lived not ten minutes after sentence
was passed.
"As to their intentions toward us," said Chase, "they are firm in their
determination that no one shall leave the château alive. Rasula was
quite frank with me. He is a cool devil. He calmly notified me that we
will all be dead inside of two weeks. No ships will put in here so long
as the plague exists. It has been cleverly managed. I asked him how we
were to die and he smiled as though he was holding something back as a
surprise for us. He came as near to laughing as I've ever seen him when
I asked him if he'd forgotten my warships. 'Why don't you have them
here?' he asked. 'We're not ready,' said I. 'The six months are not up
for nine days yet.' 'No one will come ashore for you,' he said
pointedly. I told him that he was making a great mistake in the attitude
he was taking toward the heirs, but he coolly informed me that it was
best to eradicate all danger of the plague by destroying the germs, so
to speak. He agreed with me that you have no chance in the courts, but
maintains that you'll keep up the fight as long as you live, so you
might just as well die to suit his convenience. I also made the
interesting discovery that suits have already been brought in England to
break the will on the grounds of insanity."
"But what good will that do us if we are to die here?" exclaimed Bobby
Browne.
"None whatsoever," said Chase calmly. "You must admit, however, that you
exhibited signs of hereditary insanity by coming here in the first
place. I'm beginning to believe that there's a streak of it in my
family, too."
"And you--you saw him killed?" asked the Princess in an awed voice, low
and full of horror.
"Yes. I could not avoid it."
"They killed him on your--on your--" she could not complete the
sentence, but shuddered expressively.
"Yes. He deserved death, Princess. I am more or less like the Moslem in
one respect. I might excuse a thief or a murderer, but I have no pity
for a traitor."
"You saw him killed," she said in the same awed voice, involuntarily
drawing away from him.
"Yes," he said, "and you would have seen him killed, too, if you had
gone down with me to appear against him."
She looked up quickly and then thanked him, almost in a whisper.
CHAPTER XXVIII
CENTURIES TO FORGET
"My lord," said Saunders the next day, appearing before his lordship
after an agitated hour of preparation, "it's come to a point where
something's got to be done." He got that far and then turned quite
purple; his collar seemed to be choking him.
"Quite right, Saunders," said Deppingham, replacing his eyeglass
nervously, "but who's going to do it and what is there to be done?"
"I'm--er--afraid you don't quite understand, sir," mumbled the little
solicitor, glancing uneasily over his shoulder. "If what Mr. Chase says
is true, we've got a precious short time to live. Well, we've--we've
concluded to get all we can out of the time that's left, my lord."
"I see," said the other, but he did not see.
"So I've come to ask if it will be all right with you and her ladyship,
sir. We don't want to do anything that would seem forward and out of
place, sir."
"It's very considerate of you, Saunders; but what the devil are you
talking about?"
"Haven't you heard, sir?"
"That we are to die? Certainly."
"That's not all, sir. Miss--Miss Pelham and I have decided to
get--er--get married before it is too late."
Deppingham stared hard for a moment and then grinned broadly.
"You mean, before you die?"
"That's it exactly, my lord. Haw, haw! It _would_ be a bit late,
wouldn't it, if we waited till afterward? Haw, haw! Splendid! But
seriously, my lord, we've talked it all over and it strikes us both as a
very clever thing to do. We had intended to wait till we got to London,
but that seems quite out of the question now. Unless we do it up pretty
sharp, sir, we are likely to miss it altogether. So I have come to ask
if you think it will interfere with your arrangements if--if we should
be married to-night."
"I'm sure, Saunders, that it won't discommode me in the least," said his
lordship genially. "By all means, Saunders, let it be to-night, for
to-morrow we may die."
"Will you kindly speak to her ladyship, sir?"
"Gladly. And I'll take it as an honour if you will permit me to give
away the bride."
"Thank you, my lord," cried Saunders, his face beaming. His lordship
shook hands with him, whereupon his cup of happiness overflowed,
notwithstanding the fact that his honeymoon was likely to be of scarcely
any duration whatsoever. "I've already engaged Mr. Bowles, sir, for half
past eight, and also the banquet hall, sir," he said, with his frank
assurance.
"And I'll be happy, Saunders, to see to the wedding supper and the
rice," said his lordship. "Have you decided where you will go on your
wedding journey?"
"Yes, sir," said Saunders seriously, "God helping us, we'll go to
England."
The wedding took place that night in the little chapel. It was not an
imposing celebration; neither was it attended by the gladsome revelry
that usually marks the nuptial event, no matter how humble. The very
fact that these two were being urged to matrimony by the uncertainties
of life was sufficient to cast a spell of gloom over the guests and high
contracting parties alike. The optimism of Hollingsworth Chase lightened
the shadows but little.
Chase deliberately took possession of the Princess after the hollow
wedding supper had come to an end. He purposely avoided the hanging
garden and kept to the vine-covered balcony overlooking the sea. Her
mood had changed. Now she was quite at ease with him; the taunting gleam
in her dark eyes presaged evil moments for his peace of mind.
"I'm inspired," he said to her. "A wedding always inspires me."
"It's very strange that you've never married," she retorted. She was
striding freely by his side, confident in her power to resist sentiment
with mockery.
"Will you be my wife?" he asked abruptly. She caught her breath before
laughing tolerantly, and then looked into his eyes with a tantalising
ingenuousness.
"By no means," she responded. "I am not oppressed by the same views that
actuated Miss Pelham. You see, Mr. Chase, I am quite confident that we
are _not_ to die in two weeks."
"I could almost wish that we could die in that time," he said.
"How very diabolical!"
"It may seem odd to you, but I'd rather see you dead than married to
Prince Karl." She was silent. He went on: "Would you consent to be my
wife if you felt in your heart that we should never leave this island?"
"You are talking nonsense," she said lightly.
"Perhaps. But would you?" he insisted.
"I think I shall go in, Mr. Chase," she said with a warning shake of her
head.
"Don't, please! I'm not asking you to marry me if we _should_ leave the
island. You must give me credit for that," he argued whimsically.
"Ah, I see," she said, apparently very much relieved. "You want me only
with the understanding that death should be quite close at hand to
relieve you. And if I were to become your wife, here and now, and we
should be taken from this dreadful place--what then?"
"You probably would have to go through a long and miserable career as
plain Goodwife Chase," he explained.
"If it will make you any happier," she said, with a smile in which there
lurked a touch of mischievous triumph, "I can say that I might consent
to marry you if I were not so positive that I will leave the island
soon. You seem to forget that my uncle's yacht is to call here, even
though your cruisers will not."
"I'll risk even that," he maintained stoutly.
She stopped suddenly, her hand upon his arm.
"Do you really love me?" she demanded earnestly.
"With all my soul, I swear to you," he replied, staggered by the abrupt
change in her manner.
"Then don't make it any harder for me," she said. "You know that I could
not do what you ask. Please, please be fair with me. I--I can't even
jest about it. It is too much to ask of me," she went on with a strange
firmness in her voice. "It would require centuries to make me forget
that I am a princess, just as centuries were taken up in creating me
what I am. I am no better than you, dear, but--but--you understand?" She
said it so pleadingly, so hopelessly that he understood what it was that
she could not say to him. "We seldom if ever marry the men whom God has
made for us to love."
He lifted her hands to his breast and held them there. "If you will just
go on loving me, I'll some day make you forget you're a princess." She
smiled and shook her head. Her hair gleamed red and bronze in the kindly
light; a soft perfume came up to his nostrils.
* * * * *
The next day three of the native servants became violently ill, seized
by the most appalling convulsions. At first, a thrill of horror ran
through the château. The plague! The plague in reality! Faces blanched
white with dread, hearts turned cold and sank like lead; a hundred eyes
looked out to sea with the last gleam of hope in their depths.
But these fears were quickly dissipated. Baillo and the other natives
unhesitatingly announced that the men were not afflicted with the "fatal
sickness." As if to bear out these positive assertions, the sufferers
soon began to mend. By nightfall they were fairly well recovered. The
mysterious seizure, however, was unexplained. Chase alone divined the
cause. He brooded darkly over the prospect that suddenly had presented
itself to his comprehension. Poison! He was sure of it! But who the
poisoner?
All previous perils and all that the future seemed to promise were
forgotten in the startling discovery that came with the fall of night.
The first disclosures were succeeded by a frantic but ineffectual search
throughout the grounds; the château was ransacked from top to bottom.
Lady Deppingham and Robert Browne were missing! They had disappeared as
if swallowed by the earth itself!
Neenah, the wife of Selim, was the last of those in the château to see
the heirs. When the sun was low in the west, she observed them strolling
leisurely along the outer edge of the moat. They crossed the swift
torrent by the narrow bridge at the base of the cliff and stopped below
the mouth of the cavern which blew its cool breath out upon the hanging
garden. Later on, she saw them climb the staunch ladder and stand in the
black opening, apparently enjoying the cooling wind that came from the
damp bowels of the mountain. Her attention was called elsewhere, and
that was the last glimpse she had of the two people about whom centred
the struggle for untold riches.
It was not an unusual thing for the inhabitants of the château to climb
to the mouth of the cavern. The men had penetrated its depths for
several hundred yards, lighting their way by means of electric torches,
but no one among them had undertaken the needless task of exploring it
to the end. This much they knew: the cavern stretched to endless
distances, wide in spots, narrow in others, treacherous yet attractive
in its ugly, grave-like solitudes.
"God, Chase, they are lost in there!" groaned Deppingham, numb with
apprehension. He was trembling like a leaf.
"There's just one thing to do," said Chase, "we've got to explore that
cavern to the end. They may have lost their bearings and strayed off
into one of the lateral passages."
"I--I can't bear the thought of her wandering about in that horrible
place," Deppingham cried as he started resolutely toward the ladders.
"She'll come out of it all right," said Chase, a sudden compassion in
his eyes.
Drusilla Browne was standing near by, cold and silent with dread, a set
expression in her eyes. Her lips moved slowly and Deppingham heard the
bitter words:
"You will find them, Lord Deppingham. You will find them!"
He stopped and passed his hand over his eyes. Then, without a word, he
snatched a rifle from the hands of one of the patrol, and led the way up
the ladder. As he paused at the top to await the approach of his
companions, Chase turned to the white-faced Princess and said, between
his teeth:
"If Skaggs and Wyckholme had been in the employ of the devil himself
they could not have foreseen the result of their infernal plotting. I am
afraid--mortally afraid!"
"Take care of him, Hollingsworth," she whispered shuddering.
The last glow of sunset, reflected in the western sky, fell upon the
tall figure of the Englishman in the mouth of the cavern. Tragedy seemed
to be waiting to cast its mantel about him from behind.
"Good-bye, Genevra, my Princess," said Chase softly, and then was off
with Britt and Selim. As he passed Drusilla, he seized her hand and
paused long enough to say:
"It's all right, little woman, take my word for it. If I were you, I'd
cry. You'll see things differently through your tears."
The four men, with their lights, vanished from sight a few moments
later. Chase grasped Deppingham's arm and held him back, gravely
suggesting that Selim should lead the way.
They were to learn the truth almost before they had fairly begun their
investigations.
The heirs already were in the hands of their enemies, the islanders!
The appalling truth burst upon them with a suddenness that stunned their
sensibilities for many minutes. All doubt was swept away by the
revelation.
The eager searchers, shouting as they went, had picked their way down
the steps in the sloping floor of the cavern, down through the winding
galleries and clammy grottoes, their voices booming ever and anon
against the silent walls with the roar of foghorns. Now they had come to
what was known as "the Cathedral." This was a wide, lofty chamber, hung
with dripping stalactites, far below the level at which they began the
descent. The floor was almost as flat and even as that of a modern
dwelling. Here the cavern branched off in three or four directions, like
the tentacles of a monster devilfish, the narrow passages leading no one
knew whither in that tomb-like mountain.
Selim uttered the first shout of surprise and consternation. Then the
four of them rushed forward, their eyes almost starting from their
sockets. An instant later they were standing at the edge of a vast hole
in the floor--newly made and pregnant with disaster.
A current of air swept up into their faces. The soft, loose earth about
the rent in the floor was covered with the prints of naked feet; the
bottom of the hole was packed down in places by a multitude of tracks.
Chase's bewildered eyes were the first to discover the presence of
loose, scattered masonry in the pile below and the truth dawned upon him
sharply. He gave a loud exclamation and then dropped lightly into the
shallow hole.
"I've got it!" he shouted, stooping to peer intently ahead. "Von Blitz's
powder kegs did all this. The secret passage runs along here. One of the
discharges blew this hole through the roof of the passage. Here are the
walls of the passage. By heaven, the way is open to the sea!"
"My God, Chase!" cried Deppingham, staggering toward the opening. "These
footprints are--God! They've murdered her! They've come in here and
surprised----"
"Go easy, old man! We need to be cool now. It's all as plain as day to
me. Rasula and his men were exploring the passage after the discovery of
the treasure chests. They came upon this new-made hole and then crawled
into the cavern. They surprised Browne and--Yes, here are the prints of
a woman's shoe--and a man's, too. They're gone, God help 'em!"
He climbed out of the hole and rushed about "the Cathedral" in search of
further evidence. Deppingham dropped suddenly to his knees and buried
his face in his hands, sobbing like a child.
It was all made plain to the searchers. Signs of a fierce struggle were
found near the entrance to the Cathedral. Bobby Browne had made a
gallant fight. Blood stains marked the smooth floor and walls, and there
was evidence that a body had been dragged across the chamber.
Britt put his hand over his eyes and shuddered. "They've settled this
contest, Chase, forever!" he groaned.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE PURSUIT
Deppingham sprang to his feet with a fierce oath on his lips. His
usually lustreless eyes were gleaming with something more than despair;
there was the wild light of unmistakable relief in them. It was as if a
horrid doubt had been scaled from the soul of Lady Deppingham's husband.
"We must follow!" shouted his lordship, preparing to lower himself into
the jagged opening. "We may be in time!"
"Stop, Deppingham!" cried Chase, leaping to his side. "Don't rush
blindly into a trap like that. Let's consider for a moment."
They had it back and forth for many minutes, the united efforts of the
three men being required to keep the half-frantic Englishman from
rushing alone into the passage. Reason at last prevailed.
"They've got an hour or more start of us," argued Chase. "Nothing will
be accomplished by rushing into an ambush. They'd kill us like rats.
Rasula is a sagacious scoundrel. He'll not take the entire
responsibility. There will be a council of all the head men. It will be
of no advantage to them to kill the heirs unless they are sure that _we_
won't live to tell the tale. They will go slow, now that they have the
chief obstacles to victory in their hands."
"If they will give her up to me, I will guarantee that Lady Agnes shall
relinquish all claim to the estate," announced the harassed husband.
"They won't do that, old man. Promises won't tempt them," protested
Chase. "We've got to do what we can to rescue them. I'm with you,
gentlemen, in the undertaking, first for humanity's sake; secondly,
because I am your friend; lastly, because I don't want my clients to
lose all chance of winning out in this controversy by acting like
confounded asses. It isn't what Sir John expects of me. Now, let's
consider the situation sensibly."
In the meantime, the anxious coterie in the château were waiting eagerly
for the return of the searchers. Night had fallen swiftly. The Princess
and Drusilla were walking restlessly back and forth, singularly quiet
and constrained. The latter sighed now and then in a manner that went
directly to the heart of her companion. Genevra recognised the futility
of imposing her sympathies in the face of this significant reserve.
Drusilla made one remark, half unconsciously, no doubt, that rasped in
the ears of the Princess for days. It was the cold, bitter, resigned
epitome of the young wife's thoughts.
"Robert has loved her for months." That was all.
Mr. and Mrs. Saunders, thankful that something had happened to divert
attention from their own conspicuous plight, were discoursing freely in
the centre of a group composed of the four Englishmen from the bank, all
of whom had deserted their posts of duty to hear the details of the
amazing disappearance.
"It's a plain out and out elopement," said Mrs. Saunders, fanning
herself vigorously.
"But, my dear," expostulated her husband, blushing vividly over the
first public use of the appellation, "where the devil could they elope
to?"
"I don't know, Tommy, but elopers never take that into consideration. Do
they, Mr. Bowles?"
Mr. Bowles readjusted the little red forage cap and said he'd be hanged
if he knew the eloping symptoms.
At last the four men appeared in the mouth of the cavern. The watchers
below fell into chilled silence when they discovered that the missing
ones were not with them. Stupefied with apprehension, they watched the
men descend the ladder and cross the bridge.
"They are dead!" fell from Brasilia Browne's lips. She swayed for an
instant and then sank to the ground, unconscious.
* * * * *
In the conference which followed the return of the searchers, it was
settled that three of the original party should undertake the further
prosecution of the hunt for the two heirs. Lord Deppingham found ready
volunteers in Chase and the faithful Selim. They prepared to go out in
the hills before the night was an hour older. Selim argued that the
abductors would not take their prisoners to the town of Aratat. He
understood them well enough to know that they fully appreciated the
danger of an uprising among those who were known to be openly opposed to
the high-handed operations of Rasula and his constituency. He convinced
Chase that the wily Rasula would carry his captives to the mines, where
he was in full power.
"You're right, Selim. If he's tried that game we'll beat him at it. Ten
to one, if he hasn't already chucked them into the sea, they're now
confined in one of the mills over there."
They were ready to start in a very short time. Selim carried a quantity
of food and a small supply of brandy. Each was heavily armed and
prepared for a stiff battle with the abductors. They were to go by way
of the upper gate, taking chances on leaving the park without discovery
by the sentinels.
"We seem constantly to be saying good-bye to each other." Thus spoke the
Princess to Chase as he stood at the top of the steps waiting for Selim.
The darkness hid the wan, despairing smile that gave the lie to her
sprightly words.
"And I'm always doing the unexpected thing--coming back. This time I may
vary the monotony by failing to return."
"I should think you could vary it more pleasantly by not going away,"
she said. "You will be careful?"
"The danger is here, not out there," he said meaningly.
"You mean--me? But, like all danger, I soon shall pass. In a few days, I
shall say good-bye forever and sail away."
"How much better it would be for you if this were the last good-bye--and
I should not come back."
"For me?"
"Yes. You could marry the Prince without having me on your conscience
forevermore."
"Mr. Chase!"
"It's easier to forget the dead than the living, they say."
"Don't be too sure of that."
"Ah, there's Selim! Good-bye! We'll have good news for you all, I hope,
before long. Keep your eyes on Neenah. She and Selim have arranged a set
of signals. Don't lie awake all night--and don't pray for me," he
scoffed, in reckless mood.
The three men stole out through the small gate in the upper end of the
park. Selim at once took the lead. They crept off into the black forest,
keeping clear of the mountain path until they were far from the walls.
It was hard going among the thickly grown, low-hanging trees. They were
without lights; the jungle was wrapped in the blackness of night; the
trail was unmade and arduous. For more than a mile they crept through
the unbroken vegetation of the tropics, finally making their way down to
the beaten path which led past the ruins of the bungalow and up to the
mountain road that provided a short cut around the volcano to the
highlands overlooking the mines district in the cradle-like valley
beyond.
Deppingham had not spoken since they left the park grounds. He came
second in the single file that they observed, striding silently and
obediently at the given twenty paces behind Selim. They kept to the
grassy roadside and moved swiftly and with as little noise as possible.
By this time, their eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness; they
could distinguish one another quite clearly. The starlight filtered down
through the leafy canopy above the road, increasing rather than
decreasing the density of the shadows through which they sped. None but
strong, determined, inspired men could have followed the pace set by the
lithe, surefooted Selim.
Mile after mile fell behind them, with no relaxation of energy or
purpose. Chase found time and opportunity to give his thoughts over to
Genevra. A mighty longing to clasp her in his arms and carry her to the
ends of the earth took possession of him: a longing to drag her far from
the conventions which bound her to a world he could not enter into. Down
in his heart, he knew that she loved him: it was not a play-day folly
with her. And yet he knew that the end would be as she had said. She
would be the wife of the man she did not love. Fate had given her to him
when the world was young; there was no escape. In story-books, perhaps,
but not in real life. And how he had come to love her!
They were coming to the ridge road and Selim fell back to explain the
need for caution. The ridge road crept along the brow of the deep canyon
that ran down to the sea. This was the road, in all likelihood, he
explained, that the abductors would have used in their flight from the
cavern. Two miles farther south it joined the wide highway that ran from
Aratat to the mines.
Selim crept on ahead to reconnoitre. He was back in ten minutes with the
information that a party of men had but lately passed along the road
toward the south. Their footprints in the soft, untraveled road were
fresh. The stub of a cigarette that had scarcely burned itself out
proved to him conclusively that the smoker, at least, was not far ahead
of them.
They broke away from the road and took a less exposed course through the
forest to their right, keeping well within earshot of the ridge, but
moving so carefully that there was slight danger of alarming the party
ahead. The fact that the abductors--there seemed to be no doubt as to
identity--had spent several hours longer than necessary in traversing
the distance between the cave and the point just passed, proving rather
conclusively that they were encumbered by living, not dead, burdens.
At last the sound of voices came to the ears of the pursuers. As they
crept closer and closer, they became aware of the fact that the party
had halted and were wrangling among themselves over some point in
dispute. With Selim in the lead, crawling like panthers through the
dense undergrowth, the trio came to the edge of the timber land. Before
them lay the dark, treeless valley; almost directly below them, not
fifty yards away, clustered the group of disputing islanders, a dozen
men in all, with half as many flaring torches.
They had halted in the roadway at the point where a sharp defile through
the rocks opened a way down into the valley. Like snakes the pursuers
wriggled their way to a point just above the small basin in which the
party was congregated.
A great throb of exultation leaped up from their hearts, In plain view,
at the side of the road, were the two persons for whom they were
searching.
"God, luck is with us," whispered Chase unconsciously.
Lady Agnes, dishevelled, her dress half stripped from her person, was
seated upon a great boulder, staring hopelessly, lifelessly at the crowd
of men in the roadway. Beside her stood a tall islander, watching her
and at the same time listening eagerly to the dispute that went on
between his fellows. She was not bound; her hands and feet and lips were
free. The glow from the torches held by gesticulating hands fell upon
her tired, frightened face. Deppingham groaned aloud as he looked down
upon the wretched, hopeless woman that he loved and had come out to die
for.
Bobby Browne was standing near by. His hands were tightly bound behind
his back. His face was blood-covered and the upper part of his body was
almost bare, evidence of the struggle he had made against overwhelming
odds. He was staring at the ground, his head and shoulders drooping in
utter dejection.
The cause of the slow progress made by the attacking party was also
apparent after a moment's survey of the situation. Three of the treasure
chests were standing beside the road, affording seats for as many weary
carriers. It was all quite plain to Chase. Rasula and his men had
chanced upon the two white people during one of their trips to the cave
for the purpose of removing the chests. Moreover, it was reasonable to
assume that this lot of chests represented the last of those stored away
by Von Blitz. The others had been borne away by detachments of men who
left the cave before the discovery and capture of the heirs.
Rasula was haranguing the crowd of men in the road. The hidden listeners
could hear and understand every word he uttered.
"It is the only way," he was shouting angrily. "We cannot take them into
the town to-night--maybe not for two or three days. Some there are in
Aratat who would end their lives before sunrise. I say to you that we
cannot put them to death until we are sure that the others have no
chance to escape to England. I am a lawyer. I know what it would mean if
the story got to the ears of the government. We have them safely in our
hands. The others will soon die. Then--then there can be no mistake!
They must be taken to the mines and kept there until I have explained
everything to the people. Part of us shall conduct them to the lower
mill and the rest of us go on to the bank with these chests of gold." In
the end, after much grumbling and fierce quarreling, in which the
prisoners took little or no interest, the band was divided into two
parts. Rasula and six of the sturdiest men prepared to continue the
journey to Aratat, transporting the chests. Five sullen, resentful
fellows moved over beside the captives and threw themselves down upon
the grassy sward, lighting their cigarettes with all the philosophical
indifference of men who regard themselves as put upon by others at a
time when there is no alternative.
"We will wait here till day comes," growled one of them defiantly. "Why
should we risk our necks going down the pass to-night? It is one
o'clock. The sun will be here in three hours. Go on!"
"As you like, Abou Dal," said Rasula, shrugging his pinched shoulders.
"I shall come to the mill at six o'clock." Turning to the prisoners, he
bowed low and said, with a soft laugh: "Adios, my lady, and you, most
noble sir. May your dreams be pleasant ones. Dream that you are wedded
and have come into the wealth of Japat, but spare none of your dream to
the husband and wife, who are lying awake and weeping for the foolish
ones who would go searching for the forbidden fruit. Folly is a hard road
to travel and it leads to the graveyard of fools. Adios!"
Lady Agnes bent over and dropped her face into her hands. She was
trembling convulsively. Browne did not show the slightest sign that he
had heard the galling words.
At a single sharp command, the six men picked up the three chests and
moved off rapidly down the road Rasula striding ahead with the flaring
torch.
They were barely out of sight beyond the turn in the hill when
Deppingham moved as though impulse was driving him into immediate attack
upon the guards who were left behind with the unhappy prisoners. Chase
laid a restraining hand upon his arm.
"Wait! Plenty of time. Wait an hour. Don't spoil everything. We'll save
them sure," he breathed in the other's ear. Deppingham's groan was
almost loud enough to have been heard above the rustling leaves and the
collective maledictions of the disgusted islanders.
The minutes slipped by with excruciating slowness The wakeful eyes of
the three watchers missed nothing that took place in the little
grass-grown niche below them They could have sprung almost into the
centre of the group from the position they occupied. Utterly unconscious
of the surveillance, the islanders gradually sunk into a morose, stupid
silence. If the watchers hoped that they might go to sleep they were to
be disappointed Two of the men sat with their backs to the rocks, their
rifles across their knees. The others sprawled lazily upon the soft
grass. Two torches, stuck in the earth, threw a weird light over the
scene.
Bobby Browne was now lying with his shoulder against a fallen
tree-trunk, staring with unswerving gaze at the woman across the way.
She was looking off into the night, steadfastly refusing to glance in
his direction. For fully half an hour this almost speaking tableau
presented itself to the spectators above.
Then suddenly Lady Agnes arose to her feet and lifted her hands high
toward the black dome of heaven, Salammbo-like, and prayed aloud to her
God, the sneering islanders looking on in silent derision.
CHAPTER XXX
THE PERSIAN ANGEL
The man called Abou suddenly leaped to his feet, and, with the cry of an
eager animal, sprang to her side. His arms closed about her slender
figure with the unmistakable lust of the victor. A piteous,
heart-rending shriek left her lips as he raised her clear of the ground
and started toward the dense shadows across the road. Her
terror-stricken face was turned to the light; her cries for mercy were
directed to the brute's companions.
They did not respond, but another did. A hoarse, inarticulate cry of
rage burst from Deppingham's lips. His figure shot out through the air
and down the short slope with the rush of an infuriated beast. Even as
the astonished Abou dropped his struggling burden to meet the attack of
the unexpected deliverer, he was felled to the earth by a mighty blow
from the rifle which his assailant swung swift and true. His skull was
crushed as if it were an eggshell.
Lady Agnes struggled to her feet, wild-eyed, half crazed by the double
assault. The next instant she fell forward upon her face, dead to all
that was to follow in the next few minutes. Her glazed eyes caught a
fleeting glimpse of the figures that seemed to sweep down from the sky,
and then all was blank.
There was no struggle. Chase and Selim were upon the stupefied islanders
before they could move, covering them with their rifles. The wretches
fell upon their knees and howled for mercy. While Deppingham was holding
his wife's limp form in his arms, calling out to her in the agony of
fear, utterly oblivious to all else that was happening about him, his
two friends were swiftly disarming the grovelling natives. Selim's knife
severed the cords that bound Bobby Browne's hands; he was staring
blankly, dizzily before him, and many minutes passed before he was able
to comprehend that deliverance had come.
Ten minutes later Chase was addressing himself to the four islanders,
who, bound and gagged, were tied by their own sashes to trees some
distance from the roadside.
"I've just thought of a little service you fellows can perform for me in
return for what I've done for you. All the time you're doing it,
however, there will be pistols quite close to your backs. I find that
Lady Deppingham is much too weak to take the five miles' walk we've got
to do in the next two hours--or less. You are to have the honour of
carrying her four miles and a half, and you will have to get along the
best you can with the gags in your mouths. I'm rather proud of the
inspiration. We were up against it, hard, until I thought of you fellows
wasting your time up here in the woods. Corking scheme, isn't it? Two of
you form a basket with your hands--I'll show you how. You carry her for
half a mile; then the other two may have the satisfaction of doing
something just as handsome for the next half mile--and so on. Great,
eh?"
And it was in just that fashion that the party started off without delay
in the direction of the château. Two of the cowed but eager islanders
were carrying her ladyship between them, Deppingham striding close
behind in a position to catch her should she again lose consciousness.
Her tense fingers clung to the straining shoulders of the carriers, and,
although she swayed dizzily from time to time, she maintained her trying
position with extreme courage and cool-headedness. Now and then she
breathed aloud the name of her husband, as if to assure herself that he
was near at hand. She kept her eyes closed tightly, apparently uniting
every vestige of force in the effort to hold herself together through
the last stages of the frightful ordeal which had fallen to her that
night.
With Selim in the lead, the little procession moved swiftly but
cautiously through the black jungle, bent on reaching the gate if
possible before the night lifted. Chase and Bobby Browne brought up the
rear with the two reserve carriers in hand. Browne, weak and suffering
from torture and exposure, struggled bravely along, determined not to
retard their progress by a single movement of indecision. He had talked
volubly for the first few minutes after their rescue, but now was silent
and intent upon thoughts of his own. His head and face were bruised and
cut; his body was stiff and sore from the effects of his valiant battle
in the cavern and the subsequent hardships of the march.
In his heart Bobby Browne was now raging against the fate that had
placed him in this humiliating, almost contemptible position. He, and he
alone, was responsible for the sufferings that Lady Agnes had endured:
it was as gall and wormwood to him that other men had been ordained to
save her from the misery that he had created. He could almost have
welcomed death for himself and her rather than to have been saved by
George Deppingham. As he staggered along, propelled by the resistless
force which he knew to be a desire to live in spite of it all, he was
wondering how he could ever hold up his head again in the presence of
those who damned him, even as they had prayed for him.
His wife! He could never be the same to her. He had forfeited the trust
and confidence of the one loyal believer among them all.... And now,
Lady Deppingham loathed him because his weakness had been greater than
hers!
When he would have slain the four helpless islanders with his own hands,
Hollingsworth Chase had stayed his rage with the single, caustic
adjuration:
"Keep out of this, Browne! You've been enough of a damned bounder
without trying that sort of thing."
Tears were in Bobby Browne's eyes as, mile after mile, he blundered
along at the side of his fellow-countryman, his heart bleeding itself
dry through the wound those words had made.
It was still pitch dark when they came to the ridge above the park.
Through the trees the lights in the château could be seen. Lady Agnes
opened her eyes and cried out in tremulous joy. A great wave of
exaltation swept over Hollingsworth Chase. _She_ was watching and
waiting there with the others!
"Dame Fortune is good to us," he said, quite irrelevantly. Selim
muttered the sacred word "Allah." Chase's trend of thought, whatever it
may have been, was ruthlessly checked. "That reminds me," he said
briskly, "we can't waste Allah's time in dawdling here. Luck has been
with us--and Allah, too--great is Allah! But we'll have to do some
skilful sneaking on our own hook, just the same. If the upper gate is
being watched--and I doubt it very much--we'll have a hard time getting
inside the walls, signal or no signal. The first thing for us to do is
to make everything nice and snug for our four friends here. You've
laboured well and faithfully," he said to the panting islanders, "and
I'm going to reward you. I'm going to set you free. But not yet. Don't
rejoice. First, we shall tie you securely to four stout trees just off
the road. Then we'll leave you to take a brief, much-needed rest. Lady
Deppingham, I fancy, can walk the rest of the way through the woods.
Just as soon as we are inside the walls, I'll find some way to let your
friends know that you are here. You can explain the situation to them
better than I can. Tell 'em that it might have been worse."
He and Selim promptly marched the bewildered islanders into the wood.
Bobby Browne, utterly exhausted, had thrown himself to the soft earth.
Lady Deppingham was standing, swaying but resolute, her gaze upon the
distant, friendly windows.
At last she turned to look at her husband, timorously, an appeal in her
eyes that the darkness hid. He was staring at her, a stark figure in the
night. After a long, tense moment of indecision, she held out her hands
and he sprang forward in time to catch her as she swayed toward him. She
was sobbing in his arms. Bobby Browne's heavy breathing ceased in that
instant, and he closed his ears against the sound that came to them.
Deppingham gently implored her to sit down with him and rest. Together
they walked a few paces farther away from their companion and sat down
by the roadside. For many minutes no word was spoken; neither could
whisper the words that were so hard in finding their way up from the
depths. At last she said:
"I've made you unhappy. I've been so foolish. It has not been fun,
either, my husband. God knows it hasn't. You do not love me now."
He did not answer her at once and she shivered fearfully in his arms.
Then he kissed her brow gently.
"I _do_ love you, Agnes," he said intensely. "I will answer for my own
love if you can answer for yours. Are you the same Agnes that you were?
My Agnes?"
"Will you believe me?"
"Yes."
"I could lie to you--God knows I would lie to you."
"I--I would rather you lied to me than to---"
"I know. Don't say it. George," as she put her hands to his face and
whispered in all the fierceness of a desperate longing to convince him,
"I am the same Agnes. I am _your_ Agnes. I am! You _do_ believe me?"
He crushed her close to his breast and then patted her shoulder as a
father might have touched an erring child.
"That's all I ask of you," he said. She lay still and almost breathless
for a long time.
At last she spoke: "It is not wholly his fault, George. I was to blame.
I led him on. You understand?"
"Poor devil!" said he drily. "It's a way you have, dear."
The object of this gentle commiseration was staring with gloomy eyes at
the lights below. He was saying to himself, over and over again: "If I
can only make Drusie understand!"
Chase and Selim came down upon this little low-toned picture. The former
paused an instant and smiled joyously in the darkness.
"Come," was all he said. Without a word the three arose and started off
down the road. A few hundred feet farther on, Selim abruptly turned off
among the trees. They made their way slowly, cautiously to a point
scarcely a hundred feet from the wall and somewhat to the right of the
small gate. Here he left them and crept stealthily away. A few minutes
later he crept back to them, a soft hiss on his lips.
"Five men are near the gate," he whispered. "They watch so closely that
no one may go to rescue those who have disappeared. Friends are hidden
inside the wall, ready to open the gate at a signal. They have waited
with Neenah all night. And day is near, sahib."
"We must attack at once," said Chase. "We can take them by surprise. No
killing, mind you. They're not looking for anything to happen outside
the walls. It will be easy if we are careful. No shooting unless
necessary. If we should fail to surprise them, Selim and I will dash off
into the forest and they will follow us, Then, Deppingham, you and
Browne get Lady Deppingham inside the gate. We'll look out for
ourselves. Quiet now!"
Five shadowy figures soon were distinguished huddled close to the wall
below the gate. The sense of sight had become keen during those trying
hours in the darkness.
The islanders were conversing in low tones, a word or two now and then
reaching the ears of the others. It was evident from what was being
said, that, earlier in the evening, messengers had carried the news from
Rasula to the town; the entire population was now aware of the
astounding capture of the two heirs. There had been rejoicing; it was
easy to picture the populace lying in wait for the expected relief party
from the château.
Suddenly a blinding, mysterious light flashed upon the muttering group.
As they fell back, a voice, low and firm, called out to them:
"Not a sound or you die!"
Four unwavering rifles were bearing upon the surprised islanders and
four very material men were advancing from the ghostly darkness. An
electric lantern shot a ray of light athwart the scene.
"Drop your guns--quick!" commanded Chase. "Don't make a row!"
Paralysed with fear and amazement, the men obeyed. They could not have
done otherwise. The odds were against them; they were bewildered; they
knew not how to combat what seemed to them an absolutely supernatural
force.
While the three white men kept them covered with their rifles, Selim ran
to the gate, uttering the shrill cry of a night bird. There was a rush
of feet inside the walls, subdued exclamations, and then a glad cry.
"Quick!" called Selim. The keys rattled in the locks, the bolts were
thrown down, and an instant later, Lady Deppingham was flying across the
space which intervened between her and the gate, where five or six
figures were huddled and calling out eagerly for haste.
The men were beside her a moment later, possessed of the weapons of the
helpless sentinels. With a crash the gates were closed and a joyous
laugh rang out from the exultant throat of Hollingsworth Chase.
"By the Lord Harry, this is worth while!" he shouted. Outside, the
maddened guards were sounding the tardy alarm. Chase called out to them
and told them where they could find the four men in the forest. Then he
turned to follow the group that had scurried off toward the château. The
first grey shade of day was coming into the night.
He saw Neenah ahead of him, standing still in the centre of the
gravelled path. Beyond her was the tall figure of a man.
"You are a trump, Neenah," cried Chase, hurrying up to her. "A Persian
angel!"
It was not Neenah's laugh that replied. Chase gasped in amazement and
then uttered a cry of joy.
The Princess Genevra, slim and erect, was standing before him, her hand
touching her turban in true military salute, soft laughter rippling from
her lips.
In the exuberance of joy, he clasped that little hand and crushed it
against his lips.
"You!" he exclaimed.
"Sh!" she warned, "I have retained my guard of honour."
He looked beyond her and beheld the tall, soldierly figure of a
Rapp-Thorberg guardsman.
"The devil!" fell involuntarily from his lips.
"Not at all. He is here to keep me from going to the devil," she cried
so merrily that he laughed aloud with her in the spirit of unbounded
joy. "Come! Let us run after the others. I want to run and dance and
sing."
He still held her hand as they ran swiftly down the drive, followed
closely by the faithful sergeant.
"You are an angel," he said in her ear. She laughed as she looked up
into his face.
"Yes--a Persian angel," she cried. "It's so much easier to run well in a
Persian angel's costume," she added.
CHAPTER XXXI
A PRESCRIBED MALADY
"You are wonderful, staying out there all night watching for--us." He
was about to say "me."
"How could any one sleep? Neenah found this dress for me--aren't these
baggy trousers funny? She rifled the late Mr. Wyckholme's wardrobe. This
costume once adorned a sultana, I'm told. It is a most priceless
treasure. I wore it to-night because I was much less conspicuous as a
sultana than I might have been had I gone to the wall as a princess."
"I like you best as the Princess," he said, frankly surveying her in the
grey light.
"I think I like myself as the Princess, too," she said naïvely. He
sighed deeply. They were quite close to the excited group on the terrace
when she said: "I am very, very happy now, after the most miserable
night I have ever known. I was so troubled and afraid----"
"Just because I went away for that little while? Don't forget that I am
soon to go out from you for all time. How then?"
"Ah, but then I will have Paris," she cried gaily. He was puzzled by her
mood--but then, why not? What could he be expected to know of the moods
of royal princesses? No more than he could know of their loves.
Lady Deppingham was got to bed at once. The Princess, more thrilled by
excitement than she ever had been in her life, attended her friend. In
the sanctity of her chamber, the exhausted young Englishwoman bared her
soul to this wise, sympathetic young woman in Persian vestment.
"Genevra," she said solemnly, in the end, "take warning from my example.
When you once are married, don't trifle with other men--not even if you
shouldn't love your husband. Sooner or later you'd get tripped up. It
doesn't pay, my dear. I never realised until tonight how much I really
care for Deppy and I am horribly afraid that I've lost something I can
never recover. I've made him unhappy and--and--all that. Can you tell me
what it is that made me--but never mind! I'm going to be good."
"You were not in love with Mr. Browne. That is why I can't understand
you, Agnes."
"My dear, I don't understand myself. How can I expect you or my husband
to understand me? How could I expect it of Bobby Browne? Oh, dear; oh,
dear, how tired I am! I think I shall never move out of this bed again.
What a horrible, horrible time I've had." She sat up suddenly and stared
wide-eyed before her, looking upon phantoms that came out of the hours
just gone.
"Hush, dear! Lie down and go to sleep. You will feel better in a little
while." Lady Agnes abruptly turned to her with a light in her eyes that
checked the kindly impulses.
"Genevra, you are in love--madly in love with Hollingsworth Chase. Take
my advice: marry him. He's one man in a--" Genevra placed her hand over
the lips of the feverish young woman.
"I will not listen to anything more about Mr. Chase," she said firmly.
"I am tired--tired to death of being told that I should marry him."
"But you love him," Lady Agnes managed to mumble, despite the gentle
impediment.
"I _do_ love him, yes, I do love him," cried the Princess, casting
reserve to the winds. "He knows it--every one knows it. But marry him?
No--no--no! I shall marry Karl. My father, my mother, my grandfather,
have said so--and I have said it, too. And his father and grandfather
and a dozen great grandparents have ordained that he shall marry a
princess and I a prince, That ends it, Agnes! Don't speak of it again."
She cast herself down upon the side of the bed and clenched her hands in
the fierceness of despair and--decision. After a moment, Lady Agnes said
dreamily: "I climbed up the ladder to make a 'ladyship' of myself by
marriage and I find I love my husband. I daresay if you should go down
the ladder a few rounds, my dear, you might be as lucky. But take my
advice, if you _won't_ marry Hollingsworth Chase, don't let him come to
Paris."
The Princess Genevra lifted her face instantly, a startled expression in
her eyes.
"Agnes, you forget yourself!"
"My dear," murmured Lady Agnes sleepily, "forgive me, but I have such a
shockingly absent mind." She was asleep a moment later.
In the meantime, Bobby Browne, disdaining all commands and entreaties,
refused to be put to bed until he had related the story of their capture
and the subsequent events that made the night memorable. He talked
rapidly, feverishly, as if every particle of energy was necessary to the
task of justifying himself in some measure for the night's mishap. He
sat with his rigid arm about his wife's shoulders. Drusilla was stroking
one of his hands in a half-conscious manner, her eyes staring past his
face toward the dark forest from which he had come. Mr. Britt was
ordering brandy and wine for his trembling client.
"After all," said Browne, hoarse with nervousness, "there is some good
to be derived from our experiences, hard as it may be to believe. I have
found out the means by which Rasula intends to destroy every living
creature in the château." He made this statement at the close of the
brief, spasmodic recital covering the events of the night. Every one
drew nearer. Chase threw off his spell of languidness and looked hard at
the speaker. "Rasula coolly asked me, at one of our resting places, if
there had been any symptoms of poisoning among us. I mentioned Pong and
the servants. The devil laughed gleefully in my face and told me that it
was but the beginning. I tell you. Chase, we can't escape the diabolical
scheme he has arranged. We are all to be poisoned--I don't see how we
can avoid it if we stay here much longer. It is to be a case of slow
death by the most insidious scheme of poisoning imaginable, or, on the
other hand, death by starvation and thirst. The water that comes to us
from the springs up there in the hills is to be poisoned by those
devils."
There were exclamations of unbelief, followed by the sharp realisation
that he was, after all, pronouncing doom upon each and every one of
those who listened.
"Rasula knows that we have no means of securing water except from the
springs. Several days ago his men dumped a great quantity of some sort
of poison into the stream--a poison that is used in washing or polishing
the rubies, whatever it is. Well, that put the idea into his head. He is
going about it shrewdly, systematically. I heard him giving instructions
to one of his lieutenants. He thought I was still unconscious from a
blow I received when I tried to interfere in behalf of Lady Agnes, who
was being roughly dragged along the mountain road. Day and night a
detachment of men are to be employed at the springs, deliberately
engaged in the attempt to change the flow of pure water into a slow,
subtle, deadly poison, the effects of which will not be immediately
fatal, but positively so in the course of a few days. Every drop of
water that we drink or use in any way will be polluted with this deadly
cyanide. It's only a question of time. In the end we shall sicken and
die as with the scourge. They will call it the plague!"
A shudder of horror swept through the crowd. Every one looked into his
neighbour's face with a profound inquiring light in his eyes, seeking
for the first evidence of approaching death.
Hollingsworth Chase uttered a short, scornful laugh as he unconcernedly
lifted a match to one of his precious cigarettes. The others stared at
him in amazement. He had been exceedingly thoughtful and preoccupied up
to that moment.
"Great God, Chase!" groaned Browne. "Is this a joke?"
"Yes--and it's on Rasula," said the other laconically.
"But even now, man, they are introducing this poison into our
systems----"
"You say that Rasula isn't aware of the fact that you overheard what he
said to his man? Then, even now, in spite of your escape, he believes
that we may go on drinking the water without in the least suspecting
what it has in store for us. Good! That's why I say the joke is on him."
"But, my God, we must have water to drink," cried Britt. Mrs. Saunders
alone divined the thought that filled Chase's mind. She clapped her
hands and cried out wonderingly:
"I know! I--I took depositions in a poisoning case two years ago. Why,
of course!"
"Browne, you are a doctor--a chemist," said Chase calmly, first
bestowing a fine smile upon the eager Mrs. Saunders. "Well, we'll distil
and double and triple distil the water. That's all. A schoolboy might
have thought of that. It's all right, old man. You're fagged out; your
brain isn't working well. Don't look so crestfallen. Mr. Britt, you and
Mr. Saunders will give immediate instructions that no more water is to
be drunk--or used--until Mr. Browne has had a few hours' rest. He can
take an alcohol bath and we can all drink wine. It won't hurt us. At ten
o'clock sharp Dr. Browne will begin operating the distilling apparatus
in the laboratory. As a matter of fact, I learned somewhere--at college,
I imagine--that practically pure water may be isolated from wine." He
arose painfully and stretched himself. "I think I'll get a little
much-needed rest. Do the same, Browne--and have a rub down. By Jove,
will you listen to the row my clients are making out there in the woods!
They seem to be annoyed over something."
Outside the walls the islanders were shouting and calling to each other;
rifles were cracking, far and near, voicing, in their peculiarly
spiteful way, the rage that reigned supreme.
As Chase ascended the steps Bobby Browne and his wife came up beside
him.
"Chase," said Browne, in a low voice, his face turned away to hide the
mortification that filled his soul, "you are a man! I want you to know
that I thank you from the bottom of my heart."
"Never mind, old man! Say no more," interrupted Chase, suddenly
embarrassed.
"I've been a fool, Chase. I don't deserve the friendship of any one--not
even that of my wife. It's all over, though. You understand? I'm not a
coward. I'll do anything you say--take any risk--to pay for the trouble
I've caused you all. Send me out to fight----"
"Nonsense! Your wife needs you, Browne. Don't you, Mrs. Browne? There,
now! It will be all right, just as I said. I daresay, Browne, that I
wouldn't have been above the folly that got the better of you. Only--"
he hesitated for a minute--"only, it couldn't have happened to me if I
had a wife as dear and as good and as pretty as the one you have."
Browne was silent for a long time, his arm still about Drusilla's
shoulder. At the end of the long hall he said with decision in his
voice:
"Chase, you may tell your clients that so far as I am concerned they may
have the beastly island and everything that goes with it. I'm through
with it all. I shall discharge Britt and----"
"My dear boy, it's most magnanimous of you," cried Chase merrily. "But
I'm afraid you can't decide the question in such an off-hand, _dégagé_
manner. Sleep over it. I've come to the conclusion that it isn't so much
of a puzzle as to how you are to _get_ the island as how to get _off_ of
it. Take good care of him, Mrs. Browne. Don't let him talk."
She held out her hand to him impulsively. There was an unfathomable,
unreadable look in her dark eyes. As he gallantly lifted the cold
fingers to his lips, she said, without taking her almost hungry gaze
from his face:
"Thank you, Mr. Chase. I shall never forget you."
He stood there looking after them as they went up the stairway, a
puzzled expression in his face. After a moment he shook his head and
smiled vaguely as he said to himself:
"I guess he'll be a good boy from now on." But he wondered what it was
that he had seen or felt in her sombre gaze.
In fifteen minutes he was sound asleep in his room, his long frame
relaxed, his hands wide open in utter fatigue. He dreamed of a Henner
girl with Genevra's brilliant face instead of the vague, greenish
features that haunt the vision with their subtle mysticism.
He was awakened at noon by Selim, who obeyed his instructions to the
minute. The eager Arab rubbed the soreness and stiffness out of his
master's body with copious applications of alcohol.
"I'm sorry you awoke me, Selim," said the master enigmatically. Selim
drew back, dismayed. "You drove her away." Selim's eyes blinked with
bewilderment. "I'm afraid she'll never come back."
"Excellency!" trembled on the lips of the mystified servant.
"Ah, me!" sighed the master resignedly. "She smiled so divinely. Henner
girls never smile, do they, Selim? Have you noticed that they are always
pensive? Perhaps you haven't. It doesn't matter. But this one smiled. I
say," coming back to earth, "have they begun to distil the water? I've
got a frightful thirst."
"Yes, excellency. The Sahib Browne is at work. One of the servants
became sick to-day. Now no one is drinking the water. Baillo is bringing
in ice from the storehouses and melting it, but the supply is not large.
Sahib Browne will not let them make any more ice at present." Nothing
more was said until Chase was ready for his rolls and coffee. Then Selim
asked hesitatingly, "Excellency, what is a bounder? Mr. Browne says----"
"I believe I did call him a bounder," interrupted Chase reminiscently.
"I spoke hastily and I'll give him a chance to demand an explanation.
He'll want it, because he's an American. A bounder, Selim? Well,"
closing one eye and looking out of the window calculatingly, "a bounder
is a fellow who keeps up an acquaintance with you by persistently
dunning you for money that you've owed to him for four or five years.
Any one who annoys you is a bounder."
Selim turned this over in his mind for some time, but the puzzled air
did not lift from his face.
"Excellency, you will take Selim to live with you in Paris?" he said
after a while wistfully. "I will be your slave."
"Paris? Who the dickens said anything about Paris?" demanded Chase,
startled.
"Neenah says you will go there to live, sahib."
"Um--um," mused Chase; "what does she know about it?"
"Does not the most glorious Princess live in Paris?"
"Selim, you've been listening to gossip. It's a frightful habit to get
into. Put cotton in your ears. But if I were to take you, what would
become of little Neenah?"
"Oh, Neenah?" said Selim easily. "If she would be a trouble to you,
excellency, I can sell her to a man I know."
Chase looked blackly at the eager Arab, who quailed.
"You miserable dog!"
Selim gasped. "Excellency!"
"Don't you love her?"
"Yes, yes, sahib--yes! But if she would be a trouble to you--no!"
protested the Arab anxiously. Chase laughed as he came to appreciate the
sacrifice his servant would make for him.
"I'll take you with me, Selim, wherever I go--and if I go--but, my lad,
we'll take Neenah along, too, to save trouble. She's not for sale, my
good Selim." The husband of Neenah radiated joy.
"Then she may yet be the slave of the most glorious Princess! Allah is
great! The most glorious one has asked her if she will not come with
her----"
"Selim," commanded the master ominously, "don't repeat the gossip you
pick up when I'm not around."
CHAPTER XXXII
THE TWO WORLDS
Two days and nights crept slowly into the past, and now the white people
of the château had come to the eve of their last day's stay on the
island of Japat: the probationary period would expire with the sun on
the following day, the anniversary of the death of Taswell Skaggs. The
six months set aside by the testator as sufficient for all the
requirements of Cupid were to come to an inglorious end at seven o'clock
on March 29th. According to the will, if Agnes Ruthven and Robert Browne
were not married to each other before the close of that day all of their
rights in the estate were lost to them.
To-morrow would be the last day of residence required, but, alack! Was
it to be the last that they were to spend in the world-forsaken land? As
they sat and stared gloomily at the spotless sea there was not a single
optimist among them who felt that the end was near. Not a few were
convincing themselves that their last days literally would be spent on
the island.
No later than that morning a steamer--a small Dutch freighter--had come
to a stop off the harbour. But it turned tail and fled within an hour.
No one came ashore; the malevolent tug went out and turned back the
landing party which was ready to leave the ship's side. The watchers in
the château knew what it was that the tug's captain shouted through his
trumpet at a safe distance from the steamer. Through their glasses they
saw the boat's crew scramble back to the deck of the freighter; the
action told the story plainer than words.
The black and yellow flags at the end of the company's pier lent colour
to a grewsome story!
The hopeless look deepened in the eyes of the watchers. They saw the
steamer move out to sea and then scuttle away as if pursued by demons.
Hollingsworth Chase alone maintained a stubborn air of confidence and
unconcern. He may not have felt as he looked, but something in his
manner, assumed or real, kept the fires of hope alight in the breasts of
all the others.
"Don't be downhearted, Bowles," he said to the moping British agent.
"You'll soon be managing the bank again and patronising the American bar
with the same old regularity."
"My word, Mr. Chase," groaned Bowles, "how can you say a thing like
that? I daresay they've blown the bank to Jericho by this time. Besides,
there won't be an American bar. And, moreover, I don't intend to stay a
minute longer than I have to on the beastly island. This taste of the
old high life has spoiled me for everything else. I'm going back to
London and sit on the banks of the Serpentine until it goes dry. Stay
here? I should rather say not."
There had been several vicious assaults upon the gates by the infuriated
islanders during the day following the rescue of the heirs. Their rage
and disappointment knew no bounds. For hours they acted like madmen;
only the most determined resistance drove them back from the gates. Some
powerful influence suddenly exerted itself to restore them to a state of
calmness. They abruptly gave up the fruitless, insensate attacks upon
the walls and withdrew to the town, apparently defeated. The cause was
obvious: Rasula had convinced them that Death already was lifting his
hand to blot out the lives of those who opposed them.
Bobby Browne was accomplishing wonders in the laboratory. He seldom was
seen outside the distilling room; his assiduity was marked, if not
commented upon. Hour after hour he stood watch over the water that went
up in vapour and returned to the crystal liquid that was more precious
than rubies and sapphires. He was redeeming himself, just as he was
redeeming the water from the poison that had made it useless. He
experimented with lizards: the water as it came from the springs brought
quick death to the little reptiles. The fishes in the aquarium died
before it occurred to any one to remove them from the noxious water.
Drusilla kept close to his side during all of these operations. She
seemed afraid or ashamed to join the others; she avoided Lady Deppingham
as completely as possible. Her effort to be friendly when they were
thrown together was almost pitiable.
As for Lady Agnes, she seemed stricken by an unconquerable lassitude;
the spirits that had controlled her voice, her look, her movements, were
sadly missing. It was with a most transparent effort that she managed to
infuse life into her conversation. There were times when she stood
staring out over the sea with unseeing eyes, and one knew that she was
not thinking of the ocean. More than once Genevra had caught her
watching Deppingham with eyes that spoke volumes, though they were mute
and wistful.
From time to time the sentinels brought to Lord Deppingham and Chase
missives that had been tossed over the walls by the emissaries of
Rasula. They were written by the leader himself and in every instance
expressed the deepest sympathy for the plague-ridden château. It was
evident that Rasula believed that the occupants were slowly but surely
dying, and that it was but a question of a few days until the place
would become a charnel-house. With atavic cunning he sat upon the
outside and waited for the triumph of death.
"There's a paucity of real news in these gentle messages that annoys
me," Chase said, after reading aloud the last of the epistles to the
Princess and the Deppinghams. "I rejoice in my heart that he isn't aware
of the true state of affairs. He doesn't appreciate the real calamity
that confronts us. The Plague? Poison? Mere piffle. If he only knew that
I am now smoking my last--_the_ last cigarette on the place!" There was
something so inconceivably droll in the lamentation that his hearers
laughed despite their uneasiness.
"I believe you would die more certainly from lack of cigarettes than
from an over-abundance of poison," said Genevra. She was thinking of the
stock she had hoarded up for him in her dressing-table drawer, under
lock and key. It occurred to her that she could have no end of
housewifely thrills if she doled them out to him in niggardly
quantities, at stated times, instead of turning them over to him in
profligate abundance.
"I'm sure I don't know," he said, taking a short inhalation. "I've never
had the poison habit."
"I say, Chase, can't you just see Rasula's face when he learns that
we've been drinking the water all along and haven't passed away?" cried
Deppingham, brightening considerably in contemplation of the enemy's
disgust.
"And to think, Mr. Chase, we once called you 'the Enemy,'" said Lady
Agnes in a low, dreamy voice. There was a far-away look in her eyes.
"I appear to have outlived my usefulness in that respect," he said. He
tossed the stub of his cigarette over the balcony rail. "Good-bye!" he
said, with melancholy emphasis. Then he bent an inquiring look upon the
face of the Princess.
"Yes," she said, as if he had asked the question aloud. "You shall have
three a day, that's all."
"You'll leave the entire fortune to me when you sail away, I trust," he
said. The Deppinghams were puzzled.
"But you also will be sailing away," she argued.
"I? You forget that I have had no orders to return. Sir John expects me
to stay. At least, so I've heard in a roundabout way."
"You don't mean to say, Chase, that you'll stay on this demmed Island if
the chance comes to get away," demanded Lord Deppingham earnestly. The
two women were looking at him in amazement.
"Why not? I'm an ally, not a deserter."
"You are a madman!" cried Lady Agnes. "Stay here? They would kill you in
a jiffy. Absurd!"
"Not after they've had another good long look at my warships. Lady
Deppingham," he replied, with a most reassuring smile.
"Good Lord, Chase, you're not clinging to that corpse-candle straw, are
you?" cried his lordship, beginning to pace the floor. "Don't be a fool!
We can't leave you here to the mercy of these brutes. What's more, we
won't!"
"My dear fellow," said Chase ruefully, "we are talking as though the
ship had already dropped anchor out there. The chances are that we will
have ample time to discuss the ethics of my rather anomalous position
before we say good-bye to each other. I think I'll take a stroll along
the wall before turning in."
He arose and leisurely started to go indoors. The Princess called to
him, and he paused.
"Wait," she said, coming up to him. They walked down the hallway
together. "I will run upstairs and unlock the treasure chest. I do not
trust even my maid. You shall have two to-night--no more."
"You've really saved them for me?" he queried, a note of eagerness in
his voice. "All these days?"
"I have been your miser," she said lightly, and then ran lightly up the
stairs.
He looked after her until she disappeared at the top with a quick, shy
glance over her shoulder. Then he permitted his spirits to drop suddenly
from the altitude to which he had driven them. An expression of utter
dejection came into his face; a haggard look replaced the buoyant smile.
"God, how I love her--how I love her!" he groaned, half aloud.
She was coming down the stairs now, eager, flushed, more abashed than
she would have had him know. Without a word she placed the two
cigarettes in his outstretched palm. Her eyes were shining.
In silence he clasped her hand and led her unresisting through the
window and out upon the broad gallery. She was returning the fervid
pressure of his fingers, warm and electric. They crossed slowly to the
rail. Two chairs stood close together. They sat down, side by side. The
power of speech seemed to have left them altogether.
He laid the two cigarettes on the broad stone rail. She followed the
movement with perturbed eyes, and then leaned forward and placed her
elbows on the rail. With her chin in her hands, she looked out over the
sombre park, her heart beating violently. After a long time she heard
him saying hoarsely:
"If the ship should come to-morrow, you would go out of my life? You
would go away and leave me here--"
"No, no!" she cried, turning upon him suddenly. "You _could_ not stay
here. You shall not!"
"But, dearest love, I am bound to stay--I cannot go And, God help me, I
want to stay. If I could go into your world and take you unto myself
forever--if you will tell me now that some day you may forget your world
and come to live in mine--then, ah, then, it would be different! But
without you I have no choice of abiding place. Here, as well as
anywhere."
She put her hands over her eyes.
"I cannot bear the thought of--of leaving you behind--of leaving you
here to die at the hands of those beasts down there. Hollingsworth, I
implore you--come! If the opportunity comes--and it will, I know--you
will leave the island with the rest of us?"
"Not unless I am commanded to do so by the man who sent me here to serve
these beasts, as you call them."
"They do not want you! They are your enemies!"
"Time will tell," he said sententiously. He leaned over and took her
hand in his. "You do love me?"
"You know I do--yes, yes!" she cried from her heart, keeping her face
resolutely turned away from him. "I am sick with love for you. Why
should I deny the thing that speaks so loudly for itself--my heart!
Listen! Can you not hear it beating? It is hurting me--yes, it is
hurting me!"
He trembled at this exhibition of released, unchecked passion, and yet
he did not clasp her in his arms.
"Will you come into my world, Genevra?" he whispered. "All my life would
be spent in guarding the love you would give to me--all my life given to
making you love me more and more until there will be no other world for
you to think of."
"I wish that I had not been born," she sobbed. "I cannot, dearest--I
cannot change the laws of fate. I am fated--I am doomed to live forever
in the dreary world of my fathers. But how can I give you up? How can I
give up your love? How can I cast you out of my life?"
"You do not love Prince Karl?"
"How can you ask?" she cried fiercely. "Am I not loving you with all my
heart and soul?"
"And you would leave me behind if the ship should come?" he persisted,
with cruel insistence. "You will go back and marry that--him? Loving me,
you will marry him?" Her head dropped upon her arm. He turned cold as
death. "God help and God pity you, my love. I never knew before what
your little world means to you. I give you up to it. I crawl back into
the one you look down upon with scorn. I shall not again ask you to
descend to the world where love is."
Her hand lay limp in his. They stared bleakly out into the night and no
word was spoken.
The minutes became an hour, and yet they sat there with set faces,
bursting hearts, unseeing eyes.
Below them in the shadows, Bobby Browne was pacing the embankment, his
wife drawn close to his side. Three men, Britt, Saunders and Bowles,
were smoking their pipes on the edge of the terrace. Their words came up
to the two in the gallery.
"If I have to die to-morrow," Saunders, the bridegroom, was saying, with
real feeling in his voice, "I should say, with all my heart, that my
life has been less than a week long. The rest of it was nothing. I never
was happy before--and happiness is everything."
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE SHIPS THAT PASS
The next morning was rainy. A quick, violent storm had rushed up from
the sea during the night.
Chase, after a sleepless night, came down and, without waiting for his
breakfast, hurried out upon the gallery overlooking the harbour. Genevra
was there before him, pale, wistful, heavy-eyed--standing in the shelter
of a huge pilaster. The wind swept the thin, swishing raindrops across
the gallery on both sides of her position. He came up from behind. She
was startled by the sound of his voice saying "good-morning."
"Hollingsworth," she said drearily, "do you believe he will come
to-day?"
"He?" he asked, puzzled.
"My uncle. The yacht was to call for me not later than to-day."
"I remember," he said slowly. "It may come, Genevra. The day is young."
She clasped his hand convulsively, a desperate revolt in her soul.
"I almost hope that it may not come for me!" she said, her voice shaking
with suppressed emotion.
"I am not so selfish as to wish that, dear one," he said, after a moment
of inconceivable ecstasy in which his own longing gave the lie to the
words which followed.
"It will not come. I feel it in my heart. We shall die here together,
Hollingsworth. Ah, in that way I may escape the other life. No, no! What
am I saying? Of course I want to leave this dreadful island--this
dreadful, beautiful, hateful, happy island. Am I not too silly?" She was
speaking rapidly, almost hysterically, a nervous, flickering smile on
her face.
"Dear one," he said gently, "the yacht will come. If it should not come
to-day, my cruisers will forestall its mission. As sure as there is a
sea, those cruisers will come." She looked into his eyes intently, as if
afraid of something there. "Oh, I'm not mad!" he laughed. "You brought a
cruiser to me one day; I'll bring one to you in return. We'll be quits."
"Quits?" she murmured, hurt by the word.
"Forgive me," he said, humbled.
"Hollingsworth," she said, after a long, tense scrutiny of the sea, "how
long will you remain on this island?"
"Perhaps until I die--if death should come soon. If not, then God knows
how long."
"Listen to me," she said intensely. "For my sake, you will not stay
long. You will come away before they kill you. You will! Promise me. You
will come--to Paris? Some day, dear heart? Promise!"
He stared at her beseeching face in wide-eyed amazement. A wave of
triumphant joy shot through him an instant later. To Paris! She was
asking him--but then he understood! Despair was the inspiration of that
hungry cry. She did not mean--no, no!
"To Paris?" he said, shaking his head sadly. "No, dearest one. Not now.
Listen: I have in my bag upstairs an offer from a great American
corporation. I am asked to assume the management of its entire business
in France. My headquarters would be in Paris. My duties would begin as
soon as my contract with Sir John Brodney expires. The position is a
lucrative one; it presents unlimited opportunities. I am a comparatively
poor man. The letter was forwarded to me by Sir John. I have a year in
which to decide."
"And you--you will decline?" she asked.
"Yes. I shall go back to America, where there are no princesses of the
royal blood. Paris is no place for the disappointed, cast-off lover. I
can't go there. I love you too madly. I'd go on loving you, and
you--good as you are, would go on loving me. There is no telling what
would come of it. It will be hard for me to--to stay away from
Paris--desperately hard. Sometimes I feel that I will not be strong
enough to do it, Genevra."
"But Paris is huge, Hollingsworth," she argued, insistently, an eager,
impelling light in her eyes. "We would be as far apart as if the ocean
were between us."
"Ah, but would we?" he demanded.
"It is almost unheard-of for an American to gain _entrée_ to our--to the
set in which--well, you understand," she said, blushing painfully in the
consciousness that she was touching his pride. He smiled sadly.
"My dear, you will do me the honour to remember that I am not trying to
get into your set. I am trying to induce you to come into mine. You
won't be tempted, so that's the end of it. Beastly day, isn't it?" He
uttered the trite commonplace as if no other thought than that of the
weather had been in his mind. "By the way," he resumed, with a most
genial smile, "for some queer, un-masculine reason, I took it into my
head last night to worry about the bride's trousseau. How are you going
to manage it if you are unable to leave the island until--well, say
June?"
She returned his smile with one as sweetly detached as his had been,
catching his spirit. "So good of you to worry," she said, a defiant red
in her cheeks. "You forget that I have a postponed trousseau at home. A
few stitches here and there, an alteration or two, some smart summer
gowns and hats--Oh, it will be so simple. What is it? What do you see?"
He was looking eagerly, intently toward the long, low headland beyond
the town of Aratat.
"The smoke! See? Close in shore, too! By heaven, Genevra--there's a
steamer off there. She's a small one or she wouldn't run in so close.
It--it may be the yacht! Wait! We'll soon see. She'll pass the point in
a few minutes."
Scarcely breathing in their agitation, they kept the glasses levelled
steadily, impatiently upon the distant point of land. The smoke grew
thicker and nearer. Already the citizens of the town were rushing to the
pier. Even before the vessel turned the point, the watchers at the
château witnessed a most amazing performance on the dock. Half a hundred
natives dropped down as if stricken, scattering themselves along the
narrow pier. For many minutes Chase was puzzled, bewildered by this
strange demonstration. Then, the explanation came to him like a flash.
The people were simulating death! They were posing as the victims of the
plague that infested the land! Chase shuddered at this exhibition of
diabolical cunning. Some of them were writhing as if in the death agony.
It was at once apparent that the effect of this manifestation would
serve to drive away all visitors, appalled and terrified. As he was
explaining the ruse to his mystified companion, the nose of the vessel
came out from behind the tree-covered point.
An instant later, they were sending wild cries of joy through the
château, and people were rushing toward them from all quarters.
The trim white thing that glided across the harbour, graceful as a bird,
was the Marquess's yacht!
It is needless to describe the joyous gale that swept the château into a
maelstrom of emotions. Every one was shouting and talking and laughing
at once; every one was calling out excitedly that no means should be
spared in the effort to let the yacht know and appreciate the real
situation.
"Can the yacht take all of us away?" was the anxious cry that went round
and round.
They saw the tug put out to meet the small boat; they witnessed the same
old manoeuvres; they sustained a chill of surprise and despair when the
bright, white and blue boat from the yacht came to a stop at the command
from the tug.
There was an hour of parleying. The beleaguered ones signalled with
despairing energy; the flag, limp in the damp air above the château,
shot up and down in pitiful eagerness.
But the small boat edged away from close proximity to the tug and the
near-by dock. They spoke each other at long and ever-widening range. At
last, the yacht's boat turned and fled toward the trim white hull.
Almost before the startled, dazed people on the balcony could grasp the
full and horrible truth, the yacht had lifted anchor and was slowly
headed out to sea.
It was unbelievable!
With stupefied, incredulous eyes, they saw the vessel get quickly under
way. She steamed from the pest-ridden harbour with scarcely so much as a
glance behind. Then they shouted and screamed after her, almost maddened
by this final, convincing proof of the consummate deviltry against which
they were destined to struggle.
Chase looked grimly about him, into the questioning, stricken faces of
his companions. He drew his hand across his moist forehead.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said seriously and without the faintest
intent to jest, "we are supposed to be dead!"
There was a single shriek from the bride of Thomas Saunders; no sound
left the dry lips of the other watchers, who stood as if petrified and
kept their eyes glued upon the disappearing yacht.
"They have left me here to die!" came from the stiffened lips of the
Princess Genevra. "They have deserted me. God in heaven!"
"Look!" cried Chase, pointing to the dock. Half a dozen glasses were
turned in that direction.
The dying and the dead were leaping about in the wildest exhibition of
gleeful triumph!
The yacht slipped into the unreachable horizon, the feathery cloud from
its stack lying over against the leaden sky, shaped like a finger that
pointed mockingly the way to safety.
White-faced and despairing, the watchers turned away and dragged
themselves into the splendid halls of the building they had now come to
regard as their tomb. Their voices were hushed and tremulous; they were
looking at the handwriting on the wall. They had not noticed it there
before.
Saunders was bravely saying to his distracted wife, as he led her down
the marble hall:
"Don't give up the ship, dear. My word for it, we'll live to see that
garden out Hammersmith way. My word for it, dear."
"He's trying so hard to be brave," said Genevra, oppressed by the
knowledge that it was _her_ ship that had played them false. "And Agnes?
Look, Hollingsworth! She is herself again. Ah, these British women come
up under the lash, don't they?"
Lady Deppingham had thrown off her hopeless, despondent air; she was
crying out words of cheer and encouragement to those about her. Her eyes
were flashing, her head was erect and her voice was rich with
inspiration.
"And you?" asked Chase, after a moment. "What of you? Your ship has come
and gone and you are still here--with me. You almost wished for this."
"No. I almost wished that it would _not_ come. There is a distinction,"
she said bitterly. "It has come and it has disappointed all of us--not
one alone."
"Do you remember what it was that Saunders said about having lived only
a week, all told? The rest was nothing."
"Yes--but you have seen that Saunders still covets life in a garden at
Hammersmith Bridge. I am no less human than Mr. Saunders."
All day long the islanders rejoiced. Their shouts could be plainly heard
by the besieged; their rifles cracked sarcastic greetings from the
forest; bullets whistled gay accompaniments to the ceaseless song:
"Allah is great! Allah is good!"
No man in the despised house of Taswell Skaggs slept that night. The
guard was doubled at all points open to attack. It was well that the
precaution was taken, for the islanders, believing that the enemy's
force had been largely reduced by the polluted water, made a vicious
assault on the lower gates. There was a fierce exchange of shots and the
attackers drew away, amazed, stunned by the discovery that the
beleaguered band was as strong and as determined as ever.
At two in the morning, Deppingham, Browne and Chase came up from the
walls for coffee and an hour's rest.
"Chase, if you don't get your blooming cruiser here before long, we'll
be as little worth the saving as old man Skaggs, up there in his
open-work grave," Deppingham was saying as he threw himself wearily into
a chair in the breakfast room. They were wet and cold. They had heard
Rasula's minions shouting derisively all night long: "Where is the
warship? Where is the warship?"
"It will come. I am positive," said Chase, insistent in spite of his
dejection. They drank their coffee in silence. He knew that the
others--including the native who served them--were regarding him with
the pity that one extends to the vain-glorious braggart who goes down
with flying colours.
He went out upon the west gallery and paced its windswept length for
half an hour or more. Then, utterly fagged, he threw himself into an
unexposed chair and stared through tired eyes into the inscrutable night
that hid the sea from view. The faithless, moaning, jeering sea!
When he aroused himself with a start, the grey, drizzly dawn was upon
him. He had slept. His limbs were stiff and sore; his face was drenched
by the fine rain that had searched him out with prankish glee.
The next instant he was on his feet, clutching the stone balustrade with
a grip of iron, his eyes starting from his head. A shout arose to his
lips, but he lacked the power to give it voice. For many minutes he
stood there, rooted to the spot, a song of thanksgiving surging in his
heart.
He looked about him at last. He was alone in the gallery. A quaint smile
grew in his face; his eyes were bright and full of triumph. After a full
minute of preparation, he made his way toward the breakfast room,
outwardly as calm as a May morning.
Browne and Deppingham were asleep in the chairs. He shook them
vigorously. As they awoke and stared uncomprehendingly at the disturber
of their dreams, he said, in the coolest, most matter-of-fact way:
"There's an American cruiser outside the harbour. Get up!"
CHAPTER XXXIV
IN THE SAME GRAVE WITH SKAGGS
Down in the village of Aratat there were signs of a vast commotion.
Early risers and the guards were flying from house to house, shouting
the news. The citizens piled from their couches and raced pell-mell into
the streets, unbelieving, demoralised. With one accord they rushed to
the water front--men, women and children. Consternation was succeeded by
utter panic. Rasula's wild shouts went unheeded. He screamed and fought
to secure order among his people, but his efforts were as nought against
the storm of terror that confronted him.
Outside the harbour lay the low, savage-looking ship. Its guns were
pointed directly at the helpless town; its decks were swarming with
white-clothed men; it was alive and it glowered with rage in its evil
eyes.
The plague was forgotten! The strategy that had driven off the ships of
peace was lost in the face of this ugly creature of war. No man
grovelled on the dock with the convulsions of death; no man hearkened to
the bitter, impotent words of the single wise man among them. Rasula's
reign of strategy was ended.
Howling like a madman, he tried to drive the company's tug out to meet
the sailors and urge them to keep away from the pest-ridden island. It
was like pleading with a mountain avalanche.
"They will not fire! They dare not!" he was shrieking, as he dashed back
and forth along the dock. "It is chance! They do not come for Chase!
Believe in me! The tug! The tug! They must not land!" But others were
raging even more wildly than he, and they were calling upon Allah for
help, for mercy; they were shrieking maledictions upon themselves and
screaming praises to the sinister thing of death that glowered upon them
from its spaceless lair.
The crash of the long-unused six-pounder at the château, followed almost
immediately by a great roar from one of the cruiser's guns, brought the
panic to a crisis.
The islanders scattered like chaff before the wind, looking wild-eyed
over their shoulders in dread of the pursuing cannon-ball, dodging in
and out among the houses and off into the foothills.
Rasula, undaunted but crazed with disappointment, stuck to his colours
on the deserted dock. He cursed and raved and begged. In time, two or
three of the more canny, realising that safety lay in an early peace
offering, ventured out beside him. Others followed their example and
still others slunk trembling to the fore, their voices ready to protest
innocence and friendship and loyalty.
They had heard of the merciless American gunner and they knew, in their
souls, that he could shoot the island into atoms before nightfall.
The native lawyer harangued them and cursed them and at last brought
them to understand, in a feeble way, that no harm could come to them if
they faced the situation boldly. The Americans would not land on British
soil; it would precipitate war with England. They would not dare to
attempt a bombardment: Chase was a liar, a mountebank, a dog! After
shouting himself hoarse in his frenzy of despair, he finally succeeded
in forcing the men to get up steam in the company's tug. All this time,
the officers of the American warship were dividing their attention
between land and sea. Another vessel was coming up out of the misty
horizon. The men on board knew it to be a British man-of-war! At last
steam was up in the tug. A hundred or more of the islanders had ventured
from their hiding places and were again huddled upon the dock.
Suddenly the throng separated as if by magic, opening a narrow path down
which three white men approached the startled Rasula. A hundred eager
hands were extended, a hundred voices cried out for mercy, a hundred
Mohammedans beat their heads in abject submission.
Hollingsworth Chase, Lord Deppingham and a familiar figure in an
ill-fitting red jacket and forage cap strode firmly, defiantly between
the rows of humble Japatites. Close behind them came a tall, resolute
grenadier of the Rapp-Thorberg army.
"Make way there, make way!" Mr. Bowles was crying, brandishing the
antique broadsword that had come down to Wyckholme from the dark ages.
"Stand aside for the British Government! Make way for the American!"
Rasula's jaw hung limp in the face of this amazing exhibition of courage
on the part of the enemy. He could not at first believe his eyes.
Hoarse, inarticulate cries came from his froth-covered lips. He was
glaring insanely at the calm, triumphant face of the man from Brodney's,
who was now advancing upon him with the assurance of a conqueror.
"You see, Rasula, I have called for the cruiser and it has come at my
bidding." Turning to the crowd that surged up from behind, cowed and
cringing, Chase said: "It rests with you. If I give the word, that ship
will blow you from the face of the earth. I am your friend, people. I
would you no harm, but good. You have been misled by Rasula. Rasula, you
are not a fool. You can save yourself, even now. I am here as the
servant of these people, not as their master. I intend to remain here
until I am called back by the man who sent me to you. You have----"
Rasula uttered a shriek of rage. He had been crouching back among his
cohorts, panting with fury. Now he sprang forward, murder in his eyes.
His arm was raised and a great pistol was levelled at the breast of the
man who faced him so coolly, so confidently. Deppingham shouted and took
a step forward to divert the aim of the frenzied lawyer.
A revolver cracked behind the tall American and Rasula stopped in his
tracks. There was a great hole in his forehead; his eyes were bursting;
he staggered backward, his knees gave way; and, as the blood filled the
hole and streamed down his face, he sank to the ground--dead!
The soldier from Rapp-Thorberg, a smoking pistol in his hand, the other
raised to his helmet, stepped to the side of Hollingsworth Chase.
"By order of Her Serene Highness, sir," he said quietly.
"Good God!" gasped Chase, passing his hand across his brow. For a full
minute there was no sound to be heard on the pier except the lapping of
the waves. Deppingham, repressing a shudder, addressed the stunned
natives.
"Take the body away. May that be the end of all assassins!"
* * * * *
The _King's Own_ came alongside the American vessel in less than an
hour. Accompanied by the British agent, Mr. Bowles, Chase and Deppingham
left the dock in the company's tug and steamed out toward the two
monsters. The American had made no move to send men ashore, nor had the
British agent deemed it wise to ask aid of the Yankees in view of the
fact that a vessel of his own nation was approaching.
Standing on the forward deck of the swift little tug, Chase
unconcernedly accounted for the timely arrival of the two cruisers.
"Three weeks ago I sent out letters by the mail steamer, to be delivered
to the English or American commanders, wherever they might be found.
Undoubtedly they were met with in the same port. That is why I was so
positive that help would come, sooner or later. It was very simple. Lord
Deppingham, merely a case of foresightedness. I knew that we'd need help
and I knew that if I brought the cruisers my power over these people
would never be disturbed again."
"My word!" exclaimed the admiring Bowles.
"Chase, you may be theatric, but you are the most dependable chap the
world has ever known," said Deppingham, and he meant it.
The warships remained off the harbour all that day. Officers from both
ships were landed and escorted to the château, where joy reigned
supreme, notwithstanding the fact that the grandchildren of the old men
of the island were morally certain that their cause was lost. The
British captain undertook to straighten out matters on the island. He
consented to leave a small detachment of marines in the town to protect
Chase and the bank, and he promised the head men of the village, whom he
had brought aboard the ship, that no mercy would be shown if he or the
American captain was compelled to make a second visit in response to a
call for aid. To a man the islanders pledged fealty to the cause of
peace and justice: they shouted the names of Chase and Allah in the same
breath, and demanded of the latter that He preserve the former's beard
for all eternity.
The _King's Own_ was to convey the liberated heirs, their goods and
chattels, their servants and their penates (if any were left inviolate)
to Aden, whither the cruiser was bound. At that port a P. & O. steamer
would pick them up. One white man elected to stay on the island with
Hollingsworth Chase, who steadfastly refused to desert his post until
Sir John Brodney indicated that his mission was completed. That one man
was the wearer of the red jacket, the bearer of the King's commission in
Japat, the undaunted Mr. Bowles, won over from his desire to sit once
more on the banks of the Serpentine and to dine forever in the Old
Cheshire Cheese.
The Princess Genevra, the wistful light deepening hourly in her
blue-grey eyes, avoided being alone with the man whom she was leaving
behind. She had made up her mind to accept the fate inevitable; he had
reconciled himself to the ending of an impossible dream. There was
nothing more to say, except farewell. She may have bled in her soul for
him and for the happiness that was dying as the minutes crept on to the
hour of parting, but she carefully, deliberately concealed the wounds
from all those who stood by and questioned with their eyes.
She was a princess of Rapp-Thorberg!
The last day dawned. The sun smiled down upon them. The soft breeze of
the sea whispered the curse of destiny into their ears; it crooned the
song of heritage; it called her back to the fastnesses where love may
not venture in.
The château was in a state of upheaval; the exodus was beginning.
Servants and luggage had departed on their way to the dock. Palanquins
were waiting to carry the lords and ladies of the castle down to the
sea. The Princess waited until the last moment. She went to him. He was
standing apart from the rest, coldly indifferent to the pangs he was
suffering.
"I shall love you always," she said simply, giving him her hand.
"Always, Hollingsworth." Her eyes were wide and hopeless, her lips were
white.
He bowed his head. "May God give you all the happiness that I wish for
you," he said. "The End!"
She looked steadily into his eyes for a long time, searching his soul
for the hope that never dies. Then she gently withdrew her hands and
stood away from him, humbled in her own soul.
"Yes," she whispered. "Good-bye."
He straightened his shoulders and drew a deep breath through compressed
nostrils. "Good-bye! God bless you," was all that he said.
She left him standing there; the wall between them was too high, too
impregnable for even Love to storm.
Lady Deppingham came to him there a moment later. "I am sorry," she said
tenderly. "Is there no hope?"
"There is no hope--for _her_!" he said bitterly. "She was condemned too
long ago."
On the pier they said good-bye to him. He was laughing as gaily and as
blithely as if the world held no sorrows in all its mighty grasp.
"I'll look you up in London," he said to the Deppinghams. "Remember, the
real trial is yet to come. Good-bye, Browne. Good-bye, all! You _may_
come again another day!"
The launch slipped away from the pier. He and Bowles stood there, side
by side, pale-faced but smiling, waving their handkerchiefs. He felt
that Genevra was still looking into his eyes, even when the launch crept
up under the walls of the distant ship.
Slowly the great vessel got under way. The American cruiser was already
low on the horizon. There was a single shot from the _King's Own_: a
reverberating farewell!
Hollingsworth Chase turned away at last. There were tears in his eyes
and there were tears in those of Mr. Bowles.
"Bowles," said he, "it's a rotten shame they didn't think to say
good-bye to old man Skaggs. He's in the same grave with us."
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXXV
A TOAST TO THE PAST
The middle of June found the Deppinghams leaving London once more, but
this time not on a voyage into the mysterious South Seas. They no longer
were interested in the island of Japat, except as a reminiscence, nor
were they concerned in the vagaries of Taswell Skaggs's will.
The estate was settled--closed!
Mr. Saunders was mentioned nowadays only in narrative form, and but
rarely in that way. True, they had promised to visit the little place in
Hammersmith if they happened to be passing by, and they had graciously
admitted that it would give them much pleasure to meet his good mother.
Two months have passed since the Deppinghams departed from Japat, "for
good and all." Many events have come to pass since that memorable day,
not the least of which was the exchanging of £500,000 sterling, less
attorneys' and executors' fees. To be perfectly explicit and as brief as
possible, Lady Deppingham and Robert Browne divided that amount of money
and passed into legal history as the "late claimants to the Estate of
Taswell Skaggs."
It was Sir John Brodney's enterprise. He saw the way out of the
difficulty and he acted as pathfinder to the other and less perceiving
counsellors, all of whom had looked forward to an endless controversy.
The business of the Japat Company and all that it entailed was
transferred by agreement to a syndicate of Jews!
Never before was there such a stupendous deal in futures.
Soon after the arrival in England of the two claimants, it became known
that the syndicate was casting longing eyes upon the far-away garden of
rubies and sapphires. There was no hope of escape from a long, bitter
contest in the courts. Sir John perhaps saw that there was a possible
chance to break the will of the testator; he was an old man and he would
hardly live long enough to fight the case to the end. In the
interregnum, his clients, the industrious islanders, would be slaving
themselves into a hale old age and a subsequently unhallowed grave, none
the wiser and none the richer than when the contest began, except for
the proportionately insignificant share that was theirs by right of
original possession. Sir John took it upon himself to settle the matter
while his clients were still in a condition to appreciate the results.
He proposed a compromise.
It was not so much a question of jurisprudence, he argued, as it was a
matter of self-protection for all sides to the controversy--more
particularly that side which assembled the inhabitants of Japat.
And so it came to pass that the Jews, after modifying some twenty or
thirty propositions of their own, ultimately assumed the credit of
evolving the plan that had originated in the resourceful head of Sir
John Brodney, and affairs were soon brought to a close.
The grandchildren of the testators were ready to accept the best
settlement that could be obtained. Theirs was a rather forlorn hope, to
begin with. When it was proposed that Agnes Deppingham and Robert Browne
should accept £250,000 apiece in lieu of all claims, moral or legal,
against the estate, they leaped at the chance.
They had seen but little of each other since landing in England, except
as they were thrown together at the conferences. There was no pretence
of intimacy on either side; the shadow of the past was still there to
remind them that a skeleton lurked behind and grinned spitefully in its
obscurity. Lady Agnes went in for every diversion imaginable; for a
wonder, she dragged Deppingham with her on all occasions. It was a most
unexpected transformation; their friends were puzzled. The rumour went
about town that she was in love with her husband.
As for Bobby Browne, he was devotion itself to Drusilla. They sailed for
New York within three days after the settlement was effected, ignoring
the enticements of a London season--which could not have mattered much
to them, however, as Drusilla emphatically refused to wear the sort of
gowns that Englishwomen wear when they sit in the stalls. Besides, she
preferred the Boston dressmakers. The Brownes were rich. He could now
become a fashionable specialist. They were worth nearly a million and a
quarter in American dollars. Moreover, they, as well as the Deppinghams,
were the possessors of rubies and sapphires that had been thrust upon
them by supplicating adversaries in the hour of departure--gems that
might have bought a dozen wives in the capitals of Persia; perhaps a
score in the mountains where the Kurds are cheaper. The Brownes
naturally were eager to get back to Boston. They now had nothing in
common with Taswell Skaggs; Skaggs is not a pretty name.
Mr. Britt afterward spent three weeks of incessant travel on the
continent and an additional seven days at sea. In Baden-Baden he
happened upon Lord and Lady Deppingham. It will be recalled that in
Japat they had always professed an unholy aversion for Mr. Britt. Is it
cause for wonder then that they declined his invitation to dine in
Baden-Baden? He even proposed to invite their entire party, which
included a few dukes and duchesses who were leisurely on their way to
attend the long-talked-of nuptials in Thorberg at the end of June.
The Syndicate, after buying off the hereditary forces, assumed a half
interest in the Japat Company's business; the islanders controlled the
remaining half. The mines were to be operated under the management of
the Jews and eight hours were to constitute a day's work. The personal
estate passed into the hands of the islanders, from whom Skaggs had
appropriated it in conjunction with John Wyckholme. All in all, it
seemed a fair settlement of the difficulty. The Jews paid something like
£2,000,000 sterling to the islanders in consideration of a twenty years'
grant. Their experts had examined the property before the death of Mr.
Skaggs; they were not investing blindly in the great undertaking.
Mr. Levistein, the president of the combine, after a long talk with Lord
Deppingham, expressed the belief that the château could be turned into a
money-making hotel if properly advertised--outside of the island.
Deppingham admitted, that if he kept the prices up, there was no reason
in the world why the better class of Jews should not flock there for the
winter.
Before the end of June, representatives of the combine, attended by
officers of the court, a small army of clerks, a half dozen lawyers and
two capable men from the office of Sir John Brodney, set sail for Japat,
provided with the power and the means to effect the transfer agreed upon
in the compromise.
In Vienna the Deppinghams were joined by the Duchess of N------, the
Marchioness of B------ and other fashionables. In a week all of them
would be in the Castle at Thorberg, for the ceremony that now occupied
the attention of social and royal Europe.
"And to think," said the Duchess, "she might have died happily on that
miserable island. I am sure we did all we could to bring it about by
steaming away from the place with the plague chasing after us. Dear me,
how diabolically those wretches lied to the Marquess. They said that
every one in the château was dead, Lady Deppingham--and buried, if I am
not mistaken."
The party was dining with one of the Prince Lichtensteins in the Hotel
Bristol after a drive in the Haupt-Allee.
"My dog, I think, was the only one of us who died, Duchess," said Lady
Agnes airily. "And he was buried. They were that near to the truth."
"It would be much better for poor Genevra if she were to be buried
instead of married next week," lamented the Duchess.
"My dear, how ridiculous. She isn't dead yet, by any manner of means.
Why bury her? She's got plenty of life left in her, as Karl Brabetz will
learn before long." Thus spoke the far-sighted Marchioness, aunt of the
bride-to-be. "It's terribly gruesome to speak of burying people before
they are actually dead."
"Other women have married princes and got on very well," said Prince
Lichtenstein.
"Oh, come now, Prince," put in Lord Deppingham, "you know the sort of
chap Brabetz is. There are princes and princes, by Jove."
"He's positively vile!" exclaimed the Duchess, who would not mince
words.
"She's entering upon a hell of a--I mean a life of hell," exploded the
Duke, banging the table with his fist. "That fellow Brabetz is the
rottenest thing in Europe. He's gone from bad to worse so swiftly that
public opinion is still months behind him."
"Nice way to talk of the groom," said the host genially. "I quite agree
with you, however. I cannot understand the Grand Duke permitting it to
go on--unless, of course, it's too late to interfere."
"Poor dear, she'll never know what it is to be loved and cherished,"
said the Marchioness dolefully.
Lord and Lady Deppingham glanced at each other. They were thinking of
the man who stood on the dock at Aratat when the _King's Own_ sailed
away.
"The Grand Duke is probably saying the very thing to himself that
Brabetz's associates are saying in public," ventured a young Austrian
count.
"What is that, pray?"
"That the Prince won't live more than six months. He's a physical wreck
to-day--and a nervous one, too. Take my word for it, he will be a
creeping, imbecile thing inside of half a year. Locomotor ataxia and all
that. It's coming, positively, with a sharp crash."
"I've heard he has tried to kill that woman in Paris half a dozen
times," remarked one of the women, taking it as a matter of course that
every one knew who she meant by "that woman." As no one even so much as
looked askance, it is to be presumed that every one knew.
"She was really responsible for the postponement of the wedding in
December, I'm told. Of course, I don't know that it is true," said the
Marchioness, wisely qualifying her gossip. "My brother, the Grand Duke,
does not confide in me."
"Oh, I think that story was an exaggeration," said her husband. "Genevra
says that he was very ill--nervous something or other."
"Probably true, too. He's a wreck. She will be the prettiest widow in
Europe before Christmas," said the young count. "Unless, of course, any
one of the excellent husbands surrounding me should die," he added
gallantly.
"Well, my heart bleeds for her," said Deppingham.
"She's going into it with her eyes open," said the Prince. "It isn't as
if she hadn't been told. She could see for herself. She knows there's
the other woman in Paris and--Oh, well, why should we make a funeral of
it? Let's do our best to be revellers, not mourners. She'll live to fall
in love with some other man. They always do. Every woman has to love at
least once in her life--if she lives long enough. Come, come! Is my
entertainment to develop into a premature wake? Let us forget the future
of the Princess Genevra and drink to her present!"
"And to her past, if you don't mind, Prince!" amended Lord Deppingham,
looking into his wife's sombre eyes.
CHAPTER XXXVI
THE TITLE CLEAR
Two men and a woman stood in the evening glow, looking out over the
tranquil sea that crept up and licked the foot of the cliff. At their
back rose the thick, tropical forest; at its edge and on the nape of the
cliff stood a bungalow, fresh from the hands of a hundred willing
toilsmen. Below, on their right, lay the gaudy village, lolling in the
heat of the summer's day. Far off to the north, across the lowlands and
beyond the sweep of undulating and ever-lengthening hills, could be seen
a great, reddish structure, its gables and towers fusing with the sombre
shades of the mountain against which they seemed to lean.
It was September. Five months had passed since the _King's Own_ steamed
away from the harbour of Aratat. The new dispensation was in full
effect. During the long, sickening weeks that preceded the coming of the
Syndicate, Hollingsworth Chase toiled faithfully, resolutely for the
restoration of order and system among the demoralised people of Japat.
The first few weeks of rehabilitation were hard ones: the islanders were
ready to accede to everything he proposed, but their submissiveness was
due in no small measure to the respect they entertained for his almost
supernatural powers. In course of time this feeling was more or less
dissipated and a condition of true confidence took its place. The
lawless element--including the misguided husbands whose jealousy had
been so skilfully worked upon by Rasula and Jacob von Blitz--this
element, greatly in the minority, subsided into a lackadaisical,
law-abiding activity, with little prospect of again attempting to
exercise themselves in another direction. Murder had gone out of their
hearts.
Eager hands set to work to construct a suitable home for the tall
arbiter. He chose a position on the point that ran out into the sea
beyond the town. It was this point which the yacht was rounding on that
memorable day when he and one other had watched it from the gallery,
stirred by emotions they were never to forget. Besides, the cliff on
which the new bungalow stood represented the extreme western extremity
of the island and therefore was nearest of all Japat to civilisation
and--Genevra.
Conditions in Aratat were not much changed from what they had been prior
to the event of the legatory invaders. The mines were in full operation;
the bank was being conducted as of yore; the people were happy and
confident; the town was fattening on its own flesh; the sun was as
merciless and the moon as gentle as in the days of old.
The American bar changed hands with the arrival of the new forces from
the Occident; the Jews and the English clerks, the surveyors and the
engineers, the solicitors and the agents, were now domiciled in
"headquarters." Chase turned over the "bar" when he retired from active
service under Sir John Brodney. With the transfer of the company's
business his work was finished. Two young men from Sir John's were now
settled in Aratat as legal advisers to the islanders, Chase having
declined to serve longer in that capacity.
He was now waiting for the steamer which was to take him to Cape Town on
his way to England--and home.
The château was closed and in the hands of a small army of caretakers.
The three widows of Jacob von Blitz were now married to separate and
distinct husbands, all of whom retained their places as heads of
departments at the château, proving that courtship had not been confined
to the white people during the closing days of the siege.
The head of the bank was Oscar Arnheimer, Mr. Bowles having been deposed
because his methods were even more obsolete than his coat of armour.
Selim disposed of his lawful interest in the corporation to Ben Ali, the
new Cadi, and was waiting to accompany his master to America. It may be
well to add that the deal did not include the transfer of Neenah. She
was not for sale, said Selim to Ben Ali.
It was of Mr. Bowles that the three persons were talking as they stood
in the evening glow.
"Yes, Selim," said the tall man in flannels, "he's a sort of old dog
Tray--ever faithful but not the right kind. You don't happen to know
anything of old dog Tray, do you? No? I thought not. Nor you, Neenah?
Well, he was----"
"Was he the one who was poisoned at the château, excellency?" asked
Neenah timidly.
"No, my dear," he replied soberly. "If I remember my history, he died in
the seventeenth century or thereabouts. It's really of no consequence,
however. Any good, faithful dog will serve my purpose. What I want to
impress upon you is this: it is most difficult for a faithful old dog to
survive a change of masters. It isn't human nature--or dog nature,
either. I'm glad that you are convinced, Neenah--but please don't tell
Sahib Bowles that he is a dog."
"Oh, no, excellency!" she cried earnestly.
"She is very close-mouthed, sahib," added Selim, with conviction.
"We'll take Bowles to England with us next week," went on Chase
dreamily. "We'll leave Japat to take care of itself. I don't know which
it is in most danger of, seismic or Semitic disturbances."
He lighted a fresh cigarette, tenderly fingering it before applying the
match.
"I'll smoke one of hers to-night, Selim. See! I keep them apart from the
others, in this little gold case. I smoke them only when I am thinking.
Now, run in and tell Mr. Bowles that I said he was a Tray. I want to be
alone."
They left him and he threw himself upon the green sod, his back to a
tree, his face toward the distant château. Hours afterward the faithful
Selim came out to tell him that it was bedtime. He found his master
still sitting there, looking across the moonlit flat in the direction of
a place in the hills where once he had dwelt in marble halls.
"Selim," he said, arising and laying his hand upon his servant's
shoulder, his voice unsteady with finality, "I have decided, after all,
to go to Paris! We will live there, Selim. Do you understand?" with
strange fierceness, a great exultation mastering him. "We are to live in
Paris!"
To himself, all that night, he was saying: "I _must_ see her again--I
_shall_ see her!"
A thousand times he had read and re-read the letter that Lady Deppingham
had written to him just before the ceremony in the cathedral at
Thorberg. He knew every word that it contained; he could read it in the
dark. She had said that Genevra was going into a hell that no hereafter
could surpass in horrors! And that was ages ago, it seemed to him.
Genevra had been a wife for nearly three months--the wife of a man she
loathed; she was calling in her heart for him to come to her; she was
suffering in that unspeakable hell. All this he had come to feel and
shudder over in his unspeakable loneliness. He would go to her! There
could be no wrong in loving her, in being near her, in standing by her
in those hours of desperation.
A copy of a London newspaper, stuffed away in the recesses of his trunk,
dated June 29th, had come to him by post. It contained the telegraphic
details of the brilliant wedding in Thorberg. He had read the names of
the guests over and over again with a bitterness that knew no bounds.
Those very names proved to him that her world was not his, nor ever
could be. Every royal family in Europe was represented; the list of
noble names seemed endless to him--the flower of the world's
aristocracy. How he hated them!
The next morning Selim aroused him from his fitful sleep, bringing the
news that a strange vessel had arrived off Aratat. Chase sprang out of
bed, possessed of the wild hope that the opportunity to leave the island
had come sooner than he had expected. He rushed out upon his veranda,
overlooking the little harbour.
A long, white, graceful craft was lying in the harbour. It was in so
close to the pier that he had no choice but to recognise it as a vessel
of light draft. He stared long and intently at the trim craft.
"Can I be dreaming?" he muttered, passing his hand over his eyes. "Don't
lie to me, Selim! Is it really there?" Then he uttered a loud cry of joy
and started off down the slope with the speed of a race horse, shouting
in the frenzy of an uncontrollable glee.
It was the Marquess of B----'s white and blue yacht!
* * * * *
Three weeks later, Hollingsworth Chase stepped from the deck of the
yacht to the pier in Marseilles; the next day he was in Paris, attended
by the bewildered and almost useless Selim. An old and valued friend, a
campaigner of the war-time days, met him at the Gare de Lyon in response
to a telegram.
"I'll tell you the whole story of Japat, Arch, but not until to-morrow,"
Chase said to him as they drove toward the Ritz. "I arrived yesterday on
the Marquess of B----'s yacht--the _Cricket_. Do you know him? Of course
you do. Everybody does. The _Cricket_ was cruising down my way and
picked me up--Bowles and me. The captain came a bit out of his way to
call at Aratat, but he had orders of some sort from the Marquess, by
cable, I fancy, to stop off for me."
He did not regard it as necessary to tell his correspondent friend that
the _Cricket_ had sailed from Marseilles with but one port in
view--Aratat. He did not tell him that the _Cricket_ had come with a
message to him and that he was answering it in person, as it was
intended that he should--a message written six weeks before his arrival
in France. There were many things that Chase did not explain to
Archibald James.
"You're looking fine, Chase, old man. Did you a lot of good out there.
You're as brown as that Arab in the taximetre back there. By Jove, old
man, that Persian girl is ripping. You say she's his wife? She's--"
Chase broke in upon this far from original estimate of the picturesque
Neenah.
"I say, Arch, there's something I want to know before I go to the
Marquess's this evening. I'm due there with my thanks. He lives in the
Boulevard St. Germain--I've got the number all right. Is one likely to
find the house full of swells? I'm a bit of a savage just now and I'm
correspondingly timid."
His friend stared at him for a moment.
"I can save you the trouble of going to the Marquess," he said. "He and
the Marchioness are in London at present. Left Paris a month ago."
"What? The house is closed?" in deep anxiety.
"I think not. Servants are all there, I daresay. Their place adjoins the
Brabetz palace. The Princess is his niece, you know."
"You say the Brabetz palace is next door?" demanded Chase, steadying his
voice with an effort.
"Yes--the old Flaurebert mansion. The Princess was to have been the
social sensation of Paris this year. She's a wonderful beauty, you
know."
"Was to have been?"
"She married that rotten Brabetz last June--but, of course, you never
heard of it out there in what's-the-name-of-the-place. You may have
heard of his murder, however. His mistress shot him in Brussels----"
"Great God, man!" gasped Chase, clutching his arm in a grip of iron.
"The devil, Chase!" cried the other, amazed. "What's the matter?"
"He's dead? Murdered? How--when? Tell me about it," cried Chase, his
agitation so great that James looked at him in wonder.
"'Gad, you seem to be interested!"
"I _am_! Where is she--I mean the Princess? And the other woman?"
"Cool off, old man. People are staring at you. It's not a long story.
Brabetz was shot three weeks ago at a hotel in Brussels. He'd been
living there for two months, more or less, with the woman. In fact, he
left Paris almost immediately after he was married to the Princess
Genevra. The gossip is that she wouldn't live with him. She'd found out
what sort of a dog he was. They didn't have a honeymoon and they didn't
attempt a bridal tour. Somehow, they kept the scandal out of the papers.
Well, he hiked out of Paris at the end of a week, just before the 14th.
The police had asked the woman to leave town. He followed. Dope fiend,
they say. The bride went into seclusion at once. She's never to be seen
anywhere. The woman shot him through the head and then took a fine dose
of poison. They tried to save her life, but couldn't. It was a ripping
news story. The prominence of the----"
"This was a month ago?" demanded Chase, trying to fix something in his
mind. "Then it was _after_ the yacht left Marseilles with orders to pick
me up at Aratat."
"What are you talking about? Sure it was, if the yacht left Marseilles
six weeks ago. What's that got to do with it?"
"Nothing. Don't mind me, Arch. I'm a bit upset."
"There was talk of a divorce almost before the wedding bells ceased
ringing. The Grand Duke got his eyes opened when it was too late. He
repented of the marriage. The Princess was obliged to live in Paris for
a certain length of time before applying to the courts for freedom.
'Gad, I'll stake my head she's happy these days!"
Chase was silent for a long time. He was quite cool and composed when at
last he turned to his friend.
"Arch, do me a great favour. Look out for Selim and Neenah. Take 'em to
the hotel and see that they get settled. I'll join you this evening.
Don't ask questions, but put me down here. I'll take another cab.
There's a good fellow. I'll explain soon. I'm--I'm going somewhere and
I'm in a hurry."
* * * * *
The _voiture_ drew up before the historic old palace in the Boulevard
St. Germain. Chase's heart was beating furiously as he stepped to the
curb. The _cocher_ leaned forward for instructions. His fare hesitated
for a moment, swayed by a momentary indecision.
"_Attendre_" he said finally. The driver adjusted his register and
settled back to wait. Then Chase mounted the steps and lifted the
knocker with trembling fingers. He was dizzy with eagerness, cold with
uncertainty.
She had asked him to come to her--but conditions were not the same as
when she sent the compelling message. There had come into her life a
vital break, a change that altered everything. What was it to mean to
him?
He stood a moment later in the salon of the old Flaurebert palace,
vaguely conscious that the room was darkened by the drawn blinds, and
that it was cool and sweet to his senses. He knew that she was coming
down the broad hallway--he could hear the rustle of her gown.
Inconsequently he was wondering whether she would be dressed in black.
Then, to his humiliation, he remembered that he was wearing uncouth,
travel-soiled garments.
She was dressed in white--a house gown, simple and alluring. There was
no suggestion of the coronet, no shadow of grief in her manner as she
came swiftly toward him, her hands extended, a glad light in her eyes.
The tall man, voiceless with emotion, clasped her hands in his and
looked down into the smiling, rapturous face.
"You came!" she said, almost in a whisper.
"Yes. I could not have stayed away. I have just heard that you--you are
free. You must not expect me to offer condolences. It would be sheer
hypocrisy. I am glad--God, I am glad! You sent for me--you sent the
yacht, Genevra, before--before you were free. I came, knowing that you
belonged to another. I find you the same as when I knew you first--when
I held you in my arms and heard you say that you loved me. You do not
grieve--you do not mourn. You are the same--my Genevra--the same that I
have dreamed of and suffered for all these months. Something tells me
that you have descended to my plane. I will not kiss you, Genevra, until
you have promised to become my wife."
She had not taken her eyes from his white, intense face during this long
summing-up.
"Hollingsworth, I cannot, I will not blame you for thinking ill of me,"
she said. "Have I fallen in your eyes? I wanted you to be near me. I
wanted you to know that when the courts freed me from that man that I
would be ready and happy to come to you as _your_ wife. I am not in
mourning to-day, you see. I knew you were coming. As God is my witness,
I have no husband to mourn for. He was nothing to me. I want you for my
husband, dearest. It was what I meant when I sent out there for
you--that, and nothing else."
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