The Weight of the Crown

CHAPTER XXXVII

CROSS PURPOSES

Peretori gave way to a fit of silent laughter. Born comedian that he was, he fully appreciated the comedy of the situation. He did not need anyone to tell him why Hunt was here. But there was a serious side to the matter too, and the prince was not blind to that. Hunt pushed his way into the dining-room with the air of a man who is quite at home with his surroundings and put up the lights. As Annette disappeared up the stairs, Peretori fumbled his way to the telephone and gave Lechmere a whispered call. He had an idea that he would be in need of assistance presently, and the sooner it came the better. Then he felt that he could stand there in the dark and watch the interesting development of events.

Annette came tripping down the stairs again presently with a look of astonishment on her face. She found Hunt fuming about in the dining-room. He turned upon her sharply.

"Well?" he asked. "You have aroused your mistress? I trust that she will not keep me long."

"But it is impossible that she should do anything else, M'sieu," Annette protested. "I told you that my mistress had gone to bed. I had been out late to-night myself, and there were things to do after I came in. That is why I was ready to answer your ring. I say the countess was asleep under the profound impression that such was the fact. I go to wake my mistress, and behold she is not in bed at all!"

"What does it matter so long as she gets my message?" Hunt asked impatiently.

"But she does not get your message, M'sieu," Annette protested. "She is not there. The countess is not in the house at all. I recollect now that when I respond to your ring the front door is not fastened. It is plain to me that my mistress is not in."

Hunt's reply was more forcible than polite. Annette's face flamed with anger.

"It seems the fashion at present for everybody to say to me that I am a liar," she cried. "I tell you again that my mistress is not in the house. You can wait if you like, and I will not go to bed till she come in. There is no more to be said for the present, M'sieu."

And Annette walked away with her head in the air. There was the sound of shuffling feet in the hall presently as Robert was smuggled out of the house, and Annette retired to her dignified retreat in the small back room. She had hardly regained it before the hall door opened and the countess came in. Annette, with an air of wounded dignity, proclaimed all that had recently taken place. As the light flashed on the face of the countess, Peretori could see that she was visibly disturbed.

"Go to bed, Annette," she exclaimed. "I will see this gentleman who comes at so strange a time."

The countess passed into the dining-room, and as she did so Peretori saw the handle of the front door turn very quietly, and Lechmere crept into the house. He stood motionless just for a moment, then Peretori stepped out of the little room where he was listening and beckoned to him.

"Come in here," he whispered. "I sent for you because I have an idea that I shall require your assistance a little later on. Hunt is in the dining room. Ah, the quarrel has begun!"

"I tell you I have been fooled," Hunt was saying passionately. "Fooled like a child. You promised me that you would manage that the Mercury should contain an interview with the King of Asturia."

"Well? Did I fail in my promise? Did I not send the king to you in a condition when he was prepared to say or do anything? Won't it be all there to-morrow morning?"

"It is all there now," Hunt said with a groan. "Already the country editions of the paper are on the train. A large proportion of the town impressions have gone out also. And you have fooled me purposely."

"What is the man talking about?" the countess cried impatiently. "Anyone would think that I had some object – "

"In making a fool of me. So you have, if I could only understand the reason. As a matter of fact, I have been hoaxed in the most shameless manner possible. The man who came to me was an impostor, a fraud, an actor, and you knew it. When the whole story comes to be told my paper will be ruined, and I shall be laughed out of London. The real King of Asturia – "

"The man is mad!" the countess cried. "The real King of Asturia was with you to-night."

"It is utterly false, and you know it. You are playing this thing off on me for your own ends. I have just had it from the same source that the real King of Asturia, accompanied by Captain Alexis and another gentleman, have left for Dover by a special train an hour ago en route for Asturia. The information came to me from a lady journalist who actually saw the departure from Charing Cross. The lady in question makes no mistakes. I have never known her to be wrong. What have you to say to this?"

For once in her life Countess Saens was absolutely nonplussed. In the face of this information it was utterly impossible to keep up the present fraud any longer.

"So you have got the best of me?" she laughed. "It was a daring thing to do, but I thought that it would pass muster. It cost me a thousand guineas into the bargain. Mind you, I had not the slightest idea that the king would take such strong measures as these, and I am obliged by your priceless information. Now, what can I do to put matters right?"

Hunt made the best of a bad bargain. As a matter of fact he was not quite blameless in the matter.

"Those papers," he said. "Get me those papers. I dare say I can bluff the matter through. We can suggest that somebody is personating the real king. But I must have those papers."

"Ay, if we could only get them!" the countess said between her teeth. "We have clever people to deal with, and you may thank the way I have been fooled to-night for the suggestion of the way in which I have done my best to damage the cause of Asturia. But I am on the track now, and I am going to get to the bottom of it. The first thing to-morrow morning I shall go to Charing Cross Hospital."

"What for?" Hunt growled. "You are talking in enigmas so far as I am concerned."

"Never mind. The enigma will explain itself in good time. I tell you that you shall have those papers. I'm sorry for the trick I played on you to-night, but there is a great stake in my hands. It never occurred to me that the enemy would play so bold a game."

"You hear that?" Lechmere said to his companion. "Now whatever scheme you have in your mind, my dear prince, it must be abandoned to the certainty that the Countess Saens does not go to the hospital at Charing Cross to-morrow. You have a pretty good idea of how things stand, and I look to you to prevent that. Can you possibly manage it?"

Peretori whispered something reassuring. If Lechmere would stay here for a time and watch over the progress of events, he might be able to manage it. Lechmere expressed himself as ready to do anything that was required.

"Very well," Peretori replied. "I am going to slip away for a time. I shall be back in ten minutes at the outside. But don't leave the house, because we have business here later on. There will be a real danger and peril before us presently."

Lechmere nodded in his turn as Peretori stole softly away. The murmur of voices from the dining-room was still going on. The conversation had grown desultory.

"I repeat, I am sorry for the trick I had to play you to-night," the countess was saying. "But you have only to stick to your guns and stand out for the genuineness of your interview. Under ordinary circumstances it would have passed muster. But what possessed the king to take that decided step? I understood that his nerve was gone. I had it from a sure source that he never dared set foot in Asturia again. And to have gone off in that determined manner! What does it mean?"

Lechmere could have answered that question, as he smilingly told himself. He could tell from the sound of the voices that Hunt was getting nearer and nearer to the door. Presently the pair emerged into the hall. It was fully a quarter of an hour now since Peretori had departed, and Lechmere was getting anxious. At the same moment there was a knock at the door so sharp and sudden that the countess started, as did her companion. The former opened the door.

Just for a moment Lechmere craned his neck to see. But all he noted was a district messenger boy, who handed an envelope to the countess and profferred his pencil for a receipt. The door closed, and the countess tore open the envelope eagerly.

"A thick envelope," she said. "Merely my name printed on it in large letters. What have we here? A visiting card with the name of the Duchess of Dinon on it. That is the nom de plume adopted by the Queen of Asturia when travelling. Ah, here is the gist of it! Listen:

"'Meet me to-morrow night Hotel Bristol, Paris, at 9 o'clock. Ask for Mr. Conway. Am watched. Am anxious to escape. Do not fail me. Erno.'"

The countess waved the little slip of parchment in triumph over her head. "From the king!" she said. "From the king to me. He desires to escape, and that plays my game. Give me the time-table that is on the hall table behind you."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

ON BROKEN GROUND

Jessie opened her eyes and looked languidly around. She could not grasp the situation at first. She was in a large room exquisitely furnished; the silken draperies rustled in the breeze from the open window. Whence came all this luxury, the girl wondered? As she lay there with her hair sweeping over the laced pillow, the events of the previous evening began to come back to her. Fresh and vigorous now after her night's rest, Jessie could smile as she thought of it. It seemed almost impossible to believe that she had gone through so much, that any girl had the pluck to go through such a series of adventures without breaking down.

And yet she had done it! And Jessie thrilled with a little pardonable pride as she dwelt upon the part she had played. At any rate, it had been better than slaving in the shop of Madame Malmaison, without the slightest prospect for the future. Jessie felt that now she had gained powerful friends there was no chance of further genteel starvation. Prince Mazaroff's disgraceful conduct had been a blessing in disguise.

And best of all, it had brought Ronald Hope back to her. Jessie flushed with happiness as she thought of Ronald. She was thinking, too, of her sister. What would Ada imagine had happened? She must find time to send Ada a message. If Vera Galloway was in a position to be moved from the hospital, then she might resign her part and go home. She would have to keep out of the way for a bit – out of the way of those who were likely to draw their own deductions from the knowledge that Vera Galloway had a double.

Jessie was still turning these things over in her mind when the door opened and a neat-looking maid came in with a dainty breakfast set out on a tray. When this was despatched the maid volunteered to help her to dress, from such things as had come from Vera Galloway's wardrobe. But Jessie preferred to dress herself. She managed very well with a plain skirt and a loose fluffy blouse that looked as if it had been made for her. The queen was already up, and would see the young lady at once, the maid said. Not without some feeling of nervousness, Jessie went downstairs.

She bowed profoundly to the queen, who advanced and kissed the girl.

"You are my friend," she said, "my very good friend. Would that I had others like you. We will talk it over presently. Meanwhile, I have many letters to dictate. How fresh and sweet you look! I wonder if I shall ever feel what it is to be young again! Meanwhile, you are to wait here. There is nothing for you to do but to take care of yourself."

"Indeed, there is a great deal for me to do, madame," Jessie protested. "I had meant to be up and doing long before this; it is already ten o'clock. I have to go to the hospital and see Miss Galloway. She must be removed before the Countess Saens takes any steps."

"I had forgotten that," the queen admitted. "There is so much to be done that one is apt to forget. You will manage that through Dr. Varney of course?"

Jessie explained that such was her intention. She meant to go and see Dr. Varney at once. After that she would go to the hospital if necessary. Only it would be just as well if she wore a veil, Jessie thought. There was no reason why the attention of the hospital authorities should be drawn to the likeness between the patient and the visitor. The matter of the veil was adjusted without the slightest difficulty, and Jessie left the hotel.

Dr. Varney was not to be disturbed, so his man said. It required something very urgent indeed to interrupt the doctor at this hour. Jessie ignored the suggestion, and, pushing by the astonished man, walked boldly into the dining-room. Varney was not in the least angry.

"So it is you!" he said. "I rather expected this. How bright and fresh you look this morning! So you have not had enough of adventures yet? What are you going to do now? Don't mind my smoking a cigarette, do you? I always do after breakfast. That, between ourselves, is one of the reasons why I don't allow myself to be disturbed. What is the next move."

"To get Miss Vera Galloway home – or rather, to get her out of the hospital," Jessie said. "If we don't, we shall have Countess Saens finding her there. She is certain to call at the hospital some time to-day – probably this morning. If we can be first, well and good. If you can go down with me on pretence of business and profess to recognize Miss Galloway for somebody else so much the better. Then you can say that she is fit to travel, and there is an end of it."

The doctor grinned with a comic expression of dismay.

"Well, you are a nice kind of young lady!" he said. "A pretty proposition truly to a man in my exalted position! Why, if the truth came out it would ruin me. But I suppose you expect to get your own way. Only you can't take Miss Galloway home."

"I don't propose to take her home," Jessie said eagerly. "Lord and Lady Merehaven think that their real niece is staying with the Queen of Asturia for a day or two in the place of an absent woman-in-waiting. To take Vera home would be to spoil everything. Besides, we should have to account in some way for her sprained ankle, and it is quite imperative that nobody should know of that."

"What a clever girl you are!" Varney muttered admiringly. "I begin to see what you are driving at. Go on."

"There is very little more to say," Jessie murmured. "I shall pose as a relation of Vera's – calling myself by my proper name of Harcourt, of course. Dressed in her plain black – or rather in my plain black and veil – I shall convey Vera to the queen's hotel and there change clothes. I shall just walk out of the hotel and vanish for the time being, and there you are! The real Vera will be with the queen. She can nurse her ankle for a day or two, and nobody will be any the wiser."

Varney loudly applauded the suggestion. It was just possible, he said, that he was going to get himself into serious trouble, but he was not going to back out of it now. If Jessie would go down to the hospital and see Vera Galloway, he would follow after a discreet interval.

It all fell out exactly as Jessie had hoped. There was little the matter with Vera save for the fact that her ankle was very troublesome, though one of the house surgeons dismissed the idea of the patient being moved for the next day or two. When the discussion was still on Varney came in. He approached the matter in his own quick and breezy fashion.

"Well, young lady?" he cried. "I thought that I recognized you last night, only I wasn't sure. Miss Harcourt's father was an old friend of mine, Cattley. Wants to go home, does she? Well, I don't see any reason why she should not. Matter of a cab, nothing more. Yes, yes."

And Varney moved off as if he had already washed his hands of the matter – a mere incident in the life of a busy man like himself. Jessie hurried on Vera's preparations with a shaking hand. It was just possible that the countess might turn up at any moment. But the operation was finished at length, and the cab was ready at the door.

"Pull your veil down as I have done with mine," Jessie whispered. "You never know who may recognize you. And now lean heavily on my arm, and walk as if nothing was the matter. Ah!"

And Jessie drew a sigh of relief once they were safely in the cab. The cab was dismissed in Bond Street under pretext of shopping, and another engaged. It was just as well to take all precautions, Jessie declared. Vera was looking very faint and worn, but she expressed her warm thanks to Jessie.

"It is really nothing," the latter proceeded to explain what had happened. "As events turn out, everything is going most fortunately for you. As I have told you, by sheer good luck I managed to escape from Merehaven House without suspicions being excited. Lady Merehaven thinks that you are with the queen and in a very short time you will be with the queen. Then you have only to nurse your ankle and get well. As to me, I am going to discreetly disappear from view for the time."

"But you have no money," Vera protested. "You told me last night that you were desperately placed, and that if it had not been for the money you would not have come to me at all. Of course that was all nonsense, because you would have done what you did for me or any other poor girl in distress. Perhaps some day I may be able to properly thank you, dear Jessie. But without money!.. And I have none."

"I am not going to leave London," Jessie whispered. "I shall be quite safe in my lodgings. And it is very little money I want. What I am looking for is some situation – "

"Situation!" Vera cried scornfully. "As if I should ever permit you to take a situation again! And what is Ronald Hope thinking about? If he really cared for you – "

"He really does care for me," Jessie said with a fine colour. "And if there is any need for you to thank me for bringing Ronald and myself together… But here we are at the hotel."

CHAPTER XXXIX

IN THE CAMP OF THE FOE

As it so happened – though as yet the girls were ignorant of the fact – they had no need to be afraid of the Countess Saens for the present. She had been cleverly fooled by a trick, as Lechmere learnt directly he was out of the house after hearing the countess read her wire to Hunt of the Mercury. Just for a moment Hunt had suspected the King of Asturia of a further act of treachery. But no sooner was he out of the house than Prince Peretori pounced upon him. There was a keen glitter in his eyes.

"Well?" he asked. "I left you in that place yonder with a purpose. Did my bait take?"

"Oh, it was you who sent that card, then?" Lechmere exclaimed. "How did you manage to do that?"

"The idea came to me like an inspiration. We wanted the countess out of the way, and it seemed to me that I knew the exact plan for doing it. I rushed off to the queen's hotel and procured one of her incognito cards to give the thing a real air. Then I forged a message from the king asking the countess to meet him in Paris to-morrow night. All I had to do was to place the thing in the hands of a district messenger boy, and there you are! The question is, Did my bait take?"

"As the countess is at present rushing through the pages of Bradshaw, I should say that the bait had taken," Lechmere said drily. "Our fascinating friend will assuredly be off to Paris by the very first train that is available. Isn't there an early morning boat? Of course there is, seeing that I have travelled by it many times. The countess will be off in an hour. We'll just hang about here and make sure, and then we can go to bed with easy minds."

Prince Peretori laughed grimly. He lighted a cigarette and smoked it with the air of a patient man.

"We're not going to bed yet," he said. "Our task does not even begin till the countess has gone. I'll throw myself heart and soul into this business, and I don't let go now till I see it through. When the countess has gone, you and I are going to do a little burglary of our own."

"What for?" asked Lechmere. "What are we going to gain by a risk like that? Besides, if you are after those Foreign Office papers most assuredly they are not in the countess's possession."

"No, but they are in the possession of her maid Annette," was the startling reply. "So I have at length succeeded in astonishing even the stolid Lechmere. My dear fellow, when I went into that house to-night, I found that Annette was entertaining a lover – one Robert, who is unmistakably a gentleman's servant. We must find out who Robert is, and where he comes from, because he may be very useful to us later on. But Annette has those papers, because I heard her say so. A stupid policeman picked them up and handed them to Annette without having the least idea of their value. But the girl has, and she proposes to dispose of them for a good round sum."

"Then our course is quite easy," Lechmere said; he had quite recovered from his surprise again. "The countess will be out of the way for eight and forty hours at least. That gives us ample time to open pour-parlers with the girl for the recovery of the papers."