Movatterモバイル変換

On the day when I found myself with twopence in my pocket, Inaturally made up my mind to go round the world.

It was my stepfather's death that drove me to it. I had neverseen my stepfather. Indeed, I never even thought of him as anythingmore than Colonel Watts-Morgan. I owed him nothing, except mypoverty. He married my dear mother when I was a girl at school inSwitzerland; and he proceeded to spend her little fortune, left ather sole disposal by my father's will, in paying his gamblingdebts. After that, he carried my dear mother off to Burma; and whenhe and the climate between them had succeeded in killing her, hemade up for his appropriations at the cheapest rate by allowing mejust enough to send me to Girton. So, when the Colonel died, in theyear I was leaving college, I did not think it necessary to go intomourning for him. Especially as he chose the precise moment when myallowance was due, and bequeathed me nothing but his consolidatedliabilities.

'Of course you will teach,' said Elsie Petheridge,when[Pg2] I explained my affairs to her. 'There is a gooddemand just now for high-school teachers.'

I looked at her, aghast. 'Teach! Elsie,' I cried. (I hadcome up to town to settle her in at her unfurnished lodgings.) 'Didyou sayteach? That's just like you dear goodschoolmistresses! You go to Cambridge, and get examined till theheart and life have been examined out of you; then you say toyourselves at the end of it all, "Let me see; what am I good fornow? I'm just about fit to go away and examine other people!"That's what our Principal would call "a vicious circle"—ifone could ever admit there was anything vicious at all aboutyou, dear. No, Elsie, I donot propose to teach.Nature did not cut me out for a high-school teacher. I couldn'tswallow a poker if I tried for weeks. Pokers don't agree with me.Between ourselves, I am a bit of a rebel.'

'You are, Brownie,' she answered, pausing in her papering, withher sleeves rolled up—they called me 'Brownie,' partlybecause of my dark complexion, but partly because they could neverunderstand me. 'We all knew that long ago.'

'Do you remember, Elsie,' I said, staring hard at thepaper-board,' when I first went to Girton, how all you girls woreyour hair quite straight, in neat smooth coils, plaited up at theback about the size of a pancake; and how of a sudden I burst inupon you, like a tropical hurricane, and demoralised you; and how,after three days of me, some of the dear innocents began with aweto cut themselves artless fringes, while others went out in fearand trembling and surreptitiously purchased a pair ofcurling-tongs? I was a bomb-shell in your midst in those days; why,you yourself were almost afraid at first to speak tome.'[Pg3]

'You see, you had a bicycle,' Elsie put in, smoothing thehalf-papered wall; 'and in those days, of course, ladies didn'tbicycle. You must admit, Brownie, dear, itwas a startlinginnovation. You terrified us so. And yet, after all, there isn'tmuch harm in you.'

'I hope not,' I said devoutly. 'I was before my time, that wasall; at present, even a curate's wife may blamelessly bicycle.'

'But if you don't teach,' Elsie went on, gazing at me with thosewondering big blue eyes of hers, 'whatever will you do, Brownie?'Her horizon was bounded by the scholastic circle.

'I haven't the faintest idea,' I answered, continuing to paste.'Only, as I can't trespass upon your elegant hospitality for life,whatever I mean to do, I must begin doing this morning, when we'vefinished the papering. I couldn't teach' (teaching, like mauve, isthe refuge of the incompetent); 'and I don't, if possible, want tosell bonnets.'

'As a milliner's girl; why not? 'Tis an honest calling. Earls'daughters do it now. But you needn't look so shocked. I tell you,just at present, I am not contemplating it.'

I paused and reflected. 'I am here in London,' I answered,gazing rapt at the ceiling; 'London, whose streets are paved withgold—though itlooks at first sight like muddyflagstones; London, the greatest and richest city in the world,where an adventurous soul ought surely to find some loophole for anadventure. (That piece is hung crooked, dear; we shall have to takeit down again.) I devise a Plan, therefore. I submit myself tofate; or, if you[Pg 4] prefer it, I leave my future in thehands of Providence. I shall stroll out this morning, as soon asI've "cleaned myself," and embrace the first stray enterprise thatoffers. Our Bagdad teems with enchanted carpets. Let one but floatmy way, and, hi, presto, I seize it. I go where glory or a modestcompetence waits me. I snatch at the first offer, the first hint ofan opening.'

Elsie stared at me, more aghast and more puzzled than ever.'But, how?' she asked. 'Where? When? Youare so strange!What will you do to find one?'

'Put on my hat and walk out,' I answered. 'Nothing could besimpler. This city bursts with enterprises and surprises. Strangersfrom east and west hurry through it in all directions. Omnibusestraverse it from end to end—even, I am told, to Islington andPutney; within, folk sit face to face who never saw one anotherbefore in their lives, and who may never see one another again, or,on the contrary, may pass the rest of their days together.'

I had a lovely harangue all pat in my head, in much the samestrain, on the infinite possibilities of entertaining angelsunawares, in cabs, on the Underground, in the aërated breadshops; but Elsie's widening eyes of horror pulled me up short likea hansom in Piccadilly when the inexorable upturned hand of thepoliceman checks it. 'Oh, Brownie,' she cried, drawing back, 'youdon't mean to tell me you're going to ask the first youngman you meet in an omnibus to marry you?'

I shrieked with laughter, 'Elsie,' I cried, kissing her dearyellow little head, 'you areimpayable. You never will learnwhat I mean. You don't understand the language. No, no; I am goingout, simply in search of adventure. What adventure may come, I havenot at this moment the faintest conception. The fun lies in thesearch, the uncertainty, the[Pg 5] toss-up of it. What is the good ofbeing penniless—with the trifling exception oftwopence—unless you are prepared to accept your position inthe spirit of a masked ball at Covent Garden?'

'Gracious heavens, neither have I! What on earth do you take mefor? But I mean to see where fate will lead me.'

'Certainlynot, my child,' I answered—she wasthree[Pg6] years older than I, so I had the right to patroniseher. 'That would spoil all. Your dear little face would be quiteenough to scare away a timid adventure.' She knew what I meant. Itwas gentle and pensive, but it lacked initiative.

So, when we had finished that wall, I popped on my best hat, andpopped out by myself into Kensington Gardens.

I am told I ought to have been terribly alarmed at the straitsin which I found myself—a girl of twenty-one, alone in theworld, and only twopence short of penniless, without a friend toprotect, a relation to counsel her. (I don't count Aunt Susan, wholurked in ladylike indigence at Blackheath, and whose counsel, likeher tracts, was given away too profusely to everybody to allow ofone's placing any very high value upon it.) But, as a matter offact, I must admit I was not in the least alarmed. Nature hadendowed me with a profusion of crisp black hair, and plenty of highspirits. If my eyes had been like Elsie's—that liquid bluewhich looks out upon life with mingled pity and amazement—Imight have felt as a girl ought to feel under such conditions; buthaving large dark eyes, with a bit of a twinkle in them, and beingas well able to pilot a bicycle as any girl of my acquaintance, Ihave inherited or acquired an outlook on the world which distinctlyleans rather towards cheeriness than despondency. I croak withdifficulty. So I accepted my plight as an amusing experience,affording full scope for the congenial exercise of courage andingenuity.

How boundless are the opportunities of KensingtonGardens—the Round Pond, the winding Serpentine, themysterious seclusion of the Dutch brick Palace! Genii swarm there.One jostles possibilities. It is a land of romance, bounded on thenorth by the Abyss of Bayswater, and on the south by theAmphitheatre of the Albert Hall. But for a centre of adventure Ichoose the Long Walk; it[Pg 7] beckoned me somewhat as the North-WestPassage beckoned my seafaring ancestors—the buccaneeringmariners of Elizabethan Devon. I sat down on a chair at the foot ofan old elm with a poetic hollow, prosaically filled by autilitarian plate of galvanised iron. Two ancient ladies wereseated on the other side already—very grand-looking dames,with the haughty and exclusive ugliness of the English aristocracyin its later stages. For frank hideousness, commend me to the nobledowager. They were talking confidentially as I sat down; thetrifling episode of my approach did not suffice to stem the fullstream of their conversation. The great ignore the intrusion oftheir inferiors.

'Yes, it's a terrible nuisance,' the eldest and ugliest of thetwo observed—she was a high-born lady, with a distinctlycantankerous cast of countenance. She had a Roman nose, and herskin was wrinkled like a wilted apple; she wore coffee-colouredpoint-lace in her bonnet, with a complexion to match. 'But whatcould I do, my dear? I simplycouldn't put up with suchinsolence. So I looked her straight back in the face—oh, shequailed, I can tell you; and I said to her, in my iciestvoice—you know how icy I can be when occasion demandsit'—the second old lady nodded an ungrudging assent, as ifperfectly prepared to admit her friend's rare gift oficiness—'I said to her, "Célestine, you can take yourmonth's wages, and half an hour to get out of this house." And shedropped me a deep reverence, and she answered: "Oui, madame;merci beaucoup, madame; je ne desire pas mieux, madame." Andout she flounced. So there was the end of it.'

'That's the point. On Monday. If it weren't for the journey, Ishould have been glad enough to be rid of the minx. I'm glad as itis, indeed; for a more insolent, upstanding,[Pg 8]independent, answer-you-back-again young woman, with a sneer of herown,I never saw, Amelia—but Imust get toSchlangenbad. Now, there the difficulty comes in. On the one hand,if I engage a maid in London, I have the choice of two evils.Either I must take a trapesing English girl—and I know byexperience that an English girl on the Continent is a vast dealworse than no maid at all:you have to wait uponher,instead of her waiting upon you; she gets seasick on the crossing,and when she reaches France or Germany, she hates the meals, andshe detests the hotel[Pg 9] servants, and she can't speak thelanguage, so that she's always calling you in to interpret for herin her private differences with thefille-de-chambre and thelandlord; or else I must pick up a French maid in London, and Iknow equally by experience that the French maids one engages inLondon are invariably dishonest—more dishonest than the resteven; they've come here because they have no character to speak ofelsewhere, and they think you aren't likely to write and enquire oftheir last mistress in Toulouse or St. Petersburg. Then, again, onthe other hand, I can't wait to get a Gretchen, an unsophisticatedlittle Gretchen of the Taunus at Schlangenbad— I supposethereare unsophisticated girls in Germany still—madein Germany—they don't make 'em any longer in England, I'msure—like everything else, the trade in rustic innocence hasbeen driven from the country. I can't wait to get a Gretchen, as Ishould like to do, of course, because I simplydaren'tundertake to cross the Channel alone and go all that long journeyby Ostend or Calais, Brussels and Cologne, to Schlangenbad.'

'You could get a temporary maid,' her friend suggested, in alull of the tornado.

The Cantankerous Old Lady flared up. 'Yes, and have myjewel-case stolen! Or find she was an English girl without one wordof German. Or nurse her on the boat when I want to give myundivided attention to my own misfortunes. No, Amelia, I call itpositively unkind of you to suggest such a thing. You'resounsympathetic! I put my foot down there. I willnot take anytemporary person.'

I saw my chance. This was a delightful idea. Why not start forSchlangenbad with the Cantankerous Old Lady?

Of course, I had not the slightest intention of taking alady's-maid's place for a permanency. Nor even, if itcomes[Pg10] to that, as a passing expedient. Butif Iwanted to go round the world, how could I do better than set out bythe Rhine country? The Rhine leads you on to the Danube, the Danubeto the Black Sea, the Black Sea to Asia; and so, by way of India,China, and Japan, you reach the Pacific and San Francisco; whenceone returns quite easily by New York and the White Star Liners. Ibegan to feel like a globe-trotter already; the Cantankerous OldLady was the thin end of the wedge—the first rung of theladder! I proceeded to put my foot on it.

I leaned around the corner of the tree and spoke.[Pg 11] 'Excuseme,' I said, in my suavest voice, 'but I think I see a way out ofyour difficulty.'

My first impression was that the Cantankerous Old Lady would gooff in a fit of apoplexy. She grew purple in the face withindignation and astonishment, that a casual outsider should ventureto address her; so much so, indeed, that for a second I almostregretted my well-meant interposition. Then she scanned me up anddown, as if I were a girl in a mantle shop, and she contemplatedbuying either me or the mantle. At last, catching my eye, shethought better of it, and burst out laughing.

I flushed up in turn. 'This is a public place,' I replied, withdignity; 'and you spoke in a tone which was hardly designed for thestrictest privacy. If you don't wish to be overheard, you oughtn'tto shout. Besides, I desired to do you a service.'

The Cantankerous Old Lady regarded me once more from head tofoot. I did not quail. Then she turned to her companion. 'The girlhas spirit,' she remarked, in an encouraging tone, as if she werediscussing some absent person. 'Upon my word, Amelia, I rather likethe look of her. Well, my good woman, what do you want to suggestto me?'

'Merely this,' I replied, bridling up and crushing her. 'I am aGirton girl, an officer's daughter, no more a good woman than mostothers of my class; and I have nothing in particular to do for themoment. I don't object to going to Schlangenbad. I would convoy youover, as companion, or lady-help, or anything else you choose tocall it; I would remain with you there for a week, till you couldarrange with your Gretchen, presumably unsophisticated; and then Iwould leave you. Salary is unimportant; my faresuffices.[Pg12] I accept the chance as a cheap opportunity ofattaining Schlangenbad.'

The yellow-faced old lady put up her long-handled tortoise-shelleyeglasses and inspected me all over again. 'Well, I declare,' shemurmured. 'What are girls coming to, I wonder? Girton, you say;Girton! That place at Cambridge! You speak Greek, of course; buthow about German?'

'Like a native,' I answered, with cheerful promptitude. 'I wasat school in Canton Berne; it is a mother tongue to me.'

'No, no,' the old lady went on, fixing her keen small eyes on mymouth. 'Those little lips could never frame themselves to"schlecht" or "wunderschön"; they were not cut out forit.'

'Pardon me,' I answered, in German. 'What I say, that I mean.The never-to-be-forgotten music of the Fatherland's-speech has onmy infant ear from the first-beginning impressed itself.'

'Don't jabber it to me, child,' she cried. 'I hate the lingo.It's the one tongue on earth that even a pretty girl's lips fail torender attractive. You yourself make faces over it. What's yourname, young woman?'

'Lois!What a name! I never heard of any Lois in my lifebefore, except Timothy's grandmother.You're not anybody'sgrandmother, are you?'

'Well, you'll do, I think,' she said, catching my arm. 'That bigmill down yonder hasn't ground the originality altogether out ofyou. I adore originality. It was clever[Pg 13] of youto catch at the suggestion of this arrangement. Lois Cayley, yousay; any relation of a madcap Captain Cayley whom I used once toknow, in the Forty-second Highlanders?'

'Ha! I remember; he died, poor fellow; he was a goodsoldier—and his'—I felt she was going to say 'his foolof a widow,' but a glance from me quelled her; 'his widow went andmarried that good-looking scapegrace, Jack Watts-Morgan. Nevermarry a man, my dear, with a double-barrelled name and no visiblemeans of subsistence; above all, if he's generally known by anickname. So you're poor Tom Cayley's daughter, are you? Well,well, we can settle this little matter between us. Mind, I'm aperson who always expects to have my own way. If you come withme to Schlangenbad, you must do as I tell you.'

She smiled at my audacity. We passed on to terms. They werequite satisfactory. She wanted no references. 'Do I look like awoman who cares about a reference? What are calledcharacters are usually essays in how not to say it. You takemy fancy; that's the point! And poor Tom Cayley! But, mind, I willnot be contradicted.'

A faint red spot rose quaintly in the centre of the CantankerousOld Lady's sallow cheek. 'My dear,' she murmured, 'my name is theone thing on earth I'm really ashamed of. My parents chose toinflict upon me the most[Pg 14] odious label that human ingenuity everdevised for a Christian soul; and I've not had courage enough toburst out and change it.'

A gleam of intuition flashed across me, 'You don't mean to say,'I exclaimed, 'that you're called Georgina?'

The Cantankerous Old Lady gripped my arm hard. 'What anunusually intelligent girl!' she broke in. 'How on earth did youguess? Itis Georgina.'

'Fellow-feeling,' I answered. 'So is mine, Georgina Lois. But asI quite agree with you as to the atrocity of such conduct, I havesuppressed the Georgina. It ought to be made penal to send innocentgirls into the world so burdened.'

'My opinion to a T! You are really an exceptionally sensibleyoung woman. There's my name and address; I start on Monday.'

I glanced at her card. The very copperplate was noisy. 'LadyGeorgina Fawley, 49 Fortescue Crescent, W.'

It had taken us twenty minutes to arrange our protocols. As Iwalked off, well pleased, Lady Georgina's friend ran after mequickly.

'So I suspect,' I answered. 'But a week in Tartary will be atleast an experience.'

'That's nothing. So have I. Appalling, I assure you. And if itcomes to blows, I'm bigger and younger and stronger than sheis.'

'Thank you. It is kind of you to give me this warning. But Ithink I can take care of myself. I come, you see, of a militaryfamily.'[Pg15]

I nodded my thanks, and strolled back to Elsie's. Dear littleElsie was in transports of surprise when I related myadventure.

'I haven't a notion,' I answered; 'that's where the fun comesin. But, anyhow, I shall have got there.'

'And I might starve in London. In either place, I have only twohands and one head to help me.'

I kissed her fluffy forehead. 'You good, generous little Elsie,'I cried; 'I won't stop here one moment after I have finished thepainting and papering. I came here to help you. I couldn't go oneating your hard-earned bread and doing nothing. I know how sweetyou are; but the last thing I want is to add to your burdens. Nowlet us roll up our sleeves again and hurry on with the dado.'

'But, Brownie, you'll want to be getting your own things ready.Remember, you're off to Germany on Monday.'

I shrugged my shoulders. 'Tis a foreign trick I picked up inSwitzerland. 'What have I got to get ready?' I asked. 'I can't goout and buy a complete summer outfit in Bond Street for twopence.Now, don't look at me like that: be practical, Elsie, and let mehelp you paint the dado.' For unless I helped her, poor Elsie couldnever have finished it herself. I cut out half her clothes for her;her own ideas were almost entirely limited to differentialcalculus. And cutting out a blouse by differential calculus isweary, uphill work for a high-school teacher.

By Monday I had papered and furnished the rooms, and was readyto start on my voyage of exploration. I met[Pg 16] theCantankerous Old Lady at Charing Cross, by appointment, andproceeded to take charge of her luggage and tickets.

Oh my, how fussy she was! 'You will drop that basket! I hope youhave got through tickets,viâ Malines,not byBrussels— I won't go by Brussels. You have to change there.Now, mind you notice how much the luggage weighs in English pounds,and make the man at the office give you a note of it to check thosehorrid Belgian porters. They'll charge you for double the weight,unless you reduce it at once to kilogrammes.I know theirways. Foreigners have no consciences. They just go to the priestand confess, you know, and wipe it all out, and start fresh againon a career of crime next morning. I'm sure I don't know why Iever go abroad. The only country in the world fit to live inis England. No mosquitoes, no passports, no—goodnessgracious, child, don't let that odious man bang about my hat-box!Have you no immortal soul, porter, that you crush other people'sproperty as if it was blackbeetles? No, I will not let you takethis, Lois; this is my jewel-box—it contains all that remainsof the Fawley family jewels. I positively decline to appear atSchlangenbad without a diamond to my back. This never leaves myhands. It's hard enough nowadays to keep body and skirt together.Have you secured thatcoupé at Ostend?'

We got into our first-class carriage. It was clean andcomfortable; but the Cantankerous Old Lady made the porter mop thefloor, and fidgeted and worried till we slid out of the station.Fortunately, the only other occupant of the compartment was a mosturbane and obliging Continental gentleman—I say Continental,because I couldn't quite make out whether he was French, German, orAustrian—who was anxious in every way to meet LadyGeorgina's[Pg17] wishes. Did madame desire to have the window open?Oh, certainly, with pleasure; the day was so sultry. Closed alittle more?Parfaitement, therewas a current ofair,il faut l'admettre. Madame would prefer the corner? No?Then perhaps she would like this valise for a footstool?Permettez—just thus. A cold draught runs so oftenalong the floor in railway carriages. This is Kent that wetraverse; ah, the garden of England! As a diplomat, he knew everynook of Europe, and he echoed themot he had accidentallyheard drop from madame's lips on[Pg 18] the platform: no countryin the world so delightful as England!

'Monsieur is attached to the Embassy in London?' Lady Georginainquired, growing affable.

He twirled his grey moustache: a waxed moustache of greatdistinction. 'No, madame; I have quitted the diplomatic service; Iinhabit London nowpour mon agrément. Some of mycompatriots call ittriste; for me, I find it the mostfascinating capital in Europe. What gaiety! What movement! Whatpoetry! What mystery!'

He gazed at me with fixed eyes. 'Yes, mademoiselle,' heanswered, in quite a different and markedly chilly voice. 'Whateveryour great country attempts—were it only a fog—itachieves consummately.'

I have quick intuitions. I felt the foreign gentleman took aninstinctive dislike to me.

To make up for it, he talked much, and with animation, to LadyGeorgina. They ferreted out friends in common, and were as muchsurprised at it as people always are at that inevitableexperience.

'Ah yes, madame, I recollect him well in Vienna. I was there atthe time, attached to our Legation. He was a charming man; you readhis masterly paper on the Central Problem of the Dual Empire?'

'You were in Vienna then!' the Cantankerous Old Lady mused back.'Lois, my child, don't stare'—she had covenanted from thefirst to call me Lois, as my father's daughter, and I confess Ipreferred it to being Miss Cayley'd. 'We must surely have met. DareI ask your name, monsieur?'

I could see the foreign gentleman was delighted atthis[Pg19] turn. He had played for it, and carried his point.He meant her to ask him. He had a card in his pocket, convenientlyclose; and he handed it across to her. She read it, and passed iton: 'M. le Comte de Laroche-sur-Loiret.'

'Oh, I remember your name well,' the Cantankerous Old Lady brokein. 'I think you knew my husband, Sir Evelyn Fawley, and my father,Lord Kynaston.'

The Count looked profoundly surprised and delighted. 'What! youare then Lady Georgina Fawley!' he cried, striking an attitude.'Indeed, miladi, your admirable husband was one of the very firstto exert his influence in my favour at Vienna. Do I recall him,ce cher Sir Evelyn? If I recall him! What a fortunaterencounter! I must have seen you some years ago at Vienna, miladi,though I had not then the great pleasure of making youracquaintance. But your face had impressed itself on mysub-conscious self!' (I did not learn till later that the esotericdoctrine of the sub-conscious self was Lady Georgina's favouritehobby.) 'The moment chance led me to this carriage this morning, Isaid to myself, "That face, those features: so vivid, so striking:I have seen them somewhere. With what do I connect them in therecesses of my memory? A high-born family; genius; rank; thediplomatic service; some unnameable charm; some faint touch ofeccentricity. Ha! I have it. Vienna, a carriage with footmen in redlivery, a noble presence, a crowd of wits—poets, artists,politicians—pressing eagerly round the landau." That was mymental picture as I sat and confronted you: I understand it allnow; this is Lady Georgina Fawley!'

I thought the Cantankerous Old Lady, who was a shrewd person inher way, must surely see through this obvious patter; but I hadunder-estimated the average human capacity for swallowing flattery.Instead of dismissing his fulsome[Pg 20] nonsense with acontemptuous smile, Lady Georgina perked herself up with aconscious air of coquetry, and asked for more. 'Yes, they weredelightful days in Vienna,' she said, simpering; 'I was young then,Count; I enjoyed life with a zest.'

'Persons of miladi's temperament are always young,' the Countretorted, glibly, leaning forward and gazing at her. 'Growing oldis a foolish habit of the stupid and the vacant. Men and women ofesprit are never older. One learns as[Pg 21] onegoes on in life to admire, not the obvious beauty of mere youth andhealth'—he glanced across at me disdainfully—'but theprofounder beauty of deep character in a face—that calm andserene beauty which is imprinted on the brow by experience of theemotions.'

Thenceforward to Dover, they talked together with ceaselessanimation. The Cantankerous Old Lady was capital company. She had atang in her tongue, and in the course of ninety minutes she hadflayed alive the greater part of London society, with keen wit andsprightliness. I laughed against my will at her ill-temperedsallies; they were too funny not to amuse, in spite of theirvitriol. As for the Count, he was charmed. He talked well himself,too, and between them I almost forgot the time till we arrived atDover.

It was a very rough passage. The Count helped us to carry ournineteen hand-packages and four rugs on board; but I noticed that,fascinated as she was with him, Lady Georgina resisted hisingenious efforts to gain possession of her precious jewel-case asshe descended the gangway. She clung to it like grim death, even inthe chops of the Channel. Fortunately I am a good sailor, and whenLady Georgina's sallow cheeks began to grow pale, I was steadyenough to supply her with her shawl and her smelling-bottle. Shefidgeted and worried the whole way over. Shewould betreated like a vertebrate animal. Those horrid Belgians had noright to stick their deck-chairs just in front of her. Theimpertinence of the hussies with the bright red hair—agrocer's daughters, she felt sure—in venturing to come andsit on the same bench withher—the bench 'for ladiesonly,' under the lee of the funnel! 'Ladies only,' indeed!Did[Pg22] the baggages pretend they considered themselvesladies? Oh, that placid old gentleman in the episcopal gaiters wastheir father, was he? Well, a bishop should bring up his daughtersbetter, having his children in subjection with all gravity. Insteadof which—'Lois, my smelling-salts!' This was a beastly boat;such an odour of machinery; they had no decent boats nowadays; withall our boasted improvements, she could remember well when thecross-Channel service was much better conducted than it was atpresent. Butthat was before we had compulsory education.The working classes were driving trade out of the country, and theconsequence was, we couldn't build a boat which didn't reek like anoil-shop. Even the sailors on board were French—jabberingidiots; not an honest British Jack-tar among the lot of them;though the stewards were English, and very inferior Cockney Englishat that, with their off-hand ways, and their School Board airs andgraces.She'd School Board them if they were her servants;she'd show them the sort of respect that was due to peopleof birth and education. But the children of the lower classes neverlearnt their catechism nowadays; they were too much occupied withliteratoor, jography, and free-'and drawrin'. Happily for mynerves, a good lurch to leeward put a stop for a while to thecourse of her thoughts on the present distresses.

At Ostend the Count made a second gallant attempt to capture thejewel-case, which Lady Georgina automatically repulsed. She had afixed habit, I believe, of sticking fast to that jewel-case; forshe was too overpowered by the Count's urbanity, I feel sure, tosuspect for a moment his honesty of purpose. But whenever shetravelled, I fancy, she clung to her case as if her life dependedupon it; it contained the whole of her valuablediamonds.[Pg23]

We had twenty minutes for refreshments at Ostend, during whichinterval my old lady declared with warmth that Imust lookafter her registered luggage; though, as it was booked through toCologne, I could not even see it till we crossed the Germanfrontier; for the Belgiandouaniers seal up the van as soonas the through baggage for Germany is unloaded. To satisfy her,however, I went through the formality of pretending to inspect it,and rendered myself hateful to the head of thedouane byasking various foolish and inept questions, on which Lady Georginainsisted. When I had finished this silly and uncongenialtask—for I am not by nature fussy, and it is hard to assumefussiness as another person's proxy—I returned to ourcoupé which I had arranged for in London. To my greatamazement, I found the Cantankerous Old Lady and the egregiousCount comfortably seated there. 'Monsieur has been good enough toaccept a place in our carriage,' she observed, as I entered.

He bowed and smiled. 'Or, rather, madame has been so kind as tooffer me one,' he corrected.

'Would you like some lunch, Lady Georgina?' I asked, in mychilliest voice. 'There are ten minutes to spare, and thebuffet is excellent.'

'An admirable inspiration,' the Count murmured. 'Permit me toescort you, miladi.'

'No, thank you,' I answered, for I had an idea. 'I am a capitalsailor, but the sea takes away my appetite.'

'Then you'll keep our places,' she said, turning to me. 'I hopeyou won't allow them to stick in any horrid foreigners! They willtry to force them on you unless you insist.I know theirtricky ways. You have the tickets, I trust? And thebulletinfor thecoupé? Well, mind you don't lose the paperfor the registered luggage.[Pg 24] Don't let those dreadful porterstouch my cloaks. And if anybody attempts to get in, be sure youstand in front of the door as they mount to prevent them.'

The Count handed her out; he was all high courtly politeness. AsLady Georgina descended, he made yet another dexterous effort torelieve her of the jewel-case. I don't think she noticed it, butautomatically once more she waved him aside. Then she turned to me.'Here, my dear,' she said, handing it to me, 'you'd better takecare of it. If I lay it down in thebuffet while I am eatingmy soup, some rogue may run away with it. But mind,don't[Pg25] let it out of your hands on any account. Hold it so,on your knee; and, for Heaven's sake, don't part with it.'

By this time my suspicions of the Count were profound. From thefirst I had doubted him; he was so blandly plausible. But as welanded at Ostend I had accidentally overheard a low whisperedconversation when he passed a shabby-looking man, who had travelledin a second-class carriage from London. 'That succeeds?' theshabby-looking man had muttered under his breath in French, as thehaughty nobleman with the waxed moustache brushed by him.

'That succeeds admirably,' the Count had answered, in the samesoft undertone. 'Ça réussit àmerveille!'

I understood him to mean that he had prospered in his attempt toimpose on Lady Georgina.

They had been gone five minutes at thebuffet, when theCount came back hurriedly to the door of thecoupéwith anonchalant air. 'Oh, mademoiselle,' he said, in anoff-hand tone, 'Lady Georgina has sent me to fetch herjewel-case.'

I gripped it hard with both hands. 'Pardon, M. le Comte,'I answered; 'Lady Georgina intrusted it tomy safe keeping,and, without her leave, I cannot give it up to any one.'

'You mistrust me?' he cried, looking black. 'You doubt myhonour? You doubt my word when I say that miladi has sent me?'

'Du tout,' I answered, calmly. 'But I have LadyGeorgina's orders to stick to this case; and till Lady Georginareturns I stick to it.'

He murmured some indignant remark below his breath, and walkedoff. The shabby-looking passenger was pacing up and down theplatform outside in a badly-made dust-coat. As they passed theirlips moved. The Count's seemed to mutter, 'C'est un coupmanqué.'[Pg 26]

However, he did not desist even so. I saw he meant to go on withhis dangerous little game. He returned to thebuffet andrejoined Lady Georgina. I felt sure it would be useless to warnher, so completely had the Count succeeded in gulling her; but Itook my own steps. I examined the jewel-case closely. It had aleather outer covering; within was a strong steel box, with stoutbands of metal to bind it. I took my cue at once, and acted for thebest on my own responsibility.

When Lady Georgina and the Count returned, they were like oldfriends together. The quails in aspic and the sparkling hock hadevidently opened their hearts to one another. As far as Malinesthey laughed and talked without ceasing. Lady Georgina was now inher finest vein of spleen: her acid wit grew sharper and morecaustic each moment. Not a reputation in Europe had a rag left tocover it as we steamed in beneath the huge iron roof of the maincentral junction.

I had observed all the way from Ostend that the Count had beenanxious lest we might have to give up ourcoupé atMalines. I assured him more than once that his fears weregroundless, for I had arranged at Charing Cross that it should runright through to the German frontier. But he waved me aside, withone lordly hand. I had not told Lady Georgina of his vain attemptto take possession of her jewel-case; and the bare fact of mysilence made him increasingly suspicious of me.

'Pardon me, mademoiselle,' he said, coldly; 'you do notunderstand these lines as well as I do. Nothing is more common thanfor those rascals of railway clerks to sell one a place in acoupé or awagon-lit, and then never reserveit, or turn one out half way. It is very possible miladi may haveto descend at Malines.'[Pg 27]

Lady Georgina bore him out by a large variety of selectedstories concerning the various atrocities of the rival companieswhich had stolen her luggage on her way to Italy. As fortrainsde luxe, they were dens of robbers.

So when we reached Malines, just to satisfy Lady Georgina, I putout my head and inquired of a porter. As I anticipated, he repliedthat there was no change; we went through to Verviers.

The Count, however, was still unsatisfied. He descended, andmade some remarks a little farther down the platform to an officialin the gold-banded cap of achef-de-gare, or some suchfunctionary. Then he returned to us, all fuming. 'It is as I said,'he exclaimed, flinging open the door. 'These rogues have deceivedus. Thecoupé goes no farther. You must dismount atonce, miladi, and take the train just opposite.'

I felt sure he was wrong, and I ventured to say so. But LadyGeorgina cried, 'Nonsense, child! Thechef-de-gare mustknow. Get out at once! Bring my bag and the rugs! Mind that cloak!Don't forget the sandwich-tin! Thanks, Count; will you kindly takecharge of my umbrellas? Hurry up, Lois; hurry up! the train is juststarting!'

I scrambled after her, with my fourteen bundles, keeping a quieteye meanwhile on the jewel-case.

We took our seats in the opposite train, which I noticed wasmarked 'Amsterdam, Bruxelles, Paris.' But I said nothing. The Countjumped in, jumped about, arranged our parcels, jumped out again. Hespoke to a porter; then he rushed back excitedly. 'Millepardons, miladi,' he cried. 'I find thechef-de-gare hascruelly deceived me. You were right, after all, mademoiselle! Wemust return to thecoupé!'

Lady Georgina, very flustered and hot by this time, tumbled outonce more, and bolted back to thecoupé. Both trainswere just starting. In her hurry, at last, she let the Count takepossession of her jewel-case. I rather fancy that as he passed onewindow he handed it in to the shabby-looking passenger; but I amnot certain. At any rate, when we were comfortably seated in ourown compartment once more, and he stood on the footboard just aboutto enter, of a sudden he made an unexpected dash back, and flunghimself wildly into a Paris carriage. At the self-same moment, witha piercing shriek, both trains started.

Lady Georgina threw up her hands in a frenzy of horror. 'Mydiamonds!' she cried aloud. 'Oh, Lois, my diamonds!'

'Don't distress yourself,' I answered, holding her back, for Iverily believe she would have leapt from the train. 'He has onlytaken the outer shell, with the sandwich-case inside it.Here is the steel box!' And I produced it, triumphantly.

She seized it, overjoyed. 'How did this happen?' she cried,hugging it, for she loved those diamonds.

'Very simply,' I answered. 'I saw the man was a rogue, and thathe had a confederate with him in another carriage. So, while youwere gone to thebuffet at Ostend, I slipped the box out ofthe case, and put in the sandwich-tin, that he might carry it off,and we might have proofs against him. All you have to do now is toinform the conductor, who will telegraph to stop the train toParis. I spoke to him about that at Ostend, so that everything isready.'

She positively hugged me. 'My dear,' she cried, 'you are thecleverest little woman I ever met in my life! Who on earth couldhave suspected such a polished gentleman? Why, you're worth yourweight in gold. What the dickens shall I do without you atSchlangenbad?'[Pg 29]

THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUPERCILIOUSATTACHÉ

The Count must have been an adept in the gentle art ofquick-change disguise; for though we telegraphed full particularsof his appearance from Louvain, the next station, nobody in theleast resembling either him or his accomplice, the shabby-lookingman, could be unearthed in the Paris train when it drew up atBrussels, its first stopping-place. They must have transformedthemselves meanwhile into two different persons. Indeed, from theoutset, I had suspected his moustache—'twas soverydistinguished.

When we reached Cologne, the Cantankerous Old Lady overwhelmedme with the warmth of her thanks and praises. Nay, more; afterbreakfast next morning, before we set out by slow train forSchlangenbad, she burst like a tornado into my bedroom at theCologne hotel with a cheque for twenty guineas, drawn in my favour.'That's for you, my dear,' she said, handing it to me, and lookingreally quite gracious.

I glanced at the piece of paper and felt my face glow crimson.'Oh, Lady Georgina,' I cried; 'you misunderstand. You forget that Iam a lady.'

'Nonsense, child, nonsense! Your courage and promptitude wereworth ten times that sum,' she exclaimed, positively slipping herarm round my neck. 'It was your courage I[Pg 30]particularly admired, Lois; because you faced the risk of myhappening to look inside the outer case, and finding you hadabstracted the blessed box: in which case I might quite naturallyhave concluded you meant to steal it.'

'I thought of that,' I answered. 'But I decided to risk it. Ifelt it was worth while. For I was sure the man meant to take thecase as soon as ever you gave him the opportunity.'

'Then you deserve to be rewarded,' she insisted, pressing thecheque upon me.[Pg 31]

I put her hand back firmly. 'Lady Georgina,' I said, 'it is veryamiable of you. I think you do right in offering me the money; butI think I should do altogether wrong in accepting it. A lady is nothonest from the hope of gain; she is not brave because she expectsto be paid for her bravery. You were my employer, and I was boundto serve my employer's interests. I did so as well as I could, andthere is the end of it.'

She looked absolutely disappointed; we all hate to crush abenevolent impulse; but she tore the cheque up into very smallpieces. 'As you will, my dear,' she said, with her hands on herhips: 'I see, you are poor Tom Cayley's daughter. He was always abit Quixotic.' Though I believe she liked me all the better for myrefusal.

On the way from Cologne to Eltville, however, and on the driveup to Schlangenbad, I found her just as fussy and as worrying asever. 'Let me see, how many of these horrid pfennigs make anEnglish penny? I nevercan remember. Oh, those silly littlenickel things are ten pfennigs each, are they? Well, eight would bea penny, I suppose. A mark's a shilling; ridiculous of them todivide it into ten pence instead of twelve; one never really knowshow much one's paying for anything. Why these Continental peoplecan't be content to use pounds, shillings, and pence, all overalike, the same as we do, passesmy comprehension. They'reglad enough to get English sovereigns when they can; why, then,don't they use them as such, instead of reckoning them each attwenty-five francs, and then trying to cheat you out of the properexchange, which isalways ten centimes more than the brokersgive you? What,we use their beastly decimal system? Lois,I'm ashamed of you. An English girl to turn and rend her nativecountry like that! Francs and centimes, indeed! Fancy proposing itat Peter Robinson's![Pg 32] No, I willnot go by the boat,my dear. I hate the Rhine boats, crowded with nasty selfish pigs ofGermans. WhatI like is a first-class compartment all tomyself, and no horrid foreigners. Especially Germans. They'rebursting with self-satisfaction—have such an exaggeratedbelief in their "land" and their "folk." And when they come toEngland, they do nothing but find fault with us. If people aren'tsatisfied with the countries they travel in, they'd better stop athome—that'smy opinion. Nasty pigs of Germans! Thevery sight of them sickens me. Oh, I don't mind if theydounderstand me, child. They all learn English nowadays; it helpsthem in trade—that's why they're driving us out of all themarkets. But itmust be good for them to learn once in a waywhat other people really think of them—civilised people, Imean; not Germans. They're a set of barbarians.'

We reached Schlangenbad alive, though I sometimes doubted it:for my old lady did her boisterous best to rouse some pepperyGerman officer into cutting our throats incontinently by the way;and when we got there, we took up our abode in the nicest hotel inthe village. Lady Georgina had engaged the best front room on thefirst floor, with a charming view across the pine-clad valley; butI must do her the justice to say that she took the second best forme, and that she treated me in every way like the guest shedelighted to honour. My refusal to accept her twenty guineas madeher anxious to pay it back to me within the terms of our agreement.She described me to everybody as a young friend who was travellingwith her, and never gave any one the slightest hint of my being apaid companion. Our arrangement was that I was to have two guineasfor the week, besides my travelling expenses, board, andlodging.

On our first morning at Schlangenbad, Lady Georgina[Pg 33] salliedforth, very much overdressed, and in a youthful hat, to use thewaters. They are valued chiefly for the complexion, I learned; Iwondered then why Lady Georgina came there—for she hadn'tany; but they are also recommended for nervous irritability, and asLady Georgina had visited the place almost every summer for fifteenyears, it opened before one's mind an appalling vista of what hertemper might have been if she hadnot gone to Schlangenbad.The hot springs are used in the form of a bath. 'You don'tneed them, my dear,' Lady Georgina said to me, with a good-humouredsmile; and I will own that I did not, for nature has gifted me witha tolerable cuticle. But I like when at Rome to do as Rome does; soI tried the baths once. I found them unpleasantly smooth and oily.I do not freckle, but if I did, I think I should preferfreckles.

We walked much on the terrace—the inevitable dawdlingpromenade of all German watering-places—it reeked of SereneHighness. We also drove out among the low wooded hills which boundthe Rhine valley. The majority of the visitors, I found, wereladies—Court ladies, most of them; all there for theircomplexions, but all anxious to assure me privately they had comefor what they described as 'nervous debility.' I divided them atonce into two classes: half of them never had and never would havea complexion at all; the other half had exceptionally smooth andbeautiful skins, of which they were obviously proud, and whosepink-and-white peach-blossom they thought to preserve by assiduousbathing. It was vanity working on two opposite bases. There was asprinkling of men, however, who were really there for a sufficientreason—wounds or serious complaints; while a few good oldsticks, porty and whisty, were in attendance on invalid wives orsisters.

From the beginning I noticed that Lady Georgina went[Pg 34] peeringabout all over the place, as if she were hunting for something shehad lost, with her long-handled tortoise-shell glasses perpetuallyin evidence—the 'aristocratic outrage' I calledthem—and that she eyed all the men with peculiar attention.But I took no open notice of her little weakness. On our second dayat the Spa, I was sauntering with her down the chiefstreet—'a beastly little hole, my dear; not a decent shopwhere one can buy a reel of thread or a yard of tape in theplace!'—when I observed a tall and handsome young man on theopposite side of the road cast a hasty glance at us, and then sneakround the corner hurriedly. He was a loose-limbed, languid-lookingyoung man, with large, dreamy eyes, and a peculiarly beautiful andgentle expression; but what I noted about him most was an oddsuperficial air of superciliousness. He seemed always to be lookingdown with scorn on that foolish jumble, the universe. He dartedaway so rapidly, however, that I hardly discovered all this justthen. I piece it out from subsequent observations.

Later in the day, we chanced to pass acafé, wherethree young exquisites sat sipping Rhine wines after the fashion ofthe country. One of them, with a gold-tipped cigarette heldgracefully between two slender fingers, was my languid-lookingyoung aristocrat. He was blowing out smoke in a lazy blue stream.The moment he saw me, however, he turned away as if he desired toescape observation, and ducked down so as to hide his face behindhis companions. I wondered why on earth he should want to avoid me.Could this be the Count? No, the young man with the halo ofcigarette smoke stood three inches taller. Who, then, atSchlangenbad could wish to avoid my notice? It was a singularmystery; for I was quite certain the supercilious young man wastrying his best to prevent my seeing him.[Pg 35]

That evening, after dinner, the Cantankerous Old Lady burst outsuddenly, 'Well, I can't for the life of me imagine[Pg 36] whyHarold hasn't turned up here. The wretch knew I was coming; and Iheard from our Ambassador at Rome last week that he was going to beat Schlangenbad.'

'My nephew,' Lady Georgina snapped back, beating a devil'stattoo with her fan on the table. 'The only member of my family,except myself, who isn't a born idiot. Harold's not an idiot; he'sanattaché at Rome.'

I saw it at a glance. 'Then heis in Schlangenbad,' Ianswered. 'I noticed him this morning.'

The old lady turned towards me sharply. She peered right throughme, as if she were a Röntgen ray. I could see she was askingherself whether this was a conspiracy, and whether I had come thereon purpose to meet 'Harold.' But I flatter myself I am tolerablymistress of my own countenance. I did not blench. 'How do youknow?' she asked quickly, with an acid intonation.

If I had answered the truth, I should have said, 'I know he ishere, because I saw a good-looking young man evidently trying toavoid you this morning; and if a young man has the misfortune to beborn your nephew, and also to have expectations from you, it iseasy to understand that he would prefer to keep out of your way aslong as possible.' But that would have been neither polite norpolitic. Moreover, I reflected that I had no particular reason forwishing to do Mr. Harold a bad turn; and that it would be kinder tohim, as well as to her, to conceal the reasons on which I based myinstinctive inference. So I took up a strong strategic position. 'Ihave an intuition that I saw him in the village this morning,' Isaid. 'Family likeness, perhaps. I merely jumped at it as youspoke. A tall, languid young man; large, poetical eyes; an artisticmoustache—just a trifle Oriental-looking.'[Pg 37]

'That's Harold!' the Cantankerous Old Lady rapped out sharply,with clear conviction. 'The miserable boy! Why on earth hasn't hebeen round to see me?'

I reflected that I knew why; but I did not say so. Silence isgolden. I also remarked mentally on that curious human blindnesswhich had made me conclude at first that the supercilious young manwas trying to avoidme, when I might have guessed it was farmore likely he was trying to avoid my companion. I was a nobody;Lady Georgina Fawley was a woman of European reputation.

'Perhaps he didn't know which hotel you were stopping at,' I putin. 'Or even that you were here.' I felt a sudden desire to shieldpoor Harold.

'Not know which hotel? Nonsense, child; he knows I come here onthis precise date regularly every summer; and if he didn't know, isit likely I should try any other inn, when this is the onlymoderately decent house to stop at in Schlangenbad? And the morningcoffee undrinkable at that; while the hash—such hash!But that's the way in Germany. He's an ungrateful monster; if hecomes now, I shall refuse to see him.'

Next morning after breakfast, however, in spite of thesethreats, she hailed me forth with her on the Harold hunt. She hadsent theconcierge to inquire at all the hotels already, itseemed, and found her truant at none of them; now she ransacked thepensions. At last she hunted him down in a house on thehill. I could see she was really hurt. 'Harold, you viper, what doyou mean by trying to avoid me?'

'My dear aunt,you here in Schlangenbad! Why, when didyou arrive? And what a colour you've got! You're lookingsowell!' That clever thrust saved him.

He cast me an appealing glance. 'You will not betray me?' itsaid. I answered, mutely, 'Not for worlds,' with a faltering pairof downcast eyelids.

'Oh, I'mwell enough, thank you,' LadyGeorgina[Pg39] replied, somewhat mollified by his astute allusionto her personal appearance. He had hit her weak point dexterously.'As well, that is, as one can expect to be nowadays. Hereditarygout—the sins of the fathers visited as usual. But why didn'tyou come to see me?'

'How can I come to see you if you don't tell me where you are?"Lady Georgina Fawley, Europe," was the only address I knew. Itstrikes me as insufficient.'

His gentle drawl was a capital foil to Lady Georgina's aciduloussoprano. It seemed to disarm her. She turned to me with a benignantwave of her hand. 'Miss Cayley,' she said, introducing me; 'mynephew, Mr. Harold Tillington. You've heard me talk of poor TomCayley, Harold? This is poor Tom Cayley's daughter.'

'Indeed?' the superciliousattaché put in, lookinghard at me. 'Delighted to make Miss Cayley's acquaintance.'

'Now, Harold, I can tell from your voice at once you haven'tremembered one word about Captain Cayley.'

Harold stood on the defensive. 'My dear aunt,' he observed,expanding both palms, 'I have heard you talk of sovery manypeople, that evenmy diplomatic memory fails at times torecollect them all. But I do better: I dissemble. I will pleadforgetfulness now of Captain Cayley, since you force it on me. Itis not likely I shall have to plead it of Captain Cayley'sdaughter.' And he bowed towards me gallantly.

The Cantankerous Old Lady darted a lightning glance at him. Itwas a glance of quick suspicion. Then she turned her Röntgenrays upon my face once more. I fear I burned crimson.

We walked out on the terrace and a little way up the zigzagpath. The day was superb. I found Mr. Tillington, in spite of hisstudiously languid and supercilious air, a most agreeablecompanion. He knew Europe. He was full of talk of Rome and theRomans. He had epigrammatic wit, curt, keen, and pointed. We satdown on a bench; he kept Lady Georgina and myself amused for anhour by his crisp sallies. Besides, he had been everywhere and seeneverybody. Culture and agriculture seemed all one to him.

When we rose to go in, Lady Georgina remarked, with emphasis,'Of course, Harold, you'll come and take up your diggings at ourhotel?'

'Of course, my dear aunt. How can you ask? Free quarters.Nothing would give me greater pleasure.'

She glanced at him keenly again. I saw she had expected him tofake up some lame excuse for not joining us; and I fancied she wasannoyed at his prompt acquiescence, which had done her out of thechance for a family disagreement. 'Oh, you'll come then?' she said,grudgingly.

She let her piercing eye descend upon me once more. I was awarethat I had been talking with frank ease of manner to Mr.Tillington, and that I had said several things which clearly amusedhim. Then I remembered all at once our relative positions. Acompanion, I felt, should know her place: it is not herrôle to be smart and amusing. 'Perhaps,' I said,drawing back, 'Mr. Tillington would like to remain in his presentquarters till the end of the week, while I am with you, LadyGeorgina; after that, he could have my room; it might be moreconvenient.'[Pg 41]

His eye caught mine quickly. 'Oh, you're only going to stop aweek, then, Miss Cayley?' he put in, with an air ofdisappointment.

'My dear child,' the Cantankerous Old Lady broke out, 'whatnonsense you do talk! Only going to stop a week? How can I existwithout you?'

'That was the arrangement,' I said, mischievously. 'You weregoing to look about, you recollect, for an unsophisticatedGretchen. You don't happen to know of any warehouse where a supplyof unsophisticated Gretchens is kept constantly in stock, do you,Mr. Tillington?'

'No, I don't,' he answered, laughing. 'I believe there are dodosand auks' eggs, in very small numbers, still to be procured in theproper quarters; but the unsophisticated Gretchen, I am crediblyinformed, is an extinct animal. Why, the cap of one fetches highprices nowadays among collectors.'

'Certainly, aunt. I will move in without delay. If Miss Cayleyis going to stay for a single week only, that adds one extrainducement for joining you immediately.'

So when we got back to our hotel after the baths that afternoon,theconcierge greeted us with: 'Well, your noble nephew hasarrived, high-well-born countess! He came with his boxes just now,and has taken a room near your honourable ladyship's.'

Lady Georgina's face was a study of mingled emotions. I don'tknow whether she looked more pleased or jealous.

Later in the day, I chanced on Mr. Tillington, sunning himselfon a bench in the hotel garden. He rose, and[Pg 42] came upto me, as fast as his languid nature permitted. 'Oh, Miss Cayley,'he said, abruptly, 'I do want to thank you so much for notbetraying me. I know you spotted me twice in the town yesterday;and I also know you were good enough to say nothing to my reveredaunt about it.'

'I had no reason for wishing to hurt Lady Georgina's feelings,'I answered, with a permissible evasion.

His countenance fell. 'I never thought of that,' he interposed,with one hand on his moustache. 'I— I fancied you did it outof fellow-feeling.'

'We all think of things mainly from our own point of viewfirst,' I answered. 'The difference is that some of us think ofthem from other people's afterwards. Motives are mixed.'

He smiled. 'I didn't know my deeply venerated relative wascoming here so soon,' he went on. 'I thought she wasn't expectedtill next week; my brother wrote me that she had quarrelled withher French maid, and 'twould take her full ten days to get another.I meant to clear out before she arrived. To tell you the truth, Iwas going to-morrow.'

'I meant,' he said, quickly, 'my aunt alone is one thing; myaunt with a friend is quite another.'

The odd rhyme amused him. Thenceforth we were[Pg 44]friends—'two 'Varsity men,' he said. And indeed it does makea queer sort of link—a freemasonry to which even women arenow admitted.

At dinner and through the evening he talked a great deal to me,Lady Georgina putting in from time to time a characteristic growlabout thetable-d'hôte chicken—'a special breed,my dear, with eight drumsticks apiece'—or about theinadequate lighting of the heavy Germansalon. She was worsethan ever: pungent as a rule, that evening she was grumpy. When weretired for the night, to my great surprise, she walked into mybedroom. She seated herself on my bed: I saw she had come to talkover Harold.

'He will be very rich, my dear, you know. A great catch in time.He will inherit all my brother's money.'

'Bless the child, no. Kynaston's as poor as a church mouse withthe tithes unpaid; he has three sons of his own, and not a blessedstiver to leave between them. How could he, poor dear idiot?Agricultural depression; a splendid pauper. He has only the estate,and that's in Essex; land going begging; worth nothing a year,encumbered up to the eyes, and loaded with first rent-charges,jointures, settlements. Money, indeed! poor Kynaston! It's mybrother Marmaduke's I mean; lucky dog,he went in forspeculation—began life as a guinea-pig, and rose with therise of soap and cocoa. He's worth his half-million.'

Lady Georgina nodded. 'Marmy's a fool,' she said, briefly; 'buthe knows which side of his bread is buttered.'

'Bless the child, yes; have you never read your British Bible,the peerage? Astonishing, the ignorance of these Girton girls! Theydon't even know the Leger's run at[Pg 45] Doncaster. The familyname's Ashurst. Kynaston's an earl— I was Lady GeorginaAshurst before I took it into my head to marry and do for poorEvelyn Fawley. My younger brother's the Honourable MarmadukeAshurst—women get the best of it there—it's about theonly place where they do get the best of it: an earl's daughter isLady Betty; his son's nothing more than the Honourable Tom. So onescores off one's brothers. My younger sister, Lady GuinevereAshurst, married Stanley Tillington of the Foreign Office. Harold'stheir eldest son. Now, child, do you grasp it?'

'And Harold will inherit all Marmaduke's money. What I'm alwaysafraid of is that some fascinating adventuress will try to marryhim out of hand. A pretty face, and over goes Harold!Mybusiness in life is to stand in the way and prevent it.'

'I don't think Mr. Tillington is quite the sort that falls aprey to adventuresses,' I answered, boldly.

'Ah, but there are faggots and faggots,' the old lady said,wagging her head with profound meaning. 'Never mind, though;I'd like to see an adventuress marry off Harold without myleave!I'd lead her a life! I'd turn her black hair gray forher!'

'I should think,' I assented, 'you could do it, Lady Georgina,if you gave your attention seriously to it.'

From that moment forth, I was aware that my Cantankerous OldLady's malign eye was inexorably fixed upon me every time I wentwithin speaking distance of Mr. Tillington. She watched him like alynx. She watchedme[Pg 46] like a dozen lynxes. Wherever wewent, Lady Georgina was sure to turn up in the neighbourhood. Shewas perfectly ubiquitous: she seemed to possess a world-widecirculation. I don't know whether it was this constant suggestionof hers that I was stalking her nephew which roused my latent humanfeeling of opposition; but in the end, I began to be aware that Irather liked the superciliousattaché than otherwise.He evidently liked me, and he tried to meet me. Whenever he spoketo me, indeed, it was without the superciliousness which marked hismanner towards others; in point of fact, it was with gracefuldeference. He watched for me on the stairs, in the garden, by theterrace; whenever he got a chance, he sidled over and talked to me.Sometimes he stopped in to read me Heine: he also introduced me toselect portions of Gabriele d'Annunzio. It is feminine to betouched by such obvious attention; I confess, before long, I grewto like Mr. Harold Tillington.

The closer he followed me up, the more did I perceive that LadyGeorgina threw out acrid hints with increasing spleen about theways of adventuresses. They were hints of that acrimoniousgeneralised kind, too, which one cannot answer back without seemingto admit that the cap has fitted. It was atrocious how middle-classyoung women nowadays ran after young men of birth and fortune. Agirl would stoop to anything in order to catch five hundredthousand. Guileless youths should be thrown among their naturalequals. It was a mistake to let them see too much of people of alower rank who consider themselves good-looking. And the cleverones were the worst: they pretended to go in for intellectualcompanionship.

I also noticed that though at first Lady Georgina had expressedthe strongest disinclination to my leaving her after the timeoriginally proposed, she now began to take for[Pg 47] grantedthat I would go at the end of my week, as arranged in London, andshe even went on to some overt steps towards securing the help ofthe blameless Gretchen.

We had arrived at Schlangenbad on Tuesday. I was to stop withthe Cantankerous Old Lady till the corresponding day of thefollowing week. On the Sunday, I wandered out on the woodedhillside behind the village; and as I mounted the path I was dimlyaware by a sort of instinct that Harold Tillington was followingme.

He came up with me at last near a ledge of rock. 'How fast youwalk!' he exclaimed. 'I gave you only a few minutes' start, and yeteven my long legs have had hard work to overtake you.'

'I am a fairly good climber,' I answered, sitting down on alittle wooden bench. 'You see, at Cambridge, I went on the river agreat deal— I canoed and sculled: and then, besides, I'vedone a lot of bicycling.'

'What a splendid birthright it is,' he cried, 'to be a wholesomeathletic English girl! You can't think how one admires Englishgirls after living a year or two in Italy—where women aredolls, except for a brief period of intrigue, before they settledown to be contented frumps with an outline like a barrel.'

'A little muscle and a little mind are no doubt advisableadjuncts for a housewife,' I admitted.

'You shall not say that word,' he cried, seating himself at myside. 'It is a word for Germans, "housewife." Our English ideal issomething immeasurably higher and better. A companion, acomplement! Do you know, Miss Cayley, it always sickens me when Ihear German students sentimentalising over theirmädchen: their beautiful, pure, insipid, yellow-haired,blue-eyedmädchen; her, so fair, so innocent, sounapproachably vacuous—so like a wax doll—andthen[Pg48] think of how they design her in days to come to cooksausages for their dinner, and knit them endless stockings througha placid middle age, till the needles drop from her paralysedfingers, and she retires into frilled caps and Teutonicsenility.'

'You seem to have almost as low an opinion of foreigners as yourrespected aunt!' I exclaimed, looking quizzically at him.

He drew back, surprised. 'Oh, no; I'm not narrow-minded, like myaunt, I hope,' he answered. 'I am a good cosmopolitan. I allowContinental nations all their own good points, and each has many.But their women, Miss Cayley—and their point of view of theirwomen—you will admit that there they can't hold a candle toEnglish women.'

'On that issue, I may not be a wholly unprejudiced observer,' Ianswered. 'The fact of my being myself an Englishwoman may possiblyto some extent influence my judgment.'

'Not at all,' I answered, making a wider circle. 'I spoke asimple fact. But what isyour ideal, then, as opposed to theGerman one?'

He gazed at me and hesitated. His lips half parted. 'My ideal?'he said, after a pause. 'Well,my ideal—do you happento have such a thing as a pocket-mirror about you?'

I laughed in spite of myself. 'Now, Mr. Tillington,' I saidseverely, 'if you're going to pay compliments, I shall have toreturn. If you want to stop here with me, you must remember that Iam only Lady Georgina Fawley's temporary lady's-maid. Besides, Ididn't mean that. I[Pg 49] meant, what is your ideal of a man'sright relation to hismädchen?'

'Don't saymädchen,' he cried, petulantly. 'Itsounds as if you thought me one of those sentimental Germans. Ihate sentiment.'

He glanced up through the trees at the light overhead, and spokemore slowly than ever. 'I think,' he said, fumbling his watch-chainnervously, 'a man ought to wish the woman he loves to be a freeagent, his equal in point of action, even as she is nobler andbetter than he in all spiritual matters. I think he ought to desirefor her a life as high as she is capable of leading, with fullscope for every faculty of her intellect or her emotional nature.She should be beautiful, with a vigorous, wholesome, many-sidedbeauty, moral, intellectual, physical; yet with soul in her, too;and with the soul and the mind lighting up her eyes, as it lightsup—well, that is immaterial. And if a man can discover such awoman as that, and can induce her to believe in him, to love him,to accept him—though how such a woman can be satisfied withany man at all is to me unfathomable—well, then, I think heshould be happy in devoting his whole life to her, and should givehimself up to repay her condescension in taking him.'

He brought his eyes back from the sky suddenly. 'Miss Cayley,'he said, 'this is cruel. I was in earnest. You are playing withme.'

'I believe the chief characteristic of the English girl issupposed to be common sense,' I answered, calmly, 'and I trust Ipossess it.' But indeed, as he spoke, my heart was beginning tomake its beat felt; for he was a charming young man; he had a softvoice and lustrous eyes; it was a[Pg 50] summer's day; and alonein the woods with one other person, where the sunlight falls mellowin spots like a leopard's skin, one is apt to remember that we areall human.

That evening Lady Georgina managed to blurt out more maliciousthings than ever about the ways of adventuresses,[Pg 51] and theduty of relations in saving young men from the clever clutches ofdesigning creatures. She was ruthless in her rancour: her gibesstung me.

'No,' she answered, in a gloomy voice. 'All slatterns, my dear;all slatterns! Brought up in pig-sties. I wouldn't let one of themtouch my hair for thousands.'

If I had dropped a bomb in their midst they couldn't have lookedmore astonished. 'To-morrow?' Lady Georgina gasped, clutching myarm. 'You don't mean it, child; you don't mean it?'

I asserted my Ego. 'Certainly,' I answered, with my coolest air.'I said I thought I could manage you for a week; and I have managedyou.'

She almost burst into tears. 'But, my child, my child, whatshall I do without you?'

'The unsophisticated Gretchen,' I answered, trying not to lookconcerned; for in my heart of hearts, in spite of her innuendoes, Ihad really grown rather to like the Cantankerous Old Lady.

She rose hastily from the table, and darted up to her own room.'Lois,' she said, as she rose, in a curious voice of mingled regretand suspicion, 'I will talk to you about this later.' I could seeshe was not quite satisfied in her own mind whether HaroldTillington and I had not arranged thiscoup together.

I put on my hat and strolled off into the garden, and then alongthe mossy hill path. In a minute more, Harold Tillington was besideme.

He seated me, half against my will, on a rusticbench.[Pg52] 'Look here, Miss Cayley,' he said, with a veryearnest face; 'is this really true? Are you going to-morrow?'

My voice trembled a little. 'Yes,' I answered, biting my lip. 'Iam going. I see several reasons why I should go, Mr.Tillington.'

'Yes, I think so; the sooner the better.' My heart was racingnow, and his eyes pleaded mutely.

I shrugged my shoulders, and pouted my lips a little. 'I don'tknow,' I replied. 'The world is all before me where to choose. I aman adventuress,' I said it boldly, 'and I am in quest ofadventures. I really have not yet given a thought to my next placeof sojourn.'

It was time to speak out. 'No, Mr. Tillington,' I said, withdecision. 'I willnot let you know. One of my reasons forgoing is, that I think I had better see no more of you.'

He flung himself on the bench at my side, and folded his handsin a helpless attitude. 'But, Miss Cayley,' he cried, 'this is soshort a notice; you give a fellow no chance; I hoped I might haveseen more of you—might have had some opportunity of—ofletting you realise how deeply I admired and respectedyou—some opportunity of showing myself as I really am toyou—before—before——' he paused, and lookedhard at me.

I did not know what to say. I really liked him so much; and whenhe spoke in that voice, I could not bear to seem cruel to him.Indeed, I was aware at the moment how much I had grown to care forhim in those six short days. But I knew it was impossible. 'Don'tsay it, Mr. Tillington,' I murmured, turning my face away. 'Theless said, the sooner mended.'[Pg 53]

'But I must,' he cried. 'I must tell you now, if I am to have nochance afterwards. I wanted you to see more of me before I venturedto ask you if you could ever love me, if you could ever suffer meto go through life with you, to share my all with you.' He seizedmy trembling hand. 'Lois,' he cried, in a pleading voice, 'Imust ask you; I can't expect you to answer me now, butdo say you will give me at least some other chance of seeingyou, and then, in time, of pressing my suit upon you.'

Tears stood in my eyes. He was so earnest, so charming. But Iremembered Lady Georgina, and his prospective half-million. I movedhis hand away gently. 'I cannot,' I said. 'I cannot— I am apenniless girl—an adventuress. Your family, your uncle, wouldnever forgive you if you married me. I will not stand in your way.I— I like you very much, though I have seen so little of you.But I feel it is impossible—and I am going to-morrow.'

Then I rose of a sudden, and ran down the hill with all mymight, lest I should break my resolve, never stopping once till Ireached my own bedroom.

An hour later, Lady Georgina burst in upon me in high dudgeon.'Why, Lois, my child,' she cried. 'What's this? What on earth doesit mean? Harold tells me he has proposed to you—proposed toyou—and you've rejected him!'

I dried my eyes and tried to look steadily at her. 'Yes, LadyGeorgina,' I faltered. 'You need not be afraid. I have refused him;and I mean it.'

She looked at me, all aghast. 'And you mean it!' sherepeated. 'You mean to refuse him. Then, all I can say is, LoisCayley, I call it pure cheek of you!'

'Yes, cheek,' she answered, volubly. 'Forty thousand[Pg55][Pg 54] a year, and a good old family! HaroldTillington is my nephew; he's an earl's grandson; he's anattaché at Rome; and he's bound to be one of therichest commoners in England. Who are you, I'd like to know, miss,that you dare to reject him?'

I stared at her, amazed. 'But, Lady Georgina,' I cried, 'yousaid you wished to protect your nephew against bare-facedadventuresses who were setting their caps at him.'

'Of course,' she answered, with withering scorn. 'But,then, I thought you were trying to catch him. He tells menow you won't have him, and you won't tell him where you are going.I call it sheer insolence. Where do you hail from, girl, that youshould refuse my nephew? A man that any woman in England would beproud to marry! Forty thousand a year, and an earl's grandson!That's what comes, I suppose, of going to Girton!'

I drew myself up. 'Lady Georgina,' I said, coldly, 'I cannotallow you to use such language to me. I promised to accompany youto Germany for a week; and I have kept my word. I like your nephew;I respect your nephew; he has behaved like a gentleman. But I willnot marry him. Your own conduct showed me in the plainestway that you did not judge such a match desirable for him; and Ihave common sense enough to see that you were quite right. I am alady by birth and education; I am an officer's daughter; but I amnot what society calls "a good match" for Mr. Tillington. He hadbetter marry into a rich stockbroker's family.'

To my intense surprise, however, Lady Georgina flung herself onmy bed, and burst into tears. 'My dear,' she[Pg 56] sobbedout, covering her face with her hands, 'I thought you would be sureto set your cap at Harold; and after[Pg 57] I had seen you fortwenty-four hours, I said to myself, "That's just the sort of girlHarold ought to fall in love with." I felt sure he would fall inlove with you. I brought you here on purpose. I saw you had all thequalities that would strike Harold's fancy. So I had made up mymind for a delightful regulation family quarrel. I was going tooppose you and Harold, tooth and nail; I was going to threaten thatMarmy would leave his money to Kynaston's eldest son; I was goingto kick up, oh, a dickens of a row about it! Then, of course, inthe end, we should all have been reconciled; we should have kissedand made friends: for you're just the one girl in the world forHarold; indeed, I never met anybody so capable and so intelligent.And now you spoil all my sport by going and refusing him! It'sreally most ill-timed of you. And Harold has sent mehere—he's trembling with anxiety—to see whether I can'tinduce you to think better of your decision.'

I made up my mind at once. 'No, Lady Georgina,' I said, in mygentlest voice—positively stooping down and kissing her. 'Ilike Mr. Tillington very much. I dare not tell you how much I likehim. He is a dear, good, kind fellow. But I cannot rest under thecruel imputation of being moved by his wealth and having tried tocapture him. Even ifyou didn't think so, his family would.I am sorry to go; for in a way I like you. But it is best to adhereto our original plan. IfI changed my mind,you mightchange yours again. Let us say no more. I will go to-morrow.'

'Not alone. Only at dinner.' For I feared lest, if he spoke tome alone, he might over-persuade me.

'No, Lady Georgina; I do not know myself. And besides, it isbest that this should now be final.'

She flung herself upon me. 'But, my dear child, a lady can't goout into the world with only two pounds in pocket. Youmustlet me lend you something.'

I unwound her clasping hands. 'No, dear Lady Georgina,' I said,though I was loth to say it. 'You are very sweet and good, but Imust work out my life in my own way. I have started to work it out,and I won't be turned aside just here on the threshold.'

'And you won't stop with me?' she cried, opening her arms. 'Youthink me too cantankerous?'

'I think you have a dear, kind old heart,' I said, 'under thequaintest and crustiest outside such a heart ever wore; you're atruculent old darling: so that's the plain truth of it.'

She kissed me. I kissed her in return with fervour, though I ambut a poor hand at kissing, for a woman. 'So now this episode isconcluded,' I murmured.

'I don't know about that,' she said, drying her eyes. 'I haveset my heart upon you now; and Harold has set his heart upon you;and considering that your own heart goes much the same way, Idaresay, my dear, we shall find in the end some convenient road outof it.'

Nevertheless, next morning I set out by myself in the coach fromSchlangenbad. I went forth into the world to live my own life,partly because it was just then so fashionable, but mainly becausefate had denied me the chance of living anybody else's.[Pg 59]

III

THE ADVENTURE OF THE INQUISITIVE AMERICAN

In one week I had multiplied my capital two hundred andforty-fold! I left London with twopence in the world; I quittedSchlangenbad with two pounds in pocket.

'There's a splendid turn-over!' I thought to myself. 'If thisluck holds, at the same rate, I shall have made four hundred andeighty pounds by Tuesday next, and I may look forward to being aBarney Barnato by Christmas.' For I had taken high mathematicalhonours at Cambridge, and if there is anything on earth on which Ipride myself, it is my firm grasp of the principle of ratios.

Still, in spite of this brilliant financial prospect, a buddingKlondike, I went away from the little Spa on the flanks of theTaunus with a heavy heart. I had grown quite to like dear,virulent, fidgety old Lady Georgina; and I felt that it had cost mea distinct wrench to part with Harold Tillington. The wrench left ascar which was long in healing; but as I am not a professionalsentimentalist, I will not trouble you here with details of thesymptoms.

My livelihood, however, was now assured me. With two pounds inpocket, a sensible girl can read her title clear to six days' boardand lodging, at six marks a day, with a glorious margin of fourmarks over for pocket-money. And[Pg 60] if at the end of six daysmy fairy godmother had not pointed me out some other means ofearning my bread honestly—well, I should feel myself unworthyto be ranked in the noble army of adventuresses. I thank thee, LadyGeorgina, for teaching me that word. An adventuress I would be; forI loved adventure.

Meanwhile, it occurred to me that I might fill up the intervalby going to study art at Frankfort. Elsie Petheridge had beenthere, and had impressed upon me the fact that I must on no accountomit to see the Städel Gallery. She was strong on culture.Besides, the study of art should be most useful to an adventuress;for she must need all the arts that human skill has developed.

So to Frankfort I betook myself, and found there a nice littlepension—'for ladies only,' Frau Bockenheifner assuredme—at very moderate rates, in a pleasant part of theLindenstrasse. It had dimity curtains. I will not deny that as Ientered the house I was conscious of feeling lonely; my heart sankonce or twice as I glanced round the luncheon-table at thedomestically-unsympathetic German old maids who formed therank-and-file of my fellow-boarders. There they sat—eightcomfortable Fraus who had missed their vocation; plentiful ladies,bulging and surging in tightly stretched black silk bodices. Theyhad been cut out for such housewives as Harold Tillington haddescribed, but found themselves deprived of their natural sphere inlife by the unaccountable caprice of the men of their nation. Eachwas a model Teutonic matronmanquée. Each lookedcapable of frying Frankfort sausages to a turn, and knittingwoollen socks to a remote eternity. But I sought in vain for onekindred soul among them. How horrified they would have been, withtheir fat pudding-faces and big saucer-eyes, had I boldly announcedmyself as an English adventuress![Pg 61]

I spent my first morning in laborious self-education at theAriadneum and the Städel Gallery. I borrowed a catalogue. Iwrestled with Van der Weyden; I toiled like a galley-slave atMeister Wilhelm and Meister Stephan. I have a confused recollectionthat I saw a number of stiff mediæval pictures, and analabaster statue of the lady who smiled as she rode on a tiger,taken at the beginning of that interesting episode. But theremainder of the Institute has faded from my memory.

In the afternoon I consoled myself for my herculean efforts inthe direction of culture by going out for a bicycle ride on a hiredmachine, to which end I decided to devote my pocket-money. Youwill, perhaps, object here that my conduct was imprudent. To raisethat objection is to misunderstand the spirit of these artlessadventures. I told you that I set out to go round the world; but togo round the world does not necessarily mean to circumnavigate it.My idea was to go round by easy stages, seeing the world as I wentas far as I got, and taking as little heed as possible of themorrow. Most of my readers, no doubt, accept that philosophy oflife on Sundays only; on week-days they swallow the usualcontradictory economic platitudes about prudential forethought andthe horrid improvidence of the lower classes. For myself, I am notbuilt that way. I prefer to take life in a spirit of pure inquiry.I put on my hat: I saunter where I choose, so far as circumstancespermit; and I wait to see what chance will bring me. My ideal isbreeziness.

The hired bicycle was not a bad machine, as hired bicycles go;it jolted one as little as you can expect from a common hack; itnever stopped at a Bier-Garten; and it showed very few signs ofhaving been ridden by beginners with an unconquerable desire totilt at the hedgerow. So[Pg 62] off I soared at once, heedless of thejeers of Teutonic youth who found the sight of a lady riding acycle in skirts a strange one—for in South Germany the'rational' costume is so universal among women cyclists that 'tisthe skirt that provokes unfavourable comment from those jealousguardians of female propriety, the street boys. I hurried on at abrisk pace past the Palm-Garden and the suburbs, with my loose hairstraying on the breeze behind, till I found myself pedalling at agood round pace on a broad, level road, which led towards avillage, by name Fraunheim.

As I scurried across the plain, with the wind in my face, notunpleasantly, I had some dim consciousness of somebody unknownflying after me headlong. My first idea was that Harold Tillingtonhad hunted me down and tracked me to my lair; but gazing back, Isaw my pursuer was a tall and ungainly man, with a straw-colouredmoustache, apparently American, and that he was following me on hismachine, closely watching my action. He had such a cunningexpression on his face, and seemed so strangely inquisitive, witheyes riveted on my treadles, that I didn't quite like the look ofhim. I put on the pace, to see if I could outstrip him, for I am aswift cyclist. But his long legs were too much for me. He did notgain on me, it is true; but neither did I outpace him. Pedalling myvery hardest—and I can make good time when necessary—Istill kept pretty much at the same distance in front of him all theway to Fraunheim.

Gradually I began to feel sure that the weedy-looking man withthe alert face was really pursuing me. When I went faster, he wentfaster too; when I gave him a chance to pass me, he kept close atmy heels, and appeared to be keenly watching the style of myankle-action. I gathered that he was a connoisseur; but why onearth he should[Pg 63] persecute me I could not imagine. Myspirit was roused now— I pedalled with a will; if I rode allday I would not let him go past me.

Beyond the cobble-paved chief street of Fraunheim the road tooka sharp bend, and began to mount the slopes of the Taunus suddenly.It was an abrupt, steep climb; but I flatter myself I am atolerable mountain cyclist. I rode sturdily on; my pursuer dartedafter me. But on this stiff upward grade my light weight and agileankle-action told; I began to distance him. He seemed afraid that Iwould give him the slip, and called out suddenly, with a whoop, inEnglish, 'Stop, miss!' I looked back with dignity, but answerednothing. He put on the pace, panting; I pedalled away, and gotclear from him.

At a turn of the corner, however, as luck would have it, I waspulled up short by a mounted policeman. He blocked[Pg 64] theroad with his horse, like an ogre, and asked me, in a very gruffSwabian voice, if this was a licensed bicycle. I had no idea, tillhe spoke, that any license was required; though to be sure I mighthave guessed it; for modern Germany is studded with notices at allthe street corners, to inform you in minute detail that everythingis forbidden. I stammered out that I did not know. The mountedpoliceman drew near and inspected me rudely. 'It is stronglyundersaid,' he began, but just at that moment my pursuer came up,and, with American quickness, took in the situation. He[Pg 65]accosted the policeman in choice bad German. 'I have two licenses,'he said, producing a handful. 'The Fräulein rides withme.'

I was too much taken aback at so providential an interpositionto contradict this highly imaginative statement. My highwayman hadturned into a protecting knight-errant of injured innocence. I letthe policeman go his way; then I glanced at my preserver. A veryordinary modern St. George he looked, with no lance to speak of,and no steed but a bicycle. Yet his mien was reassuring.

'Good morning, miss,' he began—he called me 'Miss' everytime he addressed me, as though he took me for a barmaid. 'Ex-cuseme, but why did you want to speed her?'

'I thought you were pursuing me,' I answered, a littletremulous, I will confess, but avid of incident.

'And if I was,' he went on, 'you might have con-jectured, miss,it was for our mutual advantage. A business man don't go out of hisway unless he expects to turn an honest dollar; and he don't reckonon other folks going out of theirs, unless he knows he can put themin the way of turning an honest dollar with him.'

'That's reasonable,' I answered: for I am a political economist.'The benefit should be mutual.' But I wondered if he was going topropose at sight to me.

He looked me all up and down. 'You're a lady of con-siderablepersonal attractions,' he said, musingly, as if he were criticisinga horse; 'and I want one that sort. That's jest why I trailed you,see? Besides which, there's some style about you.'

'Yes,' he went on; 'you know how to use your feet; and you havegood understandings.'

I gathered from his glance that he referred to mynether[Pg66] limbs. We are all vertebrate animals; why seek toconceal the fact?

'I fail to follow you,' I answered frigidly; for I really didn'tknow what the man might say next.

'That's so!' he replied. 'It wasI that followedyou; seems I didn't make much of a job of it, either,anyway.'

I mounted my machine again. 'Well, good morning,'[Pg 67] I said,coldy. 'I am much obliged for your kind assistance; but your remarkwas fictitious, and I desire to go on unaccompanied.'

He held up his hand in warning. 'You ain't going!' he cried,horrified. 'You ain't going without hearing me! I mean business,say! Don't chuck away good money like that. I tell you, there'sdollars in it.'

'In what?' I asked, still moving on, but curious. On the slope,if need were, I could easily distance him.

'Why, in this cycling of yours,' he replied. 'You're jest aboutthe very woman I'm looking for, miss. Lithe—that's what Icall you. I kin put you in the way of making your pile, I kin. Thisis abonâ-fide offer. No flies onmy business!You decline it? Prejudice! Injures you; injures me! Be reasonableanyway!'

He rose to it like a man. 'Meet me at Fraunheim; corner by thePost Office; ten o'clock to-morrow morning,' he shouted, as I rodeoff, 'and ef I don't convince you there's money in this job, myname's not Cyrus W. Hitchcock.'

Something about his keen, unlovely face impressed me with asense of his underlying honesty. 'Very well,' I answered,'I'llcome, if you follow me no further.' I reflected that Fraunheim wasa populous village, and that only beyond it did the mountain roadover the Taunus begin to grow lonely. If he wished to cut mythroat, I was well within reach of the resources ofcivilisation.

When I got home to the Abode of Blighted Fraus that evening, Idebated seriously with myself whether or not I should accept Mr.Cyrus W. Hitchcock's mysterious invitation. Prudence saidno; curiosity saidyes; I put the question to ameeting of one; and, since I am a daughter of Eve, curiosity hadit. Carried unanimously. I think I[Pg 68] might have hesitated,indeed, had it not been for the Blighted Fraus. Their talk was ofdinner and of the digestive process; they were critics ofdigestion. They each of them sat so complacently through theevening—solid and stolid, stodgy and podgy, stuffed comatoseimages, knitting white woollen shawls, to throw over theircapacious shoulders attable d'hôte—and theypurred with such content in their middle-aged rotundity that I madeup my mind I must take warning betimes, and avoid their temptationsto adipose deposit. I prefer to grow upwards; the Frau growssideways. Better get my throat cut by an American desperado, in mypursuit of romance, than settle down on a rock like a placid fatoyster. I am not by nature sessile.

Adventures are to the adventurous. They abound on every side;but only the chosen few have the courage to embrace them. And theywill not come to you: you must go out to seek them. Then they meetyou half-way, and rush into your arms, for they know their truelovers. There were eight Blighted Fraus at the Home for LostIdeals, and I could tell by simple inspection that they had not hadan average of half an adventure per lifetime between them. They satand knitted still, like Awful Examples.

If I had declined to meet Mr. Hitchcock at Fraunheim, I know notwhat changes it might have induced in my life. I might now beknitting. But I went boldly forth, on a voyage of exploration,prepared to accept aught that fate held in store for me.

As Mr. Hitchcock had assured me there was money in his offer, Ifelt justified in speculating. I expended another three marks onthe hire of a bicycle, though I ran the risk thereby of goingperhaps without Monday's dinner. That showed my vocation. TheBlighted Fraus, I felt sure, would have clung to their dinner atall hazards.[Pg 69]

When I arrived at Fraunheim, I found my alert Americanpunctually there before me. He raised his crush hat with awkwardpoliteness. I could see he was little accustomed to ladies'society. Then he pointed to a close cab in which he had reached thevillage.

'I've got it inside,' he whispered, in a confidential tone. 'Icouldn't let 'em ketch sight of it. You see, there's dollars init.'

'What have you got inside?' I asked, suspiciously, drawing back.I don't know why, but the word 'it' somehow suggested a corpse. Ibegan to grow frightened.

'Oh, the wheel?' I echoed, vaguely, pretending to look wise; butunaware, as yet, that that word was the accepted Americanism for acycle. 'And I have come to ride it?'

'Why, certainly,' he replied, jerking his hand towards the cab.'But we mustn't start right here. This thing has got to be keptdark, don't you see, till the last day.'

Till the last day! That was ominous. It sounded like monomania.So ghostly and elusive! I began to suspect my American ally ofbeing a dangerous madman.

'Jest you wheel away a bit up the hill,' he went on, 'out o'sight of the folks, and I'll fetch her along to you.'

'Why, the wheel, miss!You understand! This is business,you bet! And you're jest the right woman!'

He motioned me on. Urged by a sort of spell, I remounted mymachine and rode out of the village. He followed, on the box-seatof his cab. Then, when we had left the world well behind, and stoodamong the sun-smitten boles of the pine-trees, he opened the doormysteriously, and produced from the vehicle a very odd-lookingbicycle.[Pg70]

It was clumsy to look at. It differed immensely, in manyparticulars, from any machine I had yet seen or ridden.

The strenuous American fondled it for a moment with his hand, asif it were a pet child. Then he mounted nimbly. Pride shone in hiseye. I saw in a second he was a fond inventor.

He rode a few yards on. Next he turned to me eagerly. 'Thisma-chine,' he said, in an impressive voice, 'is pro-pelledby an eccentric.' Like all his countrymen, he laid moststress on unaccented syllables.

He surveyed me gravely. 'You misunderstand me, miss,' hecorrected. 'When I say an eccentric, I mean, a crank.'

'They are much the same thing,' I answered, briskly. 'Though Iconfess I would hardly have applied so rude a word ascrankto you.'

He looked me over suspiciously, as if I were trying to make gameof him, but my face was sphinx-like. So he brought the machine ayard or two nearer, and explained its construction to me. He wasquite right: itwas driven by a crank. It had no chain, butwas moved by a pedal, working narrowly up and down, and attached toa rigid bar, which impelled the wheels by means of aneccentric.

Besides this, it had a curious device for altering the gearingautomatically while one rode, so as to enable one to adapt it tothe varying slope in mounting hills. This part of the mechanism heexplained to me elaborately. There was a gauge in front whichallowed one to sight the steepness of the slope by mere inspection;and according as the gauge marked one, two, three, or four, as itsgradient on the[Pg 71] scale, the rider pressed a button onthe handle-bar with his left hand once, twice, thrice, or fourtimes, so that the gearing adapted itself without an effort to therise in the surface. Besides, there were devices for rigidity andcompensation. Altogether, it was a most apt and ingenious piece ofmechanism. I did not wonder he was proud of it.

I did as I was bid. To my immense surprise, I ran up the steephill as smoothly and easily as if it were a perfectly-laidlevel.

'Beautifully,' I answered. 'One could ride such a machine upMont Blanc, I should fancy.'

He stroked his chin with nervous fingers. 'It ought to knock'em,' he said, in an eager voice. 'It's geared to run up mostanything in creation.'

'In Amurrica,' he said, slowly, 'we call it the Great Manitou,because it kin do pretty well what it chooses; but in Europe, I amthinking of calling it the Martin Conway or the Whymper, orsomething like that.'

'I see,' I said. 'With such a machine you'll put a notice on theMatterhorn, "This hill is dangerous to cyclists."'

He laughed low to himself, and rubbed his handsagain.[Pg72] 'You'll do, miss,' he said. 'You're the right sort,you are. The moment I seen you, I thought we two could do a tradetogether. Benefits me; benefits you. A mutual advantage.Reciprocity is the soul of business. You hev some go in you, youhev. There's money in your feet. You'll give these Meinherrs fits.You'll take the clear-starch out of them.'

'Oh, you'll get there all the same,' he replied, stroking hismachine meanwhile. 'It was a squirrel, it was!' (He pronounced itsquirl.) 'It 'ud run up a tree ef it wanted, wouldn't it?'He was talking to it now as if it were a dog or a baby. 'There,there, it mustn't kick; it was a frisky little thing! Jest you stepup on it, miss, and have a go at that there mountain.'

I stepped up and had a 'go.' The machine bounded forward like anagile greyhound. You had but to touch it, and it ran of itself.Never had I ridden so vivacious, so animated a cycle. I returned tohim, sailing, with the gradient reversed. The Manitou glidedsmoothly, as on a gentle slope, without the need forback-pedalling.

'Now you want to know about this business, I guess,' he went on.'You want to know jest where the reciprocity comes in, anyhow?'

'Oh, it ain't all on one side,' he continued, eyeing his machineat an angle with parental affection. 'I'm a-going to make yourfortune right here. You shall ride her for me on the last day; andef you pull this thing off, don't you be scared that I won't treatyou handsome.'[Pg 73]

'If you were a little more succinct,' I said, gravely, 'weshould get forrader faster.'

'Perhaps you wonder,' he put in, 'that with money on it likethis, I should intrust the jobinto the hands of a female.'I winced, but was silent. 'Well, it's like this, don't you see; efa female wins, it makes success all the more striking andcon-spicuous. The world to-dayis ruledbyadvertizement.'

I could stand it no longer. 'Mr. Hitchcock,' I said, withdignity, 'I haven't the remotest idea what on earth you are talkingabout.'

He gazed at me with surprise. 'What?' he exclaimed, at last.'And you kin cycle like that! Not know what all the cycling worldis mad about! Why, you don't mean to tell me you're not apro-fessional?'

I enlightened him at once as to my position in society, whichwas respectable, if not lucrative. His face fell somewhat.'High-toned, eh? Still, you'd run all the same, wouldn't you?' heinquired.

'Run for what?' I asked, innocently. 'Parliament? ThePresidency? The Frankfort Town Council?'

He had difficulty in fathoming the depths of my ignorance. Butby degrees I understood him. It seemed that the German Imperial andPrussian Royal Governments had offered a Kaiserly and Kingly prizefor the best military bicycle; the course to be run over theTaunus, from Frankfort to Limburg; the winning machine to get theequivalent of a thousand pounds; each firm to supply its own makeand rider. The 'last day' was Saturday next; and the Great Manitouwas the dark horse of the contest.

Then all was clear as day to me. Mr. Cyrus W. Hitchcock waskeeping his machine a profound secret; he wanted a woman to rideit, so that his triumph might be the more[Pg 74]complete; and the moment he saw me pedal up the hill, in trying toavoid him, he recognised at once that I was that woman.

I recognised it too. 'Twas a pre-ordained harmony. After two orthree trials I felt that the Manitou was built for me, and I wasbuilt for the Manitou. We ran together like parts of one mechanism.I was always famed for my circular ankle-action; and in this newmachine, ankle-action was everything. Strength of limb counted fornaught; what told was the power of 'clawing up again' promptly. Ipossess that power: I have prehistoric feet: my remote progenitorsmust certainly have been tree-haunting monkeys.

If I pulled off the race, I was to have fifty pounds. If Ididn't, I was to have five. 'It ain't only your skill, you see,'Mr. Hitchcock said, with frank commercialism. 'It's your personalattractiveness as well that I go upon. That's an element toconsider in business relations.'

Till Saturday, then, I was free. Meanwhile, I trained, andpractised quietly with the Manitou, in sequestered parts of thehills. I also took spells, turn about, at the StädelInstitute. I like to intersperse culture and athletics. I knowsomething about athletics, and hope in time to acquire a taste forculture. 'Tis expected of a Girton girl, though my ownaccomplishments run rather towards rowing, punting, bicycling.

On Saturday, I confess, I rose with great misgivings. I was nota professional; and to find oneself practically backed for athousand pounds in a race against men is a[Pg 75] trifledisquieting. Still, having once put my hand to the plough, I felt Iwas bound to pull it through somehow. I dressed my hair neatly, ina very tight coil. I ate a light breakfast, eschewing the friedsausages which the Blighted Fraus pressed upon my notice, andsatisfying myself with a gently-boiled egg and some toast andcoffee. I always found I rowed best at Cambridge on the lightestdiet; in my opinion, the raw beefrégime is a seriouserror in training.

At a minute or two before eleven I turned up at the SchillerPlatz in my short serge dress and cycling jacket. The great squarewas thronged with spectators to see us start; the police made alane through their midst for the riders. My backer had advised meto come to the post as late as possible, 'For I have entered yourname,' he said, 'simply as Lois Cayley. These Deutschers don'tthink but what you're a man and a brother. But I am apprehensive ofcon-tingencies. When you put in a show they'll try to raiseobjections to you on account of your being a female. There won't bemuch time, though, and I shall rush the objections. Once they letyou run and win, it don't matter to me whether I get the twentythousand marks or not. It's the advertizement that tells.Jest you mark my words, miss, and don't you make no mistake aboutit—the world to-day is governed by advertizement.'

So I turned up at the last moment, and cast a timid glance at mycompetitors. They were all men, of course, and two of them wereGerman officers in a sort of undress cycling uniform. They eyed mesuperciliously. One of them went up and spoke to the HerrOver-Superintendent who had charge of the contest. I understood himto be lodging an objection against a mere woman taking part in therace. The Herr Over-Superintendent, a bulky official, came upbeside me and perpended visibly. He bent his[Pg 76] bigbrows to it. 'Twas appalling to observe the measurable amount ofTeutonic cerebration going on under cover of his round, greenglasses. He was perpending for some minutes. Time was almost up.Then he turned to Mr. Hitchcock, having finally made up hiscolossal mind, and murmured rudely, 'The woman cannot compete.'

'Why not?' I inquired, in my very sweetest German, with anangelic smile, though my heart trembled.

'Warum nicht? Because the word "rider" in the Kaiserly andKingly for-this-contest-provided decree is distinctly in themasculine gender stated.'

'Pardon me, Herr Over-Superintendent,' I replied, pulling out acopy of Law 97 on the subject, with which I had duly providedmyself, 'if you will to Section 45 of theBicycles-Circulation-Regulation-Act your attention turn, you willfind it therein expressly enacted that unless any clause beanywhere to the contrary inserted, the word "rider," in themasculine gender put, shall here the word "rideress" in thefeminine to embrace be considered.'

For, anticipating this objection, I had taken the precaution tolook the legal question up beforehand.

'That is true,' the Herr Over-Superintendent observed, in amusing voice, gazing down at me with relenting eyes. 'The masculinehabitually embraces the feminine.' And he brought his massiveintellect to bear upon the problem once more with prodigiousconcentration.

I seized my opportunity. 'Let me start, at least,' I urged,holding out the Act. 'If I win, you can the matter more fully withthe Kaiserly and Kingly Governments hereafter argue out.'

'I guess this will be an international affair,' Mr. Hitchcockremarked, well pleased. 'It would be a first-rateadvertizement for the Great Manitou ef Englandand[Pg77] Germany were to make the question into acasusbelli. The United States could look on, and pocket thechestnuts.'

'Fall in, then, Fräulein Engländerin,' the HerrOver-Superintendent observed, without prejudice, waving me intoline. He pinned a badge with a large number, 7, on my dress. 'TheKaiserly and Kingly Governments shall on the affair of thestarting's legality hereafter on my report more at leisure passjudgment.'

'Oh, if this is to be woman's play,' he muttered, 'then can aPrussian officer himself by competing not into contempt bring.'

I dropped a little curtsy. 'If the Herr Lieutenant is afraideven toenter against an Englishwoman——' I said,smiling.

We were all on the alert. There was a pause; a deep breath. Iwas horribly frightened, but I tried to look calm. Then sharp andquick came the one word 'Go!' And like arrows from a bow, off weall started.

I had ridden over the whole course the day but one before, on amountain pony, with an observant eye and my sedulousAmerican—rising at five o'clock, so as not to excite undueattention; and I therefore knew beforehand the exact route we wereto follow; but I confess when I saw the Prussian lieutenant and oneof my other competitors dash forward at a pace that simplyastonished me, that fifty pounds seemed to melt away in the dimabyss of the Ewigkeit. I gave up all for lost. I could never makethe running against such practised cyclists.[Pg 78]

However, we all turned out into the open road which leads acrossthe plain and down the Main valley, in the direction of Mayence.For the first ten miles or so, it is a dusty level. The surface isperfect; but 'twas a blinding white thread. As I toiled along it,that broiling June day, I could hear the voice of my backer, whofollowed on horseback, exhorting me in loud tones, 'Don't scorch,miss; don't scorch; never mind ef you lose sight of 'em. Keep yourwind; that's the point. The wind, the wind's everything. Let 'embeat you on the level; you'll catch 'em up fast enough when you geton the Taunus!'[Pg 79]

But in spite of his encouragement, I almost lost heart as I sawone after another of my opponents' backs disappear in the distance,till at last I was left toiling along the bare white road alone, ina shower-bath of sunlight, with just a dense cloud of dust risinggray far ahead of me. My head swam. It repented me of myboldness.

Then the riders on horseback began to grumble; for by policeregulation they were not allowed to pass the hindmost of thecyclists; and they were kept back by my presence from following uptheir special champions. 'Give it up, Fräulein, give it up!'they cried. 'You're beaten. Let us pass and get forward.' But atthe self-same moment, I heard the shrill voice of my Americanfriend whooping aloud across the din, 'Don't you do nothing of thesort, miss! You stick to it, and keep your wind! It's the wind thatwins! Them Germans won't be worth a cent on the high slopes,anyway!'

Encouraged by his voice, I worked steadily on, neither scorchingnor relaxing, but maintaining an even pace at my natural pitchunder the broiling sunshine. Heat rose in waves on my face from theroad below; in the thin white dust, the accusing tracks of sixwheels confronted me. Still I kept on following them, till Ireached the town of Höchst—nine miles from Frankfort.Soldiers along the route were timing us at intervals withchronometers, and noting our numbers. As I rattled over the pavedHigh Street, I called aloud to one of them. 'How far ahead the lastman?'

Again I lost heart. Then I mounted a slight slope, and felt howeasily the Manitou moved up the gradient. From its summit I couldnote a long gray cloud of dust rolling steadily onward down thehill towards Hattersheim.[Pg 80]

I coasted down, with my feet up, and a slight breeze justcooling me. Mr. Hitchcock, behind, called out, full-throated, fromhis seat, 'No hurry! No flurry! Take your time!Take—your—time, miss!'

Over the bridge at Hattersheim you turn to the right abruptly,and begin to mount by the side of a pretty little stream, theSchwarzbach, which runs brawling over rocks down the Taunus fromEppstein. By this time the excitement had somewhat cooled down forthe moment; I was getting reconciled to be beaten on the level, andbegan to realise that my chances would be best as we approached thesteepest bits of the mountain road about Niederhausen. So Ipositively plucked up heart to look about me and enjoy the scenery.With hair flying behind—that coil had played me false—Iswept through Hofheim, a pleasant little village at the mouth of agrassy valley inclosed by wooded slopes, the Schwarzbach makingcool music in the glen below as I mounted beside it. Clamberinglarches, like huge candelabra, stood out on the ridge, silhouettedagainst the skyline.

'How far ahead the last man?' I cried to the recording soldier.He answered me back, 'Two minutes, Fräulein.'

I was gaining on them; I was gaining! I thundered across theSchwarzbach, by half-a-dozen clamorous little iron bridges, makingeasy time now, and with my feet working as if they were themselvesan integral part of the machinery. Up, up, up; it looked a verticalascent; the Manitou glided well in its oil-bath at its half-waygearing. I rode for dear life. At sixteen miles, Lorsbach; ateighteen, Eppstein; the road still rising. 'How far ahead the lastman?' 'Just round the corner, Fräulein!'

I put on a little steam. Sure enough, round the corner I caughtsight of his back. With a spurt, I passed him—a dust-coveredsoul, very hot and uncomfortable. He had not[Pg 81] kepthis wind; I flew past him like a whirlwind. But, oh, how sultry hotin that sweltering, close valley! A pretty little town, Eppstein,with its mediæval castle perched high on a craggy rock. Iowed it some gratitude, I felt, as I left it behind, for 'twas herethat I came up with the tail-end of my opponents.

That one victory cheered me. So far, our route had lain alongthe well-made but dusty high road in the steaming valley; atNieder-Josbach, two miles on, we quitted the road abruptly, by thecourse marked out for us, and turned up a mountain path, only wideenough for two cycles abreast—a path that clambered towardsthe higher slopes of the Taunus. That was arranged onpurpose—for this was no fair-weather show, but a practicaltrial for military bicycles, under the conditions they might meetwith in actual warfare. It was rugged riding: black walls of pinerose steep on either hand; the ground was uncertain. Our pathmounted sharply from the first; the steeper the better. By the timeI had reached Ober-Josbach, nestling high among larch-woods, I haddistanced all but two of my opponents. It was cooler now, too. As Ipassed the hamlet my cry altered.

The steepest slope of all lay in the next two miles. If I weregoing to win I must pass these two there, for my advantage lay allin the climb; if it came to coasting, the men's mere weight scoreda point in their favour. Bump, crash, jolt! I pedalled away like amachine; the Manitou sobbed; my ankles flew round so that Iscarcely felt them.[Pg 82] But the road was rough and scarredwith waterways—ruts turned by rain to runnels. At half amile, after a desperate struggle among sand and pebbles, I passedthe second man; just ahead, the Prussian officer looked round andsaw me. 'Thunder-weather! you there, Engländerin?' he cried,darting me a look of unchivalrous dislike, such as only yoursentimental German can cast at a woman.

'Yes, I am here, behind you, Herr Lieutenant,' I answered,putting on a spurt; 'and I hope next to be before you.'

He answered not a word, but worked his hardest. So did I. Hebent forward: I sat erect on my Manitou,[Pg 83] pullinghard at my handles. Now, my front wheel was upon him. It reachedhis pedal. We were abreast. He had a narrow thread of solid path,and he forced me into a runnel. Still I gained. He swerved: I thinkhe tried to foul me. But the slope was too steep; his attemptrecoiled on himself; he ran against the rock at the side and almostoverbalanced. That second lost him. I waved my hand as I sailedahead. 'Good morning,' I cried, gaily. 'See you again atLimburg!'[Pg84]

From the top of the slope I put my feet up and flew down intoIdstein. A thunder-shower burst: I was glad of the cool of it. Itlaid the dust. I regained the high road. From that moment, save forthe risk of sideslips, 'twas easy running—just an undulatingline with occasional ups and downs; but I saw no more of mypursuers till, twenty-two kilometres farther on, I rattled on thecobble-paved causeway into Limburg. I had covered the forty-sixmiles in quick time for a mountain climb. As I crossed the bridgeover the Lahn, to my immense surprise, Mr. Hitchcock waved hisarms, all excitement, to greet me. He had taken the train on fromEppstein, it seemed, and got there before me. As I dismounted atthe Cathedral, which was our appointed end, and gave my badge tothe soldier, he rushed up and shook my hand. 'Fifty pounds!' hecried. 'Fifty pounds! How's that for the great Anglo-Saxon race!And hooray for the Manitou!'

The second man, the civilian, rode in, wet and draggled, fortyseconds later. As for the Herr Lieutenant, a disappointed man, hefell out by the way, alleging a puncture. I believe he was ashamedto admit the fact that he had been beaten in open fight by theobjurgated Engländerin.

So the end of it was, I was now a woman of means, with fiftypounds of my own to my credit.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE AMATEUR COMMISSION AGENT

My eccentric American had assured me that if I won the greatrace for him I need not be 'skeert' lest he should fail to treat mewell; and to do him justice, I must admit that he kept his wordmagnanimously. While we sat at lunch in the cosy hotel at Limburghe counted out and paid me in hand the fifty good gold pieces hehad promised me. 'Whether these Deutschers fork out my twentythousand marks or not,' he said, in his brisk way, 'it don't muchmatter. I shall get the contract, and I shall hev gotten theadvertizement!'

'Why do you start your bicycles in Germany, though?' I asked,innocently. 'I should have thought myself there was so much abetter chance of selling them in England.'

He closed one eye, and looked abstractedly at the light throughhis glass of pale yellow Brauneberger with the other. 'England?Yes, England! Well, see, miss, you hev not been raised in business.Business is business. The way to do it in Germany is—tomanufacture for yourself: and I've got my works started right herein Frankfort. The way to do it in England—where capital'sdirt cheap—is, to sell your patent for every cent it's worthto an English company, and let them boom or bust onit.'[Pg86]

'I see,' I said, catching at it. 'The principle's as clear asmud, the moment you point it out to one. An English company willpay you well for the concession, and work for a smaller return onits investment than you Americans are content to receive on yourcapital!'

'That's so! You hit it in one, miss! Which will you take, acigar or a cocoa-nut?'

He gazed hard at me, and stroked his straw-coloured moustache.'Well, what doyou think of theLoisCayley?'[Pg 87]

He smiled pity for my weakness. 'Ah, high-toned again?' herepeated, as if it were some natural malformation under which Ilaboured. 'Oh, ef you don't like it, miss, we'll say no more aboutit. I am a gentleman, I am. What's the matter with theExcelsior?'

He paused and mused, then he murmured low to himself, '"Whenthrough an Alpine village passed." That's where the idea of theExcelsior comes in; see? "It goes up Mont Blanc," you saidyourself. "Through snow and ice, A cycle with the strange device,Excelsior!"'

'If I were you,' I said, 'I would stick to the nameManitou. It's original, and it's distinctive.'

'Think so? Then chalk it up; the thing's done. You may not beaware of it, miss, but you are a lady for whose opinion in suchmatters I hev a high regard.And you understand Europe. I donot. I admit it. Everything seems to me to beverboten inGermany; and everything else to bebad form in England.'

We walked down the steps together. 'What a picturesque oldtown!' I said, looking round me, well pleased. Its beauty appealedto me, for I had fifty pounds in pocket, and I had lunchedsumptuously.

'Old town?' he repeated, gazing with a blank stare. 'Youcall this townold, do you?'

'Well, ef this town is old,' he said at last, with a snapof[Pg88] his fingers, 'it's precious little for its age.' Andhe strode away towards the railway station.

'What about the bicycle?' I asked; for it lay, a silent victor,against the railing of the steps, surrounded by a crowd ofinquiring Teutons.

He said it so exactly in the tone in which one tells a waiter hemay keep the change, that I resented the impertinence. 'No, thankyou,' I answered. 'I do not require it.'

He gazed at me, open-mouthed. 'What? Put my foot in it again?'he interposed. 'Not high-toned enough? Eh? Now, I do regret it. Nooffence meant, miss, nor none need be taken. What I meant toin-sinuate was this: you hev won the big race for me. Folks willnotice you and talk about you at Frankfort. Ef you ride a Manitou,that'll make 'em talk the more. A mutual advantage. Benefits you;benefits me. You get the wheel; I get theadvertizement.'

I saw that reciprocity was the lodestar of his life. 'Very well,Mr. Hitchcock,' I said, pocketing my pride, 'I'll accept themachine, and I'll ride it.'

Then a light dawned upon me. I saw eventualities. 'Look here,' Iwent on, innocently—recollect, I was a girl just fresh fromGirton—'I am thinking of going on very soon to Switzerland.Now, why shouldn't I do this—try to sell your machines, or,rather, take orders for them, from anybody that admires them? Amutual advantage. Benefits you; benefits me. You sell your wheels;I get——'

'I don't know what commission means,' I answered, somewhat atsea as to the name; 'but I thought it might be[Pg 89] worthyour while, till the Manitou becomes better known, to pay me, say,ten per cent on all orders I brought you.'

His face was one broad smile. 'I do admire at you, miss,' hecried, standing still to inspect me. 'You may not know the meaningof theword commission; but durned ef you haven't got a hangof thething itself that would do honour to a Wall Streetoperator, anyway.'

'Business?' he repeated. 'Yes, that's jest about the size ofit—business. Advertizement, miss, may be the soul ofcommerce, but Commission's its body. You go in and win. Ten percent on every order you send me!'

He insisted on taking my ticket back to Frankfort. 'My affair,miss; my affair!' There was no gainsaying him. He was immenselyelated. 'The biggest thing in cycles since Dunlop tyres,' herepeated. 'And to-morrow, they'll give me advertizements gratis inevery newspaper!'

Next morning, he came round to call on me at the Abode ofUnclaimed Domestic Angels. He was explicit and generous. 'Lookhere, miss,' he began; 'I didn't do fair by you when youinterviewed me about your agency last evening. I took advantage,at the time,of your youth and inexperience. Yousuggested 10 per centas the amount of your commission onsales you might effect; and I jumped at it. That was conductunworthyof a gentleman. Now, I will not deceive you. Theordinary commission on transactions in wheels is 25 per cent. I amgoing to sell the Manitou retail at twenty English pounds apiece.You shall hev your 25 per cent on all orders.'

I was simply amazed at this magnificent prospect. 'The cycletrade must be honeycombed with middlemen's profits!' I cried; for Ihad my misgivings.

'It is your duty to fleece the capitalist and the consumer. Amutual benefit—triangular this time. I get the order, thepublic gets the machine, and you get the commission. I am richer,you are richer, and the public is mounted on much the best wheelever yet invented.'

'That sounds plausible,' I admitted. 'I shall try it on inSwitzerland. I shall run up steep hills whenever I see any likelycustomers looking on; then I shall stop and ask them the time, asif quite accidentally.'

He rubbed his hands. 'You take to business like a young duck tothe water,' he exclaimed, admiringly. 'That's the way to rake 'emin! You go up and say to them, "Why not investigate? We defycompetition. Leave the drudgery of walking uphill beside yourcycle! Progress is the order of the day. Use modern methods! Thisis the age of the telegraph, the telephone,and thetypewriter. You kin no longer afford to go on with an antiquated,ante-diluvian, armour-plated wheel. Invest in a Hill-Climber, thelast and lightest product of evvolootion.Is it common-senseto buy an old-style, unautomatic, single-geared, inconvertibleten-ton machine, when for the same money or less you can purchasethe self-acting Manitou, a priceless gem, as light as a feather,with all the most recent additions and improvements? Be reasonable!Get the best!" That's the style to fetch 'em!'

I laughed, in spite of myself. 'Oh, Mr. Hitchcock,' I burst out,'that's notmy style at all. I shall say, simply[Pg 91] "Thisis a lovely new bicycle. You can see for yourself how it climbshills. Try it, if you wish. It skims like a swallow. And I get whatthey call five pounds commission on every one I can sell of them!"I think that way of dealing is much more likely to bring you inorders.'

His admiration was undisguised. 'Well, Ido call you awoman of business, miss,' he cried. 'You see it at a glance. That'sso. That's the right kind of thing to rope in the Europeans. Someoriginality about you. You take 'em on their own ground. You've gotthe draw on them, you hev. I like your system. You'll jest haul inthe dollars!'

'I hope so,' I said, fervently; for I had evolved in my ownmind, oh, such alovely scheme for Elsie Petheridge'sholidays![Pg92]

He gazed at me once more. 'Ef only I could get hold of a womanof business like you to soar through life with me,' hemurmured.

I grew interested in my shoes. His open admiration was gettingquite embarrassing.

'I— I don't understand,' I stammered out bewildered. 'The25 per cent, you mean?'

'No, the de-votion of a lifetime,' he answered, looking sidewaysat me. 'Miss Cayley, when a business man advances a proposition,commercial or otherwise, he advances it because he means it. Heasks a prompt reply. Your time is valuable. So is mine.Areyou prepared to consider it?'

'Mr. Hitchcock,' I said, drawing back, 'I think youmisunderstand. I think you do not realise——'

'All right, miss,' he answered, promptly, though with adisappointed air. 'Ef it kin not be managed, it kin not be managed.I understand your European ex-clusiveness. I know your prejudices.But this little episode need not antagonise with the normal courseof ordinary business. I respect you, Miss Cayley. You are a ladyof intelligence,of initiative, andofhigh-toned culture. I will wish you good day for the present,without further words; and I shall be happy at any time to receiveyour orders on the usual commission.'

He backed out and was gone. He was so honestly blunt that Ireally quite liked him.

Next day, I bade a tearless farewell to the Blighted Fraus. WhenI told those eight phlegmatic souls I was going, they all said'So!' much as they had said 'So!' to[Pg 93] every previous remark Ihad been moved to make to them. 'So' is capital garnishing: butviewed as a staple of conversation, I find it a trifle vapid, notto say monotonous.

I set out on my wanderings, therefore, to go round the world onmy own account and my own Manitou, which last I grew to love intime with a love passing the love of Mr. Cyrus Hitchcock. I carriedthe strict necessary before me in a small waterproof bicyclingvalise; but I sent on the portmanteau containing my whole estate,real or personal, to some point in advance which I hoped to reachfrom time to time in a day or two. My first day's journey was alonga pleasant road from Frankfort to Heidelberg, some fifty-four milesin all, skirting the mountains the greater part of the way; theManitou took the ups and downs so easily that I diverged atintervals, to choose side-paths over the wooded hills. I arrived atHeidelberg as fresh as a daisy, my mount not having turned a hairmeanwhile—a favourite expression of cyclists which carriesall the more conviction to an impartial mind because of the machinebeing obviously hairless. Thence I journeyed on by easy stages toKarlsruhe, Baden, Appenweier, and Offenburg; where I set my frontwheel resolutely for the Black Forest. It is the prettiest and mostpicturesque route to Switzerland; and, being also the hilliest, itwould afford me, I thought, the best opportunity for showing offthe Manitou's paces, and trying my prentice hand as an amateurcycle-agent.

From the quaint little Black Eagle at Offenburg, however, beforeI dashed into the Forest, I sent off a letter to Elsie Petheridge,setting forth my lovely scheme for her summer holidays. She wasdelicate, poor child, and the London winters sorely tried her; Iwas now a millionaire, with the better part of fifty pounds inpocket, so I felt I could afford to be royal in my hospitality. AsI was leaving[Pg 94] Frankfort, I had called at a touristagency and bought a second-class circular ticket from London toLucerne and back— I made it second-class because I am opposedon principle to excessive luxury, and also because it was threeguineas cheaper. Even fifty pounds will not last for ever, though Icould scarce believe it. (You see, I am not wholly free, after all,from the besetting British vice of prudence.) It was a mighty joyto me to be able to send this ticket to Elsie, at her lodgings inBayswater, pointing out to her that now the whole mischief wasdone, and that if she would not come out as soon as her summervacation began—'twas a point of honour with Elsie to sayvacation, instead ofholidays—to join me atLucerne, and stop with me as my guest at a mountainpension,the ticket would be wasted. I love burning my boats; 'tis the onlysafe way for securing prompt action.

Then I turned my flying wheels up into the Black Forest, growingweary of my loneliness—for it is not all jam to ride byoneself in Germany—and longing for Elsie to come out and joinme. I loved to think how her dear pale cheeks would gain colour andtone on the hills about the Brünig, where, for businessreasons (so I said to myself with the conscious pride of thecommission agent), I proposed to pass the greater part of thesummer.

From Offenburg to Hornberg the road makes a good stiff climb oftwenty-seven miles, and some 1200 English feet in altitude, with afair number of minor undulations on the way to diversify it. I willnot describe the route, though it is one of the most beautiful Ihave ever travelled—rocky hills, ruined castles, huge,straight-stemmed pines that clamber up green slopes, or halt insombre line against steeps of broken crag; the reality surpasses mypoor powers of description. And the people I passed on the roadwere almost as quaint[Pg 95] and picturesque in their way as thehills and the villages—the men in red-lined jackets; thewomen in black petticoats, short-waisted green bodices, andbroad-brimmed straw hats with black-and-crimson pompons. But on thesteepest gradient, just before reaching Hornberg, I got my firstnibble—strange to say, from two German students; they woreHeidelberg caps, and were toiling up the incline with short, brokenwind; I put on a spurt with the Manitou, and passed them easily. Idid it just at first in pure wantonness of health and strength; butthe moment I was clear of them, it occurred to the business half ofme that here was a good chance of taking an order. Filled with thisbright idea, I dismounted near the summit, and pretended to beengaged in lubricating my bearings; though as a matter of fact theManitou runs in a bath of oil, self-feeding, and needs no lookingafter. Presently, my two Heidelbergers straggled up—hot,dusty, panting. Woman-like, I pretended to take no notice. One ofthem drew near and cast an eye on the Manitou.

'That's a new machine, Fräulein,' he said, at last, withmore politeness than I expected.

'It is,' I answered, casually; 'the latest model. Climbs hillslike no other.' And I feigned to mount and glide off towardsHornberg.

'Stop a moment, pray, Fräulein,' my prospective buyercalled out. 'Here, Heinrich, I wish you this new so excellentmountain-climbing machine, without chain propelled, more fully toinvestigate.'

'I am going on to Hornberg,' I said, with mixed feminine guileand commercial strategy; 'still, if your friend wishes tolook——'

They both jostled round it, withachs innumerable, and,after minute inspection, pronounced its principlewunderschön. 'Might I essay it?' Heinrichasked.[Pg96]

'Oh, by all means,' I answered. He paced it down hill a fewyards; then skimmed up again.

'It is a bird!' he cried to his friend, with manyguttural[Pg97] interjections. 'Like the eagle's flight, so soarsit. Come, try the thing, Ludwig!'

I nodded. They both mounted it several times. It behaved like abeauty. Then one of them asked, 'And where can man of this new soremarkable machine nearest by purchase himself make possessor?'

'I am the Sole Agent,' I burst out, with swelling dignity. 'Ifyou will give me your orders, with cash in hand for the amount, Iwill send the cycle, carriage paid, to any address you desire inGermany.'

'Oh, very well,' I answered, vaulting into the saddle; 'If youchoose to doubt my word——' I waved one careless handand coasted off. 'Good-morning, meine Herren.'

They lumbered after me on their ramshackled traction-engines.'Pardon, Fräulein! Do not thus go away! Oblige us at leastwith the name and address of the maker.'

I perpended—like the Herr Over-Superintendent atFrankfort. 'Look here,' I said at last, telling the truth withfrankness, 'I get 25 per cent on all bicycles I sell. I am, as Isay, the maker's Sole Agent. If you order through me, I touch myprofit; if otherwise, I do not. Still, since you seem to begentlemen,' they bowed and swelled visibly, 'I will give you theaddress of the firm, trusting to your honour to mention myname'—I handed them a card—'if you decide on ordering.The price of the palfrey is 400 marks. It is worth every pfennig ofit.' And before they could say more, I had spurred my steed andswept off at full speed round a curve of the highway.[Pg 98]

I pencilled a note to my American that night from Hornberg,detailing the circumstance; but I am sorry to say, for thediscredit of humanity, that when those two students wrote the sameevening from their inn in the village to order Manitous, they didnot mention my name, doubtless under the misconception thatby suppressing it they would save my commission. However, it givesme pleasure to addper contra (as we say in business) thatwhen I arrived at Lucerne a week or so later I found a letter,poste restante, from Mr. Cyrus Hitchcock, inclosing anEnglish ten-pound note. He wrote that he had received two ordersfor Manitous from Hornberg; and 'feeling considerable confidencethat these must necessarily originate' from my German students, hehad the pleasure of forwarding me what he hoped would be the firstof many similar commissions.

I will not describe my further adventures on the still steepermountain road from Hornberg to Triberg and St. Georgen—how Igot bites on the way from an English curate, an Austrian hussar,and two unprotected American ladies; nor how I angled for them allby riding my machine up impossible hills, and then reclininggracefully to eat my lunch (three times in one day) on mossy banksat the summit. I felt a perfect little hypocrite. But Mr. Hitchcockhad remarked that business is business; and I will only add (inconfirmation of his view) that by the time I reached Lucerne, I hadsown the good seed in fifteen separate human souls, no less thanfour of which brought forth fruit in orders for Manitous before theend of the season.

I had now so little fear what the morrow might bring forth thatI settled down in a comfortable hotel at Lucerne till Elsie'sholidays began; and amused myself meanwhile[Pg 99] bypicking out the hilliest roads I could find in the neighbourhood,in order to display my steel steed's possibilities to the bestadvantage.

By the end of July, Elsie joined me. She was half-angry at firstthat I should have forced the ticket and my hospitality uponher.

'Nonsense, dear,' I said, smoothing her hair, for her pale facequite frightened me. 'What is the good of a friend if she will notallow you to do her little favours?'

'But, Brownie, you said you wouldn't stop and be dependent uponme one day longer than was necessary in London.'[Pg 100]

'That was different,' I cried. 'That was Me! This is You! I am agreat, strong, healthy thing, fit to fight the battle of life andtake care of myself; you, Elsie, are one of those fragile littleflowers which 'tis everybody's duty to protect and to carefor.'

She would have protested more; but I stifled her mouth withkisses. Indeed, for nothing did I rejoice in my prosperity so muchas for the chance it gave me of helping poor dear overworked,overwrought Elsie.

We took up our quarters thenceforth at a high-perched littleguest-house near the top of the Brünig. It was bracing forElsie; and it lay close to a tourist track where I could spread mysnares and exhibit the Manitou in its true colours to many passingvisitors. Elsie tried it, and found she could ride on it with ease.She wished she had one of her own. A bright idea struck me. In fearand trembling, I wrote, suggesting to Mr. Hitchcock that I had agirl friend from England stopping with me in Switzerland, and thattwo Manitous would surely be better than one as anadvertizement. I confess I stood aghast at my own cheek; butmy hand, I fear, was rapidly growing 'subdued to that it workedin.' Anyhow I sent the letter off, and waited developments.

'Dear Miss—By rail herewithplease receive one lady's No. 4 automatic quadruple-gearedself-feeding Manitou, as per your esteemed favour of July 27th, forwhich I desire to thank you. The more I see of your way of doingbusiness, the more I do admire at you. This is an elegant poster!Two high-toned English ladies, mounted on Manitous, careering upthe Alps, represent to both of us quite a mint of money. The mutualbenefit, to me, to you, and to the other lady, ought to be simplyincalculable[Pg 101]. I shall be pleased at any time tohear of any further developments of your very remarkableadvertising skill, and I am obliged to you for this brilliantsuggestion you have been good enough to make tome.—Respectfully,

'What? Am I to have it for nothing, Brownie?' Elsie exclaimed,bewildered, when I read the letter to her.

I assumed the airs of a woman of the world. 'Why, certainly, mydear,' I answered, as if I always expected to find bicyclesshowered upon me. 'It's a mutual arrangement. Benefits him;benefits you. Reciprocity is the groundwork of business.Hegets the advertisement;you get the amusement. It's a formof handbill. Like the ladies who exhibit their back hair, don't youknow, in that window in Regent Street.'

Thus inexpensively mounted, we scoured the country together, upthe steepest hills between Stanzstadt and Meiringen. We had lots ofnibbles. One lady in particular often stopped to look on and admirethe Manitou. She was a nice-looking widow of forty-five, very freshand round-faced; a Mrs. Evelegh, we soon found out, who owned acharmingchalet on the hills above Lungern. She spoke to usmore than once: 'What a perfect dear of a machine!' she cried. 'Iwonder if I dare try it!'

'I could once,' she answered. 'I was awfully fond of it. But Dr.Fortescue-Langley won't let me any longer.'

'Try it!' I said dismounting. She got up and rode. 'Oh, isn't itjust lovely!' she cried ecstatically.

'Buy one!' I put in. 'They're as smooth as silk; they cost onlytwenty pounds; and, on every machine I sell, I get five poundscommission.'[Pg 102]

She looked quite shocked. 'Oh, he's not that kind, you know,'she put in, breathlessly. 'He's the celebrated esotericfaith-healer. He won't let me move far away from Lungern, thoughI'm longing to be off to England again for the summer. My boy's atPortsmouth.'

Her face was a study. 'I daren't,' she answered in an awe-struckvoice. 'He comes here every summer; and he does meso muchgood, you know. He diagnoses my inner self. He treats mepsychically. When my inner self goes wrong, my bangle turns dusky.'She held up her right hand with an Indian silver bangle on it; andsure enough, it was tarnished with a very thin black deposit. 'Mysoul is ailing now,' she said in a comically serious voice. 'But itis seldom so in Switzerland. The moment I land in England thebangle turns black and remains black till I get back to Lucerneagain.'

When she had gone, I said to Elsie, 'Thatis odd aboutthe bangle. State of health might affect it, I suppose. Though itlooks to me like a surface deposit of sulphide.' I knew nothing ofchemistry, I admit; but I had sometimes messed about in thelaboratory at college with some of the other girls; and Iremembered now that sulphide of silver was a blackish-looking body,like the film on the bangle.

By dint of stopping and talking, we soon got quite intimate withMrs. Evelegh. As always happens, I found out I had known some ofher cousins in Edinburgh, where I always spent my holidays while Iwas at Girton. She[Pg 103] took an interest in what she waskind enough to call my originality; and before a fortnight was out,our hotel being uncomfortably crowded, she had invited Elsie andmyself to stop with her at thechalet. We went, and found ita delightful little home. Mrs. Evelegh was charming; but we couldsee at every turn that Dr. Fortescue-Langley had acquired a firmhold over her. 'He's so clever, you know,' she said; 'and sospiritual! He exercises such strong odylic force. He binds my beingtogether. If he misses a visit, I feel my inner self goes all topieces.'

'Oh, dear, no,' she answered. 'I wish he did: itwould[Pg104] be ever so good for me. But he's so much run after;I am but one among many. He lives at Château d'Oex, and comesacross to see patients in this district once a fortnight. It is aprivilege to be attended by an intuitive seer like Dr.Fortescue-Langley.'

Mrs. Evelegh was rich—'left comfortably,' as the phrasegoes, but with a clause which prevented her marrying again withoutlosing her fortune; and I could gather from various hints that Dr.Fortescue-Langley, whoever he might be, was bleeding her to sometune, using her soul and her inner self as his financial lancet. Ialso noticed that what she said about the bangle was strictly true;generally bright as a new pin, on certain mornings it wascompletely blackened. I had been at thechalet ten days,however, before I began to suspect the real reason. Then it dawnedupon me one morning in a flash of inspiration. The evening beforehad been cold, for at the height where we were perched, even inAugust, we often found the temperature chilly in the night, and Iheard Mrs. Evelegh tell Cécile, her maid, to fill thehot-water bottle. It was a small point, but it somehow went home tome. Next day the bangle was black, and Mrs. Evelegh lamented thather inner self must be suffering from an attack of evilvapours.

I held my peace at the time, but I asked Cécile a littlelater to bring me that hot-water-bottle. As I more than halfsuspected, it was made of india-rubber, wrapped carefully up in theusual red flannel bag. 'Lend me your brooch, Elsie,' I said. 'Iwant to try a little experiment.'

'I think not,' I answered. 'A franc is most likely too hard; ithas base metal to alloy it. But I will vary the experiment bytrying both together. Your brooch is Indian[Pg 105] andtherefore soft silver. The native jewellers never use alloy. Handit over; it will clean with a little plate-powder, if necessary.I'm going to see what blackens Mrs. Evelegh's bangle.'

I laid the franc and the brooch on the bottle, filled with hotwater, and placed them for warmth in the fold of a blanket. Afterdéjeûner, we inspected them. As I anticipated,the brooch had grown black on the surface with a thin iridescentlayer of silver sulphide, while the franc had hardly suffered atall from the exposure.

I called in Mrs. Evelegh, and explained what I had done. She wasastonished and half incredulous. 'How could you ever think of it?'she cried, admiringly.

'Why, I was reading an article yesterday about india-rubber inone of your magazines,' I answered; 'and the person who wrote itsaid the raw gum was hardened for vulcanising by mixing it withsulphur. When I heard you ask Cécile for thehot-water-bottle, I thought at once: "The sulphur and the heataccount for the tarnishing of Mrs. Evelegh's bangle."'

'And the franc doesn't tarnish! Then that must be why my othersilver bracelet, which is English make, and harder, never changescolour! And Dr. Fortescue-Langley assured me it was because thesoft one was of Indian metal, and had mystic symbols onit—symbols that answered to the cardinal moods of mysub-conscious self, and that darkened in sympathy.'

'Yes,' she answered. 'He always does. It's the key-note of hissystem. He heals by that alone. But, my dear, after this, how can Iever believe in him?'

'Oh, yes; he ordered me to use it on certain nights; and when Igo to England he says I must never be without one. I see now thatwas why my inner self invariably went wrong in England. It was alljust the sulphur blackening the bangles.'

I reflected. 'A middle-aged man?' I asked. 'Stout,diplomatic-looking, with wrinkles round his eyes, and adistinguished grey moustache, twirled up oddly at the corners?'

'He practises on that basis. He says it's no use prescribing forthe outer man; to do that is to treat mere symptoms: thesub-conscious self is the inner seat of diseases.'

I made up my mind at once. 'Then I must see him, without beingseen,' I said. 'I think I know him. He is our Count, I believe.'For I had told Mrs. Evelegh and Elsie the queer story of my journeyfrom London.

'Wait and see, Mrs. Evelegh. You acknowledge he duped you overthe affair of the bangle.'

There are two kinds of dupe: one kind, the commonest, goes onbelieving in its deceiver, no matter what happens; the other, farrarer, has the sense to know it has been deceived if you make thedeception as clear as day to it.[Pg 107] Mrs. Evelegh was,fortunately, of the rarer class. Next morning, Dr.Fortescue-Langley arrived, by appointment. As he walked up thepath, I glanced at him from my window. It was the Count, not adoubt of it. On his way to gull his dupes in Switzerland, he hadtried to throw in an incidental trifle of a diamond robbery.

I telegraphed the facts at once to Lady Georgina, at[Pg 108]Schlangenbad. She answered, 'I am coming. Ask the man to meet hisfriend on Wednesday.'

Mrs. Evelegh, now almost convinced, invited him. On Wednesdaymorning, with a bounce, Lady Georgina burst in upon us. 'My dear,such a journey!—alone, at my age—but there, I haven'tknown a happy day since you left me! Oh, yes, I got myGretchen—unsophisticated?—well—h'm—that'snot the word for it: I declare to you, Lois, there isn't a trick ofthe trade, in Paris or London—not a perquisite or a tip thatthat girl isn't up to. Comes straight from the remotest recesses ofthe Black Forest, and hadn't been with me a week, I assure you,honour bright, before she was bandolining her yellow hair, androuging her cheeks, and wearing my brooches, and wagering gloveswith the hotel waiters upon the Baden races.And herlanguage:and her manners! Why weren't you born in thatstation of life, I wonder, child, so that I might offer you fivehundred a year, and all found, to come and live with me for ever?But this Gretchen—her fringe, her shoes, herribbons—upon my soul, my dear, I don't know what girls arecoming to nowadays.'

'Ask Mrs. Lynn-Linton,' I suggested, as she paused. 'She is arecognised authority on the subject.'

The Cantankerous Old Lady stared at me. 'And this Count?' shewent on. 'So you have really tracked him? You're a wonderful girl,my dear. I wish you were a lady's maid. You'd be worth me anymoney.'

Lady Georgina waxed warm. 'Dr. Fortescue-Langley!' sheexclaimed. 'The wicked wretch! But he didn't get my diamonds! I'vecarried them here in my hands, all the way from Wiesbaden: I wasn'tgoing to leave them for a[Pg 109] single day to the tender merciesof that unspeakable Gretchen. The fool would lose them. Well, we'llcatch him this time, Lois: and we'll give him ten years forit!'

'Ten years!' Mrs. Evelegh cried, clasping her hands in horror.'Oh, Lady Georgina!'

We waited in Mrs. Evelegh's dining-room, the old lady and I,behind the folding doors. At three precisely Dr. Fortescue-Langleywalked in. I had difficulty in restraining Lady Georgina fromfalling upon him prematurely. He talked a lot of high-flownnonsense to Mrs. Evelegh and Elsie about the influences of theplanets, and the seventy-five emanations, and the eternal wisdom ofthe East, and the medical efficacy of sub-conscious suggestion.Excellent patter, all of it—quite as good in its way as thediplomatic patter he had poured forth in the train to LadyGeorgina. It was rich in spheres, in elements, in cosmic forces. Atlast, as he was discussing the reciprocal action of the inner selfupon the exhalations of the lungs, we pushed back the door andwalked calmly in upon him.

His breath came and went. The exhalations of the lungs showedvisible perturbation. He rose and stared at us. For a second helost his composure. Then, as bold as brass, he turned, with acunning smile, to Mrs. Evelegh. 'Where on earth did you pick upsuch acquaintances?' he inquired, in a well-simulated tone ofsurprise. 'Yes, Lady Georgina, I have met you before, I admit;but—it can hardly be agreeable to you to reflect under whatcircumstances.'

Lady Georgina was beside herself. 'You dare?' she cried,confronting him. 'You dare to brazen it out? You miserable sneak!But you can't bluff me now. I have the police outside.' Which Iregret to confess was a light-hearted fiction.[Pg 110]

I had an inspiration again. 'Take off that moustache!' I said,calmly, in my most commanding voice.

He clapped his hand to it in horror. In his agitation, hemanaged to pull it a little bit awry. It looked so absurd, hangingthere, all crooked, that I thought it kinder to him[Pg 111] toremove it altogether. The thing peeled off with difficulty; for itwas a work of art, very firmly and gracefully fastened withsticking-plaster. But it peeled off at last—and with it thewhole of the Count's and Dr. Fortescue-Langley's distinction. Theman stood revealed, a very palpable man-servant.

Lady Georgina stared hard at him. 'Where have I seen youbefore?' she murmured, slowly. 'That face is familiar to me. Why,yes; you went once to Italy as Mr. Marmaduke Ashurst's courier! Iknow you now. Your name is Higginson.'

It was a come-down for the Comte de Laroche-sur-Loiret, but heswallowed it like a man at a single gulp.

'Yes, my lady,' he said, fingering his hat nervously, now allwas up. 'You are quite right, my lady. But what would you have medo? Times are hard on us couriers. Nobody wants us now. I must taketo what I can.' He assumed once more the tone of the Viennadiplomat. 'Que voulez-vous, madame? These are revolutionarydays. A man of intelligence must move with the Zeitgeist!'

Lady Georgina burst into a loud laugh. 'And to think,' shecried, 'that I talked to this lackey from London to Malines withoutever suspecting him! Higginson, you're a fraud—but you're aprecious clever one.'

He bowed. 'I am happy to have merited Lady Georgina Fawley'scommendation,' he answered, with his palm on his heart, in hisgrandiose manner.

'But I shall hand you over to the police all the same! You are athief and a swindler!'

He assumed a comic expression. 'Unhappily, not a thief,' heobjected. 'This young lady prevented me from appropriating yourdiamonds.Convey, the wise call it. I wanted to take yourjewel-case—and she put me off with[Pg 112] asandwich-tin. I wanted to make an honest penny out of Mrs. Evelegh;and—she confronts me with your ladyship, and tears mymoustache off.'

Lady Georgina regarded him with a hesitating expression. 'But Ishall call the police,' she said, wavering visibly.

'De grace, my lady,de grace! Is it worth while,pour si peu de chose? Consider, I have really effectednothing. Will you charge me with having taken—inerror—a small tin sandwich-case—value, elevenpence? Anaffair of a week's imprisonment. That is positively all you canbring up against me. And,' brightening up visibly, 'I have the casestill; I will return it to-morrow with pleasure to yourladyship!'

'But the india-rubber water-bottle?' I put in. 'You have beendeceiving Mrs. Evelegh. It blackens silver. And you told her liesin order to extort money under false pretences.'

He shrugged his shoulders. 'You are too clever for me, younglady,' he broke out. 'I have nothing to say to you. But LadyGeorgina, Mrs. Evelegh—you are human—let me go!Reflect; I have things I could tell that would make both of youlook ridiculous. That journey to Malines, Lady Georgina! ThoseIndian charms, Mrs. Evelegh! Besides, you have spoiled my game. Letthat suffice you! I can practise in Switzerland no longer. Allow meto go in peace, and I will try once more to be indifferenthonest!'

He backed slowly towards the door, with his eyes fixed on them.I stood by and waited. Inch by inch he retreated. Lady Georginalooked down abstractedly at the carpet. Mrs. Evelegh looked upabstractedly at the ceiling. Neither spoke another word. The roguebacked out by[Pg 113] degrees. Then he sprang downstairs,and before they could decide was well out into theopen.[Pg114]

Lady Georgina was the first to break the silence. 'After all, mydear,' she murmured, turning to me, 'there was a deal of soundEnglish common-sense about Dogberry!'

I remembered then his charge to the watch to apprehend a rogue.'How if 'a will not stand?'

'Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go; and presentlycall the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of aknave.' When I remembered how Lady Georgina had hob-nobbed with theCount from Ostend to Malines, I agreed to a great extent both withher and with Dogberry.[Pg 115]

THE ADVENTURE OF THE IMPROMPTU MOUNTAINEER

The explosion and evaporation of Dr. Fortescue-Langley (withwhom were amalgamated the Comte de Laroche-sur-Loiret, Mr.Higginson the courier, and whatever else that versatile gentlemanchose to call himself) entailed many results of varyingmagnitudes.

In the first place, Mrs. Evelegh ordered a Great Manitou. That,however, mattered little to 'the firm,' as I loved to call us(because it shocked dear Elsie so); for, of course, after all herkindness we couldn't accept our commission on her purchase, so thatshe got her machine cheap for £15 from the maker. But, in thesecond place—I declare I am beginning to write like a womanof business—she decided to run over to England for the summerto see her boy at Portsmouth, being certain now that thediscoloration of her bangle depended more on the presence ofsulphur in the india-rubber bottle than on the passing state of herastral body. 'Tis an abrupt descent from the inner self to ahot-water bottle, I admit; but Mrs. Evelegh took the plunge withgrace, like a sensible woman. Dr. Fortescue-Langley had beenannihilated for her at one blow: she returned forthwith tocommon-sense and England.

'What will you do with thechalet while you'reaway?'[Pg116] Lady Georgina asked, when she announced herintention. 'You can't shut it up to take care of itself. Everyblessed thing in the place will go to rack and ruin. Shutting up ahouse means spoiling it for ever. Why, I've got a cottage of my ownthat I let for the summer in the best part of Surrey—a prettylittle place, now vacant, for which, by the way, I want a tenant,if you happen to know of one: and when it's left empty for a monthor two——'

'Perhaps it would do for me?' Mrs. Evelegh suggested, jumping atit. 'I'm looking out for a furnished house for the summer, withineasy reach of Portsmouth and London, for myself and Oliver.'

Lady Georgina seized her arm, with a face of blank horror. 'Mydear,' she cried. 'For you! I wouldn't dream of letting it to you.A nasty, damp, cold, unwholesome house, on stiff clay soil, withdetestable drains, in the deadliest part of the Weald ofSurrey,—why, you and your boy would catch your deaths ofrheumatism.'

'Is it the one I saw advertised in theTimes thismorning, I wonder?' Mrs. Evelegh inquired in a placid voice.'"Charming furnished house on Holmesdale Common; six bedrooms, fourreception-rooms; splendid views; pure air; picturesquesurroundings; exceptionally situated." I thought of writing aboutit.'

'That's it!' Lady Georgina exclaimed, with a demonstrative waveof her hand. 'I drew up the advertisement myself. Exceptionallysituated! I should just think it was! Why, my dear, I wouldn't letyou rent the place for worlds; a horrid, poky little hole, stuckdown in the bottom of a boggy hollow, as damp as Devonshire, withthe paper peeling off the walls, so that I had to take my choicebetween giving it up myself ten years ago, or removing to thecemetery; and I've let it ever since to City men with largefamilies.[Pg117] Nothing would induce me to allow you and your boyto expose yourself to such risks.' For Lady Georgina had takenquite a fancy to Mrs. Evelegh. 'But what I was just going to saywas this: you can't shut your house up; it'll all go mouldy. Housesalways go mouldy, shut up in summer. And you can't leave it to yourservants;I know the baggages; no conscience—noconscience; they'll ask their entire families to come and stop withthemen bloc, and turn your place into a perfect piggery.Why, when I went away from my house in town one autumn, didn't Ileave a policeman and his wife in charge—a most respectableman—only he happened to be an Irishman. And what was theconsequence? My dear, I assure you, I came back unexpectedly frompoor dear Kynaston's one day—at a moment'snotice—having quarrelled with him over Home Rule or Educationor something—poor dear Kynaston's what they call a Liberal, Ibelieve—got at by that man Rosebery—and there didn't Ifind all the O'Flanagans, and O'Flahertys, and O'Flynns in theneighbourhood camping out in my drawing-room; with a strongdetachment of O'Donohues, and O'Dohertys, and O'Driscolls lyingaround loose in possession of the library? Never leave a house tothe servants, my dear! It's positively suicidal. Put in aresponsible caretaker of whom you know something—like Loishere, for instance.'

'Lois!' Mrs. Evelegh echoed. 'Dear me, that's just the verything. What a capital idea! I never thought of Lois! She and Elsiemight stop on here, with Ursula and the gardener.'

I protested that if we did it was our clear duty to pay a smallrent; but Mrs. Evelegh brushed that aside. 'You've robbedyourselves over the bicycle,' she insisted, 'and I'm delighted tolet you have it. It's I who ought to pay, for you'll keep the housedry for me.'[Pg 118]

I remembered Mr. Hitchcock—'Mutual advantage: benefitsyou, benefits me'—and made no bones about it. So in the endMrs. Evelegh set off for England with Cécile, leaving Elsieand me in charge of Ursula, the gardener, and thechalet.

As for Lady Georgina, having by this time completed her 'cure'at Schlangenbad (complexion as usual; no guinea yellower), shetelegraphed for Gretchen—'I can't do without theidiot'—and hung round Lucerne, apparently for no otherpurpose but to send people up the Brünig on the hunt for ourwonderful new machines, and so put money in our pockets. She wasmuch amused when I told her that Aunt Susan (who lived, you willremember, in respectable indigence at Blackheath)[Pg 119] hadwritten to expostulate with me on my 'unladylike' conduct inbecoming a bicycle commission agent. 'Unladylike!—theCantankerous Old Lady exclaimed, with warmth. 'What does the womanmean? Has she got no gumption? It's "ladylike," I suppose, to be acompanion, or a governess, or a music-teacher, or something else inthe black-thread-glove way, in London; but not to sell bicycles fora good round commission. My dear, between you and me, I don't seeit. If you had a brother, now,he might sell cycles, orcorner wheat, or rig the share market, or do anything else hepleased, in these days, and nobody'd think the worse ofhim—as long as he made money; and it's my opinion that whatis sauce for the goose can't be far out for the gander—andvice-versâ. Besides which, what's the use oftrying to be ladylike? Youare a lady, child, and youcouldn't help being one; why trouble to belike what naturemade you? Tell Aunt Susan from me to putthat in her pipeand smoke it!'

Idid tell Aunt Susan by letter, giving Lady Georgina'sauthority for the statement; and I really believe it had aconsoling effect upon her; for Aunt Susan is one of thoseinnocent-minded people who cherish a profound respect for theopinions and ideas of a Lady of Title. Especially where questionsof delicacy are concerned. It calmed her to think that though I, anofficer's daughter, had declined upon trade, I was mixing at leastwith the Best People!

We had a lovely time at thechalet—two girls alone,messing just as we pleased in the kitchen, and learning from Ursulahow to concoctpot-au-feu in the most approved Swissfashion. We pottered, as we women love to potter, half the daylong; the other half we spent in riding our cycles about theeternal hills, and ensnaring the flies whom Lady Georgina dutifullysent up to us. She was our decoy duck: and, in virtue of herhandle, she decoyed to a marvel. Indeed, I[Pg 120] soldso many Manitous that I began to entertain a deep respect for myown commercial faculties. As for Mr. Cyrus W. Hitchcock, he wroteto me from Frankfort: 'The world continues to revolve on its axis,the Manitou, and the machine is booming. Orders romp in daily. Whenyou ventilated the suggestion of an agency at Limburg, I concludedat a glance you had the material of a first-class business womanabout you; but I reckon I did not know what a traveller meant tillyou started on the road. I am now enlarging and altering thisfactory, to meet increased demands. Branch offices at Berlin,Hamburg, Crefeld, and Düsseldorf. Inspect our stock beforedealing elsewhere. A liberal discount allowed to the trade. Twohundred agents wanted in all towns of Germany. If they were everyone of them likeyou, miss—well, I guess I would hirethe town of Frankfort for my business premises.'

One morning, after we had spent about a week at thechalet by ourselves, I was surprised to see a young man witha knapsack on his back walking up the garden path towards ourcottage. 'Quick, quick, Elsie!' I cried, being in a mischievousmood. 'Come here with the opera-glass! There's a Man in theoffing!'

'A Man,' I answered, squeezing her arm. 'A Man! A real live Man!A specimen of the masculine gender in the human being! Man, ahoy!He has come at last—the lodestar of our existence!'

Next minute, I was sorry I spoke; for as the man drew nearer, Iperceived that he was endowed with very long legs and a languidlypoetical bearing. That supercilious smile—that enticingmoustache! Could it be?—yes, it was—not a doubt ofit—Harold Tillington![Pg 121]

I grew grave at once; Harold Tillington and the situation wereserious. 'What can he want here?' I exclaimed, drawing back.

'Who is it?' Elsie asked; for, being a woman, she read at oncein my altered demeanour the fact that the Man was not unknown tome.

'Lady Georgina's nephew,' I answered, with a tell-tale cheek, Ifear. 'You remember I mentioned to you that I had met him atSchlangenbad. But this is really too bad of that wicked old LadyGeorgina. She has told him where we lived and sent him up to seeus.'

I glanced at Elsie sideways. I had an uncomfortable suspicionthat she said it slyly, like one who knew he wanted nothing of thesort. But at any rate, I brushed the suggestion aside frankly.'Nonsense,' I answered. 'He wantsme, not a bicycle.'

He came up to us, waving his hat. Hedid look handsome!'Well, Miss Cayley,' he cried from afar, 'I have tracked you toyour lair! I have found out where you abide! What a beautiful spot!And how well you're looking!'

'This is an unexpected——' I paused. He thought I wasgoing to say, 'pleasure,' but I finished it, 'intrusion.' His facefell. 'How did you know we were at Lungern, Mr. Tillington?'

'My respected relative,' he answered, laughing. 'Shementioned—casually—' his eyes met mine—'that youwere stopping in achalet. And as I was on my way back tothe diplomatic mill, I thought I might just as well walk over theGrimsel and the Furca, and then on to the Gotthard. The Court is atMonza. So it occurred to me ... that in passing ... I might ventureto drop in and say how-do-you-do to you.'[Pg 122]

'Thank you,' I answered, severely—but my heart spokeotherwise—'I do very well. And you, Mr. Tillington?'

I gazed at his dusty feet. 'You are tramping,' I said, cruelly.'I suppose you will get forward for lunch to Meiringen?'

He grew bolder. 'No; to say the truth, I half hoped I might stopand spend the day here with you.'

'Elsie,' I remarked firmly, 'if Mr. Tillington persists inplanting himself upon us like this, one of us must go andinvestigate the kitchen department.'

Elsie rose like a lamb. I have an impression that she gatheredwe wanted to be left alone.

He turned to me imploringly. 'Lois,' he cried, stretching outhis arms, with an appealing air, 'Imay stay, mayn't I?'

I tried to be stern; but I fear 'twas a feeble pretence. 'We aretwo girls, alone in a house,' I answered. 'Lady Georgina, as amatron of experience, ought to have protected us. Merely to giveyou lunch is almost irregular. (Good diplomatic word, irregular.)Still, in these days, I suppose youmay stay, if you leaveearly in the afternoon. That's the utmost I can do for you.'

I did not dare to be gracious. 'Uninvited guests must notquarrel with their welcome,' I answered severely. Then the woman inme broke forth. 'But indeed, Mr. Tillington, I am glad to seeyou.'

He leaned forward eagerly. 'So you are not angry with me, Lois?I may call youLois?'[Pg 123]

I trembled and hesitated. 'I am not angry with you. I— Ilike you too much to be ever angry with you. And I am glad youcame—just this once—to see me.... Yes,—when weare alone—you may call me Lois.'

He tried to seize my hand. I withdrew it. 'Then I may perhapshope,' he began, 'that some day——'

I shook my head. 'No, no,' I said, regretfully. 'You[Pg 124]misunderstand me. I like you very much; and I like to see you. Butas long as you are rich and have prospects like yours, I couldnever marry you. My pride wouldn't let me. Take that as final.'

I hesitated. Then my heart rose, and I gave way. 'If ever youare poor,' I faltered,—'penniless, hunted,friendless—come to me, Harold, and I will help and comfortyou. But not till then. Not till then, I implore you.'

He leant back and clasped his hands. 'You have given mesomething to live for, dear Lois,' he murmured. 'I will try to bepoor—penniless, hunted, friendless. To win you I will try.And when that day arrives, I shall come to claim you.'

We sat for an hour and had a delicious talk—about nothing.But we understood each other. Only that artificial barrier dividedus. At the end of the hour, I heard Elsie coming back byjudiciously slow stages from the kitchen to the living-room,through six feet of passage, discoursing audibly to Ursula all theway, with a tardiness that did honour to her heart and herunderstanding. Dear, kind little Elsie! I believe she had never atiny romance of her own; yet her sympathy for others was sweet tolook upon.

We lunched at a small deal table in the veranda. Around us rosethe pinnacles. The scent of pines and moist moss was in the air.Elsie had arranged the flowers, and got ready the omelette, andcooked the chicken cutlets, and prepared the junket. 'I neverthought I could do it alone without you, Brownie; but I tried, andit all came right by magic, somehow.' We laughed and talkedincessantly. Harold was in excellent cue; and Elsie took to him. Alivelier or merrier table there wasn't in thetwenty-two[Pg 125] Cantons that day than ours, underthe sapphire sky, looking out on the sun-smitten snows of theJungfrau.

After lunch, Harold begged hard to be allowed to stop for tea. Ihad misgivings, but I gave way—hewas such goodcompany. One may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, says thewisdom of our ancestors: and, after all, Mrs. Grundy was onlyrepresented here by Elsie, the gentlest and least censorious of herdaughters. So he stopped and chatted till four; when I made tea andinsisted on dismissing him. He meant to take the rough mountainpath over the screes from Lungern to Meiringen, which ran rightbehind thechalet. I feared lest he might be belated, andurged him to hurry.

He rose instantly, and bowed. 'Your will is law—even whenit pronounces sentence of exile.'

Would we walk a little way with him? No, I faltered; we wouldnot. We would follow him with the opera-glasses and wave himfarewell when he reached the Kulm. He shook our hands unwillingly,and turned up the little path, looking handsomer than ever. It ledascending through a fir-wood to the rock-strewn hillside.

Once, a quarter of an hour later, we caught a glimpse of himnear a sharp turn in the road; after that we waited in vain, withour eyes fixed on the Kulm; not a sign could we discern of him. Atlast I grew anxious. 'He ought to be there,' I cried, fuming.

I swept the slopes with the opera-glasses. Anxiety and interestin him quickened my senses, I suppose. 'Look here, Elsie,' I burstout at last. 'Just take this glass and[Pg 126] havea glance at those birds, down the crag below the Kulm. Don't theyseem to be circling and behaving most oddly?'

Elsie gazed where I bid her. 'They're wheeling round and round,'she answered, after a minute; 'and they certainlydo look asif they were screaming.'

'Then he's fallen over a precipice!' I cried, rising up; 'andhe's lying there on a ledge by their nest. Elsie, we must go tohim!'

She clasped her hands and looked terrified. 'Oh, Brownie, howdreadful!' she exclaimed. Her face was deadly white. Mine burnedlike fire.

'Not a moment to lose!' I said, holding my breath. 'Get out therope and let us run to him!'

'Don't you think,' Elsie suggested, 'we had better hurry down onour cycles to Lungern and call some men from the village to helpus? We are two girls, and alone. What can we do to aid him?'

'No,' I answered, promptly, 'that won't do. It would only losetime—and time may be precious. You and I must go; I'll sendUrsula off to bring up guides from the village.'

Fortunately, we had a good long coil of new rope in the house,which Mrs. Evelegh had provided in case of accident. I slipped iton my arm, and set out on foot; for the path was by far too roughfor cycles. I was sorry afterwards that I had not taken Ursula, andsent Elsie to Lungern to rouse the men; for she found the climbinghard, and I had difficulty at times in dragging her up the steepand stony pathway, almost a watercourse. However, we persisted inthe direction of the Kulm, tracking Harold by his footprints; forhe wore mountain boots with sharp-headed nails, which[Pg 127] madedints in the moist soil, and scratched the smooth surface of therock where he trod on it.

We followed him thus for a mile or two, along the regular path;then of a sudden, in an open part, the trail failed us. I turnedback, a few yards, and looked close, with my eyes fixed on thespongy soil, as keen as a hound that sniffs his way after hisquarry. 'He went offhere, Elsie!' I said at last, pullingup short by a spindle bush on the hillside.

'Why, see, there are the marks of his stick; he had a thick one,you remember, with a square iron spike. These are its dints; I havebeen watching them all the way along from thechalet!

'Yes, I know; I can tell his from the older ones made by thespikes of alpenstocks because Harold's are fresher and sharper onthe edge. They look so much newer. See, here, he slipped on therock; you can know that scratch is recent by the clean way it'straced, and the little glistening crystals still left behind in it.Those other marks have been wind-swept and washed by the rain.There are no broken particles.'

How on earth did I find it out! I wondered myself. But theemergency seemed somehow to teach me something of the instinctivelore of hunters and savages. I did not trouble to answer her. 'Atthis bush, the tracks fail,' I went on; 'and, look, he must haveclutched at that branch and crushed the broken leaves as the twigsslipped through his fingers. He left the path here, then, andstruck off on a short cut of his own along the hillside, lowerdown. Elsie, we must follow him.'

She shrank from it; but I held her hand. It was a[Pg 128] moredifficult task to track him now; for we had no longer the path toguide us. However, I explored the ground on my hands and knees, andsoon found marks of footsteps on the boggy patches, with scratcheson the rock where he had leapt from point to point, or planted hisstick to steady himself. I tried to help Elsie along among thelittered boulders and the dwarf growth of wind-swept daphne: but,poor child, it was too much for her: she sat down after a fewminutes upon the flat juniper scrub and began to cry. What was I todo? My anxiety was breathless. I couldn't leave her there alone,and I couldn't forsake Harold. Yet I felt every minute might now becritical. We were making among wet whortleberry thicket and tornrock towards the spot where I had seen the birds wheel and circle,screaming. The only way left was to encourage Elsie and make herfeel the necessity for instant action. 'He is alive still,' Iexclaimed, looking up; 'the birds are crying! If he were dead, theywould return to their nest— Elsie, wemust get tohim!'

She rose, bewildered, and followed me. I held her hand tight,and coaxed her to scramble over the rocks where the scratchesshowed the way, or to clamber at times over fallen trunks of hugefir-trees. Yet it was hard work climbing; even Harold's sure feethad slipped often on the wet and slimy boulders, though, like mostof Queen Margherita's set, he was an expert mountaineer. Then, attimes, I lost the faint track, so that I had to diverge and lookclose to find it. These delays fretted me. 'See, a stone loosedfrom its bed—he must have passed by here.... That twig isnewly snapped; no doubt he caught at it.... Ha, the moss there hasbeen crushed; a foot has gone by. And the ants on that ant-hill,with their eggs in their mouths—a man's tread has frightenedthem.' So, by some instinctive sense, as if the spirit of my savageancestors revived within me, I[Pg 129] managed to recover thespoor again and again by a miracle, till at last, round a corner bya defiant cliff—with a terrible foreboding, my heart stoodstill within me.

We had come to an end. A great projecting buttress of crag rosesheer in front. Above lay loose boulders. Below was a shrub-hungprecipice. The birds we had seen from home were still circling andscreaming.

They were a pair of peregrine hawks. Their nest seemed to liefar below the broken scar, some sixty or seventy feet beneathus.[Pg130]

'He is not dead!' I cried once more, with my heart in my mouth.'If he were, they would have returned. He has fallen, and is lying,alive, below there!'

Elsie shrank back against the wall of rock. I advanced on myhands and knees to the edge of the precipice. It was not quitesheer, but it dropped like a sea-cliff, with broken ledges.

I could see where Harold had slipped. He had tried to climbround the crag that blocked the road, and the ground at the edge ofthe precipice had given way with him; it showed a recent founder ofa few inches. Then he clutched at a branch of broom as he fell; butit slipped through his fingers, cutting them; for there was bloodon the wiry stem. I knelt by the side of the cliff and craned myhead over. I scarcely dared to look. In spite of the birds, myheart misgave me.

There, on a ledge deep below, he lay in a mass, half raised onone arm. But not dead, I believed. 'Harold!' I cried. 'Harold!'

He turned his face up and saw me; his eyes lighted with joy. Heshouted back something, but I could not hear it.

I unwound the coil of rope. The first thing was to fasten it. Icould not trust Elsie to hold it; she was too weak and toofrightened to bear my weight: even if I wound it round her body, Ifeared my mere mass might drag her over. I peered about at thesurroundings. No tree grew near; no rock had a pinnaclesufficiently safe to depend upon. But I found a plan soon. In thecrag behind me was a cleft, narrowing wedge-shape as it descended.I tied the end of the rope round a stone, a[Pg 131] goodbig water-worn stone, rudely girdled with a groove near the middle,which prevented it from slipping; then I dropped it down thefissure till it jammed; after which, I tried it to see if it wouldbear. It was firm as the rock itself. I let the rope down by it,and waited a moment to discover whether Harold could climb. Heshook his head, and took a notebook with evident pain from hispocket. Then he scribbled a few words, and pinned them to the rope.I hauled it up. 'Can't move. Either severely bruised and sprained,or else legs broken.'

My first idea was merely to glide down the rope with my glovedhands, for I chanced to have my dog-skin bicycling gloves in mypocket. Fortunately, however, I did not carry out this crude ideatoo hastily; for next instant it occurred to me that I could notswarm up again. I have had no practice in rope-climbing. Here was aproblem. But the moment suggested its own solution. I began makingknots, or rather nooses or loops, in the rope, at intervals ofabout eighteen inches. 'What are they for?' Elsie asked, looking onin wonder.

'I don't think so. Still, to make sure, I shall tie them withthis string. Imust get down to him.'

I threaded a sufficient number of loops, trying the length overthe edge. Then I said to Elsie, who sat cowering, propped againstthe crag, 'You must come and look over, and do as I wave to you.Mind, dear, youmust! Two lives depend upon it.'

I smoothed her golden hair. 'Elsie, dear,' I said gently, gazinginto her blue eyes, 'you are a woman. A woman[Pg 132] canalways be brave, where those she loves are concerned; and I believeyou love me.' I led her, coaxingly, to the edge. 'Sit there,' Isaid, in my quietest voice, so as not to alarm her. 'You can lie atfull length, if you like, and only just peep over. But when I wavemy hand, remember, you must pull the rope up.'

I gripped the rope and let myself down, not using the loops todescend, but just sliding with hands and knees, and allowing theknots to slacken my pace. Half-way down, I will confess, the eeriefeeling of physical suspense was horrible. One hung so in mid-air!The hawks flapped their wings. But Harold was below; and a womancan always be brave where those she[Pg 133] loves—well, justthat moment, catching my breath, I knew I loved Harold.

I glided down swiftly. The air whizzed. At last, on a narrowshelf of rock, I leant over him. He seized my hand. 'I knew youwould come!' he cried. 'I felt sure you would find out. Though,how you found out, Heaven only knows, you clever, bravelittle woman!'

He shook his head. 'Oh, no. I couldn't climb at all. I must belifted, somehow. You had better go back to Lungern and bring men tohelp you.'

I reflected a moment. 'Lend me your pencil,' I said. He pulledit out—his arms were almost unhurt, fortunately. I scribbleda line to Elsie. 'Tie my plaid to the rope and let it down.' Then Iwaved to her to pull up again.

I was half surprised to find she obeyed the signal, for shecrouched there, white-faced and open-mouthed, watching; but I haveoften observed that women are almost always brave in the greatemergencies. She pinned on the plaid and let it down withcommendable quickness. I doubled it, and tied firm knots in thefour corners, so as to make it into a sort of basket; then Ifastened it at each corner with a piece of the rope, crossed in themiddle, till it looked like one of the cages they use in mills forletting down sacks with. As soon as it was finished, I said, 'Now,just try to crawl into it.'

He raised himself on his arms and crawled in with[Pg 134]difficulty. His legs dragged after him. I could see he was in greatpain. But still, he managed it.

I planted my foot in the first noose. 'You must sit still,' Isaid, breathless. 'I am going back to haul you up.'

I began my hazardous journey; I mounted the rope by thenooses—one, two, three, four, counting them as I mounted. Idid not dare to look up or down as I did so, lest I should growgiddy and fall, but kept my eyes fixed firmly always on the onenoose in front of me. My brain swam: the rope swayed and creaked.Twenty, thirty, forty! Foot after foot, I slipped them inmechanically, taking up with me the longer coil whose ends wereattached to the cage and Harold. My hands trembled; it was ghastly,swinging there between earth and heaven. Forty-five, forty-six,forty-seven— I knew there were forty-eight of them. At last,after some weeks, as it seemed, I reached the summit. Tremulous andhalf dead, I prised myself over the edge with my hands, and kneltonce more on the hill beside Elsie.

I looked about me. I was too faint and shaky after my perilousascent to be fit for work, but there was no help for it. What couldI use as a pulley? Not a tree grew near; but the stone jammed inthe fissure might once more serve my purpose. I tried it again. Ithad borne my weight; was it strong enough to bear the preciousweight of Harold? I tugged at it, and thought so. I passedthe[Pg135] rope round it like a pulley, and then tied it aboutmy own waist. I had a happy thought: I could use myself as awindlass. I turned on my feet for a pivot. Elsie helped me to pull.'Up you go!' I cried, cheerily. We wound slowly, for fear ofshaking him. Bit by bit, I could feel the cage rise gradually fromthe ground; its weight, taken so, with living capstan and stoneaxle, was less than I should have expected. But the pulley helpedus, and Elsie, spurred by need, put forth more reserve of nervousstrength than I could easily have believed lay in that tiny body. Itwisted myself round and round, close to the edge, so as to lookover from time to time, but not at all quickly, for fear ofdizziness. The rope strained and gave. It was a deadly ten minutesof suspense and anxiety. Twice or thrice as I looked down I saw aspasm of pain break over Harold's face; but when I paused andglanced inquiringly, he motioned me to go on with my venturesometask. There was no turning back now. We had almost got him up whenthe rope at the edge began to creak ominously.

It was straining at the point where it grated against the brinkof the precipice. My heart gave a leap. If the rope broke, all wasover.

With a sudden dart forward, I seized it with my hands, below thepart that gave; then—one fierce little run back—and Ibrought him level with the edge. He clutched at Elsie's hand. Iturned thrice round, to wind the slack about my body. The taut ropecut deep into my flesh; but nothing mattered now, except to savehim. 'Catch the cloak, Elsie!' I cried; 'catch it: pull him gentlyin!' Elsie caught it and pulled him in, with wonderful pluck andcalmness. We hauled him over the edge. He lay safe on the bank.Then we all three broke down and cried like children together. Itook his hand in mine and held it in silence.[Pg 136]

When we found words again I drew a deep breath, and said,simply, 'How did you manage to do it?'

'I tried to clamber past the wall that barred the way there bysheer force of stride—you know, my legs are long—and Isomehow overbalanced myself. But I didn't exactly fall—if Ihad fallen, I must have been killed; I rolled and slid down,clutching at the weeds in the crannies as I slipped, and stumblingover the projections, without quite losing my foothold on theledges, till I found myself brought up short with a bump at the endof it.'

'I can't feel sure. It hurts me horribly to move. I fancy justat first I must[Pg 137] have fainted. But I'm inclined toguess I'm only sprained and bruised and sore all over. Why, you'reas bad as me, I believe. See, your dear hands are all torn andbleeding!'

'How are we ever to get him back again, Brownie?' Elsie put in.She was paler than ever now, and prostrate with the after-effectsof her unwonted effort.

'You are a practical woman, Elsie,' I answered. 'Stop with himhere a minute or two. I'll climb up the hillside and halloo forUrsula and the men from Lungern.'

I climbed and hallooed. In a few minutes, worn out as I was, Ihad reached the path above and attracted their attention. Theyhurried down to where Harold lay, and, using my cage for a litter,slung on a young fir-trunk, carried him back between them acrosstheir shoulders to the village. He pleaded hard to be allowed toremain at thechalet, and Elsie joined her prayers to his;but, there, I was adamant. It was not so much what people might saythat I minded, but a deeper difficulty. For if once I nursed himthrough this trouble, how could I or any woman in my place anylonger refuse him? So I passed him ruthlessly on to Lungern (thoughmy heart ached for it), and telegraphed at once to his nearestrelative, Lady Georgina, to come up and take care of him.

He recovered rapidly. Though sore and shaken, his worst hurts,it turned out, were sprains; and in three or four days he was readyto go on again. I called to see him before he left. I dreaded theinterview; for one's own heart is a hard enemy to fight so long:but how could I let him go without one word of farewell to him?

'After this, Lois,' he said, taking my hand in his—and Iwas weak enough, for a moment, to let it lie there—'youcannot say No to me!'

Oh, how I longed to fling myself upon him and cryout,[Pg138] 'No, Harold, I cannot! I love you too dearly!' Buthis future and Marmaduke Ashurst's half million restrained me: forhis sake and for my own I held myself in courageously. Though,indeed, it needed some courage and self-control. I withdrew my handslowly. 'Do you remember,' I said, 'you asked me that first day atSchlangenbad'—it was an epoch to me now, that firstday—'whether I was mediæval or modern? And I answered,"Modern, I hope." And you said, "That's well!"— You see, Idon't forget the least things you say to me. Well, because I ammodern—'my lips trembled and belied me—'I can answeryou No. I can even now refuse you. The old-fashioned girl, themediæval girl, would have held that because she saved yourlife (if Idid save your life, which is a matter of opinion)she was bound to marry you. ButI am modern, and I seethings differently. If there were reasons at Schlangenbad whichmade it impracticable for me to accept you—though my heartpleaded hard—I do not deny it—those reasons cannot havedisappeared merely because you have chosen to fall over aprecipice, and I have pulled you up again. My decision was founded,you see, not on passing accidents of situation, but on permanentconsiderations. Nothing has happened in the last three days toaffect those considerations. We are still ourselves: you, rich; I,a penniless adventuress. I could not accept you when you asked meat Schlangenbad. On just the same grounds, I cannot accept you now.I do not see how the unessential fact that I made myself into awinch to pull you up the cliff, and that I am still smarting forit——'

He looked me all over comically. 'How severe we are!' he cried,in a bantering tone. 'And how extremely Girtony! A System of Logic,Ratiocinative and Inductive, by Lois Cayley! What a pity we didn'ttake a professor's chair.[Pg 139] My child that isn'tyou!It's not yourself at all! It's an attempt to be unnaturally andunfemininely reasonable.'

Logic fled. I broke down utterly. 'Harold,' I cried, rising, 'Ilove you! I admit I love you! But I will never marryyou—while you have those thousands.'

He smothered my hand with kisses—for I withdrew my face.'If you admit you love me,' he cried, quite joyously, 'then all iswell. When once a woman admits that, the rest is but a matter oftime—and, Lois, I can wait a thousand years for you.'

'Not in my case,' I answered through my tears. 'Not in my case,Harold! I am a modern woman, and what I say I mean. I will renew mypromise. If ever you are poor and friendless, come to me; I amyours. Till then, don't harrow me by asking me theimpossible!'[Pg 140]

I tore myself away. At the hall door, Lady Georgina interceptedme. She glanced at my red eyes. 'Then you have taken him?' shecried, seizing my hand.

I shook my head firmly. I could hardly speak. 'No, LadyGeorgina,' I answered, in a choking voice. 'I have refused himagain. I will not stand in his way. I will not ruin hisprospects.'

She drew back and let her chin drop. 'Well, of all thehard-hearted, cruel, obdurate young women I ever saw in my borndays, if you're not the very hardest——'

I half ran from the house. I hurried home to thechalet.There, I dashed into my own room, locked the door behind me, flungmyself wildly on my bed, and, burying my face in my hands, had agood, long, hard-hearted, cruel, obdurate cry—exactly likeany other mediæval woman. It's all very well being modern;but my experience is that, when it comes to a man oneloves—well, the Middle Ages are still horribly strong withinus.[Pg141]

THE ADVENTURE OF THE URBANE OLD GENTLEMAN

When Elsie's holidays—I beg pardon, vacation—came toan end, she proposed to return to her High School in London. Zealfor the higher mathematics devoured her. But she still looked sofrail, and coughed so often—a perfectCampo Santo of acough—in spite of her summer of open-air exercise, that Ipositively worried her into consulting a doctor—not one ofthe Fortescue-Langley order. The report he gave was mildlyunfavourable. He spoke disrespectfully of the apex of her rightlung. It was not exactly tubercular, he remarked, but he 'fearedtuberculosis'—excuse the long words; the phrase was his, notmine; I repeatverbatim. He vetoed her exposing herself to awinter in London in her present unstable condition. Davos? Well,no.Not Davos: with deliberative thumb and finger onclose-shaven chin. He judged her too delicate for such drasticremedies. Those high mountain stations suited best the robustinvalid, who had dropped by accident into casual phthisis. For MissPetheridge's case—looking wise—he would not recommendthe Riviera, either: too stimulating, too exciting. What this younglady needed most was rest: rest in some agreeable southern town,some city of the soul—say Rome or Florence—where shemight find much to[Pg 142] interest her, and might forget theapex of her right lung in the new world of art that opened aroundher.

'Very well,' I said, promptly; 'that's settled, Elsie. The apexand you shall winter in Florence.'

'Afford it?' I echoed. 'Goodness gracious, my dear child, what abourgeois sentiment! Your medical attendant says to you, "Go toFlorence": and to Florence you must go; there's no getting out ofit. Why, even the swallows fly south when their medical attendanttells them England is turning a trifle too cold for them.'

'But what will Miss Latimer say? She depends upon me to comeback at the beginning of term. Shemust havesomebodyto undertake the higher mathematics.'

'And she will get somebody, dear,' I answered, calmly. 'Don'ttrouble your sweet little head about that. An eminent statisticianhas calculated that five hundred and thirty duly qualified youngwomen are now standing four-square in a solid phalanx in thestreets of London, all agog to teach the higher mathematics toanyone who wants them at a moment's notice. Let Miss Latimer takeher pick of the five hundred and thirty. I'll wire to her at once:"Elsie Petheridge unable through ill health to resume her duties.Ordered to Florence. Resigns post. Engage substitute."That's the way to do it.'

Elsie clasped her small white hands in the despair of the womanwho considers herself indispensable—as if we were any of usindispensable! 'But, dearest, the girls! They'll besodisappointed!'

'They'll get over it,' I answered, grimly. 'There are worsedisappointments in store for them in life— Which is a fineold crusted platitude worthy of Aunt Susan. Anyhow, I've decided.Look here, Elsie: I stand to youin loco[Pg 143]parentis.' I have already remarked, I think, that she was threeyears my senior; but I was so pleased with this phrase that Irepeated it lovingly. 'I stand to you, dear,in locoparentis. Now, I can't let you endanger your precious health byreturning to town and Miss Latimer this winter. Let us becategorical. I go to Florence; you go with me.'

'Our fellow-creatures, as usual,' I answered, with promptcallousness. 'I object to these base utilitarian considerationsbeing imported into the discussion of a serious question. Florenceis the city of art; as a woman of culture, it behoves you to revelin it. Your medical attendant sends you there; as a patient and aninvalid, you can revel with a clear conscience. Money? Well, moneyis a secondary matter. All philosophies and all religions agreethat money is mere dross, filthy lucre. Rise superior to it. Wehave a fair sum in hand to the credit of the firm; we can pick upsome more, I suppose, in Florence.'

I reflected. 'Elsie,' I said, 'you are deficient inFaith—which is one of the leading Christian graces. Mymission in life is to correct that want in your spiritual nature.Now, observe how beautifully all these events work in together! Thewinter comes, when no man can bicycle, especially in Switzerland.Therefore, what is the use of my stopping on here after October?Again, in pursuance of my general plan of going round the world, Imust get forward to Italy. Your medical attendant consideratelyorders you at the same time to Florence. In Florence we shall stillhave chances of selling Manitous, though possibly, I admit, indiminished numbers. I confess at once that people come toSwitzerland to tour, and are therefore liable to need our machines;while they go to Florence to look at pictures, and a bicyclewould[Pg144] doubtless prove inconvenient in the Uffizi or thePitti. Still, wemay sell a few. But I descry anotheropening. You write shorthand, don't you?'

'That's not business. Advertise yourself,àla Cyrus Hitchcock! Say boldly, "I write shorthand." Leave theworld to ask, "How fast?" It will ask it quick enough without yoursuggesting it. Well, my idea is this. Florence is a town teemingwith English tourists of the cultivated classes—men ofletters, painters, antiquaries, art-critics. I suppose evenart-critics may be classed as cultivated. Such people are sure toneed literary aid. We exist, to supply it. We will set up theFlorentine School of Stenography and Typewriting. We'll buy acouple of typewriters.'

I gazed at her in despair. 'Elsie,' I cried, clapping my hand tomy head, 'you are not practical. Did I ever suggest we should payfor them? I said merely, buy them. Base is the slave that pays.That's Shakespeare. And we all know Shakespeare is the mirror ofnature. Argal, it would be unnatural to pay for a typewriter. Wewill hire a room in Florence (on tick, of course), and beginoperations. Clients will flock in; and we tide over the winter.There's enterprise for you!' And I struck an attitude.

Elsie's face looked her doubts. I walked across to Mrs.Evelegh's desk, and began writing a letter. It occurred to me thatMr. Hitchcock, who was a man of business, might be able to help awoman of business in this delicate matter. I put the point to himfairly and squarely, without circumlocution; we were going to startan English typewriting office in Florence; what was the ordinaryway for people to become possessed of a typewriting machine,without the odious and mercenary preliminary of paying forit?[Pg145] The answer came back with commendablepromptitude.

Dear Miss,—Your spirit ofenterprise is really remarkable! I have forwarded your letter to myfriends of the Spread Eagle Typewriting and Phonograph Company,Limited, of New York City, informing them of your desire to open anagency for the sale of their machines in Florence, Italy, andgiving them my estimate of your business capacities. I have advisedtheir London house to present you with two complimentary machinesfor your own use and your partner's, and also to supply a number ofothers for disposal in the city of Florence. If you would furtherlike to undertake an agency for the development of the trade insalt codfish[Pg 146] (large quantities of which are, ofcourse, consumed in Catholic Europe), I could put you intocommunication with my respected friends, Messrs. Abel Woodward andCo., exporters of preserved provisions, St John, Newfoundland. But,perhaps in this suggestion I am not sufficientlyhigh-toned.—Respectfully,Cyrus W.Hitchcock.

The moment had arrived for Elsie to be firm. 'I have noprejudice against trade, Brownie,' she observed emphatically; 'butI do draw the line at salt fish.'

She sighed her relief. I really believe she half expected tofind me trotting about Florence with miscellaneous samples ofMessrs. Abel Woodward's esteemed productions protruding from mypocket.

So to Florence we went. My first idea was to travel by theBrenner route through the Tyrol; but a queer little episode whichmet us at the outset on the Austrian frontier put a check to thisplan. We cycled to the border, sending our trunks on by rail. Whenwe went to claim them at the Austrian Custom-house, we were toldthey were detained 'for political reasons.'

What? Elsie a conspirator? Elsie in league with Nihilists? Somild and so meek! I could never have believed it. I took the bookin my hands and read the title, 'Revolution of the HeavenlyBodies.'[Pg147]

'But this is astronomy,' I burst out. 'Don't you see?Sun-and-star circling. The revolution of the planets.'

'It matters not, Fräulein. Our instructions are strict. Wehave orders to interceptall revolutionary literaturewithout distinction.'

'Come, Elsie,' I said, firmly, 'this istoo ridiculous.Let us give them a clear berth, these Kaiserly-Kingly blockheads!'So we registered our luggage right back to Lucerne, and cycled overthe Gotthard.

When at last, by leisurely stages, we arrived at Florence, Ifelt there was no use in doing things by halves. If you are goingto start the Florentine School of Stenography and Typewriting, youmay as well start it on a proper basis. So I took sunny rooms at anice hotel for myself and Elsie, and hired a ground floor in aconvenient house, close under the shadow of the great marbleCampanile. (Considerations of space compel me to curtail the usualgush about Arnolfo and Giotto.) This was our office. When I had gota Tuscan painter to plant our flag in the shape of a sign-board, Isailed forth into the street and inspected it from outside with aswelling heart. It is true, the Tuscan painter's unaccountablepredilection for the rare spellings 'Scool' without anh and'Stenografy' with anf, somewhat damped my exuberant pridefor the moment; but I made him take the board back and correct hisItalianate English. As soon as all was fitted up with desk andtables we reposed upon our laurels, and waited only for customersin shoals to pour in upon us.I called them 'customers';Elsie maintained that we ought rather to say 'clients.' Being bytemperament averse to sectarianism, I did not dispute the pointwith her.

We reposed on our laurels—in vain. Neither customers norclients seemed in any particular hurry to disturb ourleisure.[Pg148]

I confess I took this ill. It was a rude awakening. I had begunto regard myself as the special favourite of a fairy godmother; itsurprised me to find that any undertaking of mine did not succeedimmediately. However, reflecting that my fairy godmother's name wasreally Enterprise, I recalled Mr. Cyrus W. Hitchcock's advice, andadvertised.

'There's one good thing about Florence, Elsie,' I said, just tokeep up her courage. 'When the customersdo come, they'll beinteresting people, and it will be interesting work. Artistic work,don't you know—Fra Angelico, and Della Robbia, and all thatsort of thing; or else fresh light on Dante andPetrarch!'[Pg 149]

'When theydo come, no doubt,' Elsie answered, dubiously.'But do you know, Brownie, it strikes me there isn't quite thatliterary stir and ferment one might expect in Florence. Dante andPetrarch appear to be dead. The distinguished authors fail tostream in upon us as one imagined with manuscripts to copy.'

I affected an air of confidence—for I had sunk capital inthe concern (that's business-like—sunk capital!). 'Oh, we'rea new firm,' I assented, carelessly. 'Our enterprise is yet young.When cultivated Florence learns we're here, cultivated Florencewill invade us in its thousands.'

But we sat in our office and bit our thumbs all day; thethousands stopped at home. We had ample opportunities for makingstudies of the decorative detail on the Campanile, till we knewevery square inch of it better than Mr. Ruskin. Elsie's notebookcontains, I believe, eleven hundred separate sketches of theCampanile, from the right end, the left end, and the middle of ourwindow, with eight hundred and five distinct distortions of theindividual statues that adorn its niches on the side turned towardsus.

At last, after we had sat, and bitten our thumbs, and sketchedthe Four Greater Prophets for a fortnight on end, an immenseexcitement occurred. An old gentleman was distinctly seen toapproach and to look up at the sign-board which decorated ouroffice.

I instantly slipped in a sheet of foolscap, and began totype-write with alarming speed—click, click, click; whileElsie, rising to the occasion, set to work to transcribe imaginaryshorthand as if her life depended upon it.

The old gentleman, after a moment's hesitation, lifted the latchof the door somewhat nervously. I affected to take no notice ofhim, so breathless was the haste with which our immense businessconnection compelled me to finger the[Pg 150] keyboard: but, lookingup at him under my eyelashes, I could just make out he was apeculiarly bland and urbane old person, dressed with the greatestcare, and some attention to fashion. His face was smooth; it tendedtowards portliness.

He made up his mind, and entered the office. I continued toclick till I had reached the close of a sentence—'Or to takearms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them.' Then Ilooked up sharply. 'Can I do anything for you?' I inquired, in thesmartest tone of business. (I observe that politeness is notprofessional.)

The Urbane Old Gentleman came forward with his hat in his hand.He looked as if he had just landed from the Eighteenth Century. Hisfigure was that of Mr. Edward Gibbon. 'Yes, madam,' he said, in amarkedly deferential tone, fussing about with the rim of his hat ashe spoke, and adjusting hispince-nez. 'I was recommended toyour—ur—your establishment for shorthand andtypewriting. I have some work which I wish done, if it falls withinyour province. But I amrather particular. I require a quickworker. Excuse my asking it, but how many words can you do aminute?'

I waved my hand with careless grace towards Elsie—as ifthese things happened to us daily. 'Miss Petheridge undertakes theshorthand department,' I said, with decision. 'I am the typewritingfrom dictation. Miss Petheridge, forward!'

The old gentleman bowed again. 'And your terms?' he inquired, ina honey-tongued voice. 'If I may venture to ask them.'

'Could you spare me an hour this morning?' he asked, stillfingering his hat nervously with his puffy hand. 'But perhaps youare engaged. I fear I intrude upon you.'

'Not at all,' I answered, consulting an imaginary engagementlist. 'This work can wait. Let me see: 11.30. Elsie, I think youhave nothing to do before one, that cannot be put off? Quiteso!—very well, then; yes, we are both at your service.'

The Urbane Old Gentleman looked about him for a seat. I pushedhim our one easy chair. He withdrew his gloves with greatdeliberation, and sat down in it with an apologetic glance. I couldgather from his dress and his diamond pin that he was wealthy.Indeed, I half guessed who he was already. There was a fussinessabout his manner which seemed strangely familiar to me.

He sat down by slow degrees, edging himself about till he wasthoroughly comfortable. I could see he was of the kind that willhave comfort. He took out his notes and a packet of letters, whichhe sorted slowly. Then he looked hard at me and at Elsie. He seemedto be making his[Pg 152] choice between us. After a time hespoke. 'Ithink,' he said, in a most leisurely voice, 'Iwill not trouble your friend to write shorthand for me, after all.Or should I say your assistant? Excuse my change of plan. I willcontent myself with dictation. You can follow on the machine?'

He glanced at his notes and began a letter. It was a curiouscommunication. It seemed to be all about buying Bertha and sellingClara—a cold-blooded proceeding which almost suggestedslave-dealing. I gathered he was giving instructions to his agent:could he have business relations with Cuba, I wondered. But therewere also hints of mysterious middies—brave British tars tothe rescue, possibly! Perhaps my bewilderment showed itself upon myface, for at last he looked queerly at me. 'You don't quite likethis, I'm afraid,' he said, breaking off short.

I was the soul of business. 'Not at all,' I answered. 'I am anautomaton—nothing more. It is a typewriter's function totranscribe the words a client dictates as if they were absolutelymeaningless to her.'

'Quite right,' he answered, approvingly. 'Quite right. I see youunderstand. A very proper spirit!'

Then the Woman within me got the better of the Typewriter.'Though I confess,' I continued, 'Ido feel it is a littleunkind to sell Clara at once for whatever she will fetch. It seemsto me—well—unchivalrous.'

'Still—the middies,' I went on: 'they will perhaps takecare that these poor girls are not ill-treated.'

He leaned back, clasped his hands, and regarded me fixedly.'Bertha,' he said, after a pause, 'is Brighton A's—to bestrictly correct, London, Brighton, and South Coast FirstPreference Debentures. Clara is Glasgow andSouth-Western[Pg 153] Deferred Stock. Middies are MidlandOrdinary. But I respect your feeling. You are a young lady ofprinciple.' And he fidgeted more than ever.

He went on dictating for just an hour. His subject-matterbewildered me. It was all about India Bills, and telegraphictransfers, and selling cotton short, and holding tight to EgyptianUnified. Markets, it seemed, were glutted. Hungarians were only tobe dealt in if they hardened—hardened sinners I know, butwhat are hardened Hungarians? And fears were not unnaturallyexpressed that Turks might be 'irregular,' Consols, it appeared,were certain to give way for political reasons; but the downwardtendency of Australians, I was relieved to learn, for the honour ofso great a group of colonies, could only be temporary. Greeks weregrowing decidedly worse, though I had always understood[Pg 154]Greeks were bad enough already; and Argentine Central were likelyto be weak; but Provincials must soon become commendably firm, andif Uruguays went flat, something good ought to be made out of them.Scotch rails might shortly be quiet— I always understood theywere based upon sleepers; but if South-Eastern stiffened, advantageshould certainly be taken of their stiffening. He would telegraphparticulars on Monday morning. And so on till my brain reeled. Oh,artistic Florence! wasthis the Filippo Lippi, the MichaelAngelo I dreamed of?

At the end of the hour, the Urbane Old Gentleman rose urbanely.He drew on his gloves again with the greatest deliberation, andhunted for his stick as if his life depended upon it. 'Let me see;I had a pencil; oh, thanks; yes, that is it. This cover protectsthe point. My hat? Ah, certainly. And my notes; much obliged; notesalways get mislaid. People are so careless. Then I will comeagain to-morrow; the same hour, if you will kindly keep yourselfdisengaged. Though, excuse me, you had better make an entry of itat once upon your agenda.'

'I know it,' I answered. 'At least, I think so. You are Mr.Marmaduke Ashurst. Lady Georgina Fawley sent you here.'

He laid down his hat and gloves again, so as to regard me moreundistracted. 'You are a most remarkable young lady,' he said, in avery slow voice. 'I impressed upon Georgina that she must notmention to you that I was coming. How on earth did you recogniseme?'

He stared at me with a sort of suspicion. 'Please don'ttell me you think me like my sister,' he went on. 'For[Pg 155]though, of course, every right-minded man feels—ur—anatural respect and affection for the members hisfamily—bows, if I may so say, to the inscrutable decrees ofProvidence—which has mysteriously burdened him withthem—still, thereare points about Lady Georgina whichI cannot conscientiously assert I approve of.'

'I do not resemble her, I hope,' he persisted, with a look whichI could almost describe as wistful.

'A family likeness, perhaps,' I put in. 'Family likenessesexist, you know—often with complete divergence of tastes andcharacter.'

He looked relieved. 'That is true. Oh, how true! But thelikeness in my case, I must admit, escapes me.'

I temporised. 'Strangers see these things most,' I said, airingthe stock platitudes. 'It may be superficial. And, of course, oneknows that profound differences of intellect and moral feelingoften occur within the limits of a single family.'

'You are quite right,' he said, with decision. 'Georgina'sprinciples are not mine. Excuse my remarking it, but you seem to bea young lady of unusual penetration.'

I saw he took my remark as a compliment. What I really meant tosay was that a commonplace man might easily be brother to so clevera woman as Lady Georgina.

He gathered up his hat, his stick, his gloves, his notes, andhis typewritten letters, one by one, and backed out politely. Hewas a punctilious millionaire. He had risen by urbanity to hisbrother directors, like a model guinea-pig. He bowed to us eachseparately as if we had been duchesses.

As soon as he was gone, Elsie turned to me.'Brownie,[Pg156] how on earth did you guess it? They're so awfullydifferent!'

'Not at all,' I answered. 'A few surface unlikenesses only justmask an underlying identity. Their features are the same; but hisare plump; hers, shrunken. Lady Georgina's expression is sharp andworldly; Mr. Ashurst's is smooth, and bland, and financial. Andthen their manner! Both[Pg 157] are fussy; but Lady Georgina's ishonest, open, ill-tempered fussiness; Mr. Ashurst's is concealedunder an artificial mask of obsequious politeness. One'scantankerous; the other's only pernicketty. It's one tune, afterall, in two different keys.'

From that day forth, the Urbane Old Gentleman was a dailyvisitor. He took an hour at a time at first; but after a few days,the hour lengthened out (apologetically) to an entire morning. He'presumed to ask' my Christian name the second day, and rememberedmy father—'a man of excellent principles.' But he didn't carefor Elsie to work for him. Fortunately for her, other work droppedin, once we had found a client, or else, poor girl, she would havefelt sadly slighted. I was glad she had something to do; the senseof dependence weighed heavily upon her.

The Urbane Old Gentleman did not confine himself entirely, afterthe first few days, to Stock Exchange literature. He was engaged ona Work—he spoke of it always with bated breath, and a capitalletter was implied in his intonation; the Work was one on theInterpretation of Prophecy. Unlike Lady Georgina, who was tart andcrisp, Mr. Marmaduke Ashurst was devout and decorous; where shesaid 'pack of fools,' he talked with unction of 'the mentaldeficiencies of our poorer brethren.' But his religious opinionsand his stockbroking had got strangely mixed up at the washsomehow. He was convinced that the British nation represented theLost Ten Tribes of Israel—and in particular Ephraim—amatter on which, as a mere lay-woman, I would not presume either toagree with him or to differ from him. 'That being so, Miss Cayley,we can easily understand that the existing commercial prosperity ofEngland depends upon the promises made to Abraham.'[Pg 158]

Mr. Ashurst, encouraged by so much assent, went on to unfold hisSystem of Interpretation, which was of a strictly commercial orcompany-promoting character. It ran like a prospectus. 'We haveinherited the gold of Australia and the diamonds of the Cape,' hesaid, growing didactic, and lifting one fat forefinger; 'we are nowinheriting Klondike and the Rand, for it is morally certain that weshall annex the Transvaal. Again, "the chief things of the ancientmountains, and the precious things of the everlasting hills." Whatdoes that mean? The ancient mountains are clearly the Rockies; canthe everlasting hills be anything but the Himalayas? "For theyshall suck of the abundance of the seas"—that refers, ofcourse, to our world-wide commerce, due mainly toimports—"and of the treasures hid in the sand." Which sand?Undoubtedly, I say, the desert of Mount Sinai. What then is ourobvious destiny? A lady of your intelligence must gather at oncethat it is——?' He paused and gazed at me.

'To drive the Sultan out of Syria,' I suggested tentatively,'and to annex Palestine to our practical province of Egypt?'

He leaned back in his chair and folded his fat hands inundisguised satisfaction. 'Now, you are a thinker of exceptionalpenetration,' he broke out. 'Do you know, Miss Cayley, I have triedto make that point clear to the War Office, and the Prime Minister,and many leading financiers in the City of London, and Ican't get them to see it. They have no heads, those people.Butyou catch at it at a glance. Why, I endeavoured tointerest Rothschild and induce him to join me in my PalestineDevelopment Syndicate, and, will you believe it, the manrefused[Pg159] point blank. Though if he had only looked at Nahumiii. 17——'

'Mere financiers,' I said, smiling, 'will not consider thesequestions from a historical and prophetic point of view. They seenothing above percentages.'

'That's it,' he replied, lighting up. 'They have no higherfeelings. Though, mind you, there will be dividends too; mark mywords, there will be dividends. This syndicate, besides fulfillingthe prophecies, will pay forty per cent on every penny embarked init.'

'Only forty per cent for Ephraim!' I murmured, half below mybreath. 'Why, Judah is said to batten upon sixty.'

'In that case, we might even expect seventy,' he put in with agasp of anticipation. 'Though I approached Rothschild first with myscheme on purpose, so that Israel and Judah might once more unitein sharing the promises.'

'Your combined generosity and commercial instinct does youcredit,' I answered. 'It is rare to find so much love for anabstract study side by side with such conspicuous financialability.'

His guilelessness was beyond words. He swallowed it like aninfant. 'So I think,' he answered. 'I am glad to observe that youunderstand my character. Mere City men don't. They have no soulabove shekels. Though, as I show them, there are shekels in it,too. Dividends, dividends, di-vidends. Butyou are a lady ofunderstanding and comprehension. You have been to Girton, haven'tyou? Perhaps you read Greek, then?'

He regarded me once more with the same astonished glance. Hisown classics, I soon learnt, were limited to the amount which apublic school succeeds in dinning, during the intervals of cricketand football into an English gentleman. Then he informed me that hewished me to hunt up certain facts in Herodotus "and elsewhere"confirmatory of his view that the English were the descendants ofthe Ten Tribes. I promised to do so, swallowing even thatcomprehensive "elsewhere." It was none of my business to believe ordisbelieve: I was paid to get up a case, and I got one up to thebest of my ability. I imagine it was at least as good as most othercases in similar matters: at any rate, it pleased the old gentlemanvastly.

By dint of listening, I began to like him. But Elsie couldn'tbear him. She hated the fat crease at the back of his neck, shetold me.

After a week or two devoted to the Interpretation of Prophecy ona strictly commercial basis of Founders' Shares, with interludes ofmining engineers' reports upon the rubies of Mount Sinai and thesupposed auriferous quartzites of Palestine, the Urbane OldGentleman trotted down to the office one day, carrying a packet ofnotes of most voluminous magnitude. "Can we work in a room alonethis morning, Miss Cayley?" he asked, with mystery in his voice: hewas always mysterious. "I want to intrust you with a piece of workof an exceptionally private and confidential character. It concernsProperty. In point of fact," he dropped his voice to a whisper. "Iwant you to draw up my will for me."

"Certainly," I said, opening the door into the back office. ButI trembled in my shoes. Could this mean[Pg 161] thathe was going to draw up a will, disinheriting HaroldTillington?

And, suppose he did, what then? My heart was in a tumult. IfHarold were rich—well and good, I could never marry him. But,if Harold were poor— I must keep my promise. Could I wish himto be rich? Could I wish him to be poor? My heart stood divided twoways within me.

The Urbane Old Gentleman began with immense deliberation, asbefits a man of principle when Property is at stake. 'You willkindly take down notes from my dictation,' he said, fussing withhis papers; 'and afterwards, I will ask you to be so good as tocopy it all out fair on your typewriter for signature.'

'A most perspicacious young lady!' he interjected, well pleased.'I have investigated that point, and find it perfectly regular.Only, if I may venture to say so, there should be no erasures.'

The Urbane Old Gentleman leant back in his easy chair, and begandictating from his notes with tantalising deliberateness. This wasthe last will and testament of him, Marmaduke Courtney Ashurst. Itsverbiage wearied me. I was eager for him to come to the point aboutHarold. Instead of that, he did what it seems is usual in suchcases—set out with a number of unimportant legacies to oldfamily servants and other hangers-on among 'our poorer brethren.' Ifumed and fretted inwardly. Next came a series of quaint bequestsof a quite novel character. 'I give and bequeath to James Walsh andSons, of 720 High Holborn, London, the sum of Five Hundred Pounds,in consideration of the benefit they have conferred upon humanityby the invention of a sugar-spoon or silver sugar-sifter, bymeans[Pg162] of which it is possible to dust sugar upon a tartor pudding without letting the whole or the greater part of thematerial run through the apertures uselessly in transit. You musthave observed, Miss Cayley—with your usualperspicacity—that most sugar-sifters allow the sugar to fallthrough them on to the table prematurely.'

'James Walsh and Sons, acting on a hint from me, have succeededin inventing a form of spoon which does not possess thatregrettable drawback. "Run through the apertures uselessly intransit," I think I said last. Yes, thank you. Very good. We willnow continue. And I give and bequeath the like sum of Five HundredPounds—did I say, free of legacy duty? No? Then please add itto James Walsh's clause. Five Hundred Pounds, free of legacy duty,to Thomas Webster Jones, of Wheeler Street, Soho, for his admirableinvention of a pair of braces which will not slip down on thewearer's shoulders after half an hour's use. Most braces, you musthave observed, Miss Cayley——'

'My acquaintance with braces is limited, not to say abstract,' Iinterposed, smiling.

'Of course,' he murmured. 'Of course. But mostbraces, you may not be aware, slip down unpleasantly on theshoulder-blade, and so lead to an awkward habit of hitching them upby the sleeve-hole of the waistcoat at frequent intervals. Such ahabit must be felt to be ungraceful. Thomas Webster Jones, to whomI pointed out this error of manufacture, has invented a brace thetwo halves of which diverge at a higher angle than usual, andfasten further towards the centre of the body in front—pardonthese details—so as to obviate that difficulty. He has givenme satisfaction, and he deserves to be rewarded.'[Pg 163]

I heard through it all the voice of Lady Georgina observing,tartly, 'Why the idiots can't make braces to fit one at firstpassesmy comprehension. But, there, my dear; the people whomanufacture them are a set of born fools, and what can you expectfrom an imbecile?' Mr. Ashurst was Lady Georgina, veneered with athin layer of ingratiating urbanity. Lady Georgina was clever, andtherefore acrimonious. Mr. Ashurst was astute, and thereforeobsequious.

He went on with legacies to the inventor of a sauce-bottle whichdid not let the last drop dribble down so as to spot thetable-cloth; of a shoe-horn the handle of which did not comeundone; and of a pair of sleeve-links which you could put off andon without injury to the temper. 'A real benefactor, Miss Cayley; areal benefactor to the link-wearing classes; for he has sensiblydiminished the average annual output of profane swearing.'

When he left Five Hundred Pounds to his faithful servantFrederic Higginson, courier, I was tempted to interpose; but Irefrained in time, and I was glad of it afterwards.

At last, after many divagations, my Urbane Old Gentleman arrivedat the central point—'and I give and bequeath to my nephew,Harold Ashurst Tillington, Younger of Gledcliffe, Dumfriesshire,attaché to Her Majesty's Embassy at Rome——'

He was annoyingly dilatory. 'My house and estate of AshurstCourt, in the County of Gloucester, and my town house at 24 ParkLane North, in London, together with the residue of all my estate,real or personal——' and so forth.

I breathed again. At least, I had not been called upon todisinherit Harold.[Pg 164]

'Provided always that the said Harold Ashurst Tillington doesnot marry——leave a blank there, Miss Cayley. I willfind out the name of the young person I desire to exclude, and fillit in afterward. I don't recollect it at this moment, butHigginson, no doubt, will be able to supply the deficiency. Infact, I don't think I ever heard it; though Higginson has told meall about the woman.'

'Oh, dear, yes. You heard of him, I suppose, from Georgina.Georgina is prejudiced. He has come back to me, I am glad to say.An excellent servant, Higginson, though a trifle too omniscient.All men are equal in the[Pg 165] eyes of their Maker, of course;but we must have due subordination. A courier ought not to bebetter informed than his master—or ought at least to concealthe fact dexterously. Well, Higginson knows this young person'sname; my sister wrote to me about her disgraceful conduct when shefirst went to Schlangenbad. An adventuress, it seems; anadventuress; quite a shocking creature. Foisted herself upon LadyGeorgina in Kensington Gardens—unintroduced, if you canbelieve such a thing—with the most astonishing effrontery;and Georgina, who will forgive anything on earth, for the sake ofwhat she calls originality—another name for impudence, as Iam sure you must know—took the young woman with her as hermaid to Germany. There, this minx tried to set her cap at my nephewHarold, who can be caught at once by a pretty face; and Harold wasbowled over—almost got engaged to her. Georgina took a fancyto the girl later, having a taste for dubious people (I cannot sayI approve of Georgina's friends), and wrote again to say her firstsuspicions were unfounded: the young woman was in reality a paragonof virtue. ButI know better than that. Georgina has nojudgment. I regret to be obliged to confess it, but cleverness, Ifear, is the only thing in the world my excellent sister cares for.The hussy, it seems, was certainly clever. Higginson has told meabout her. He says her bare appearance would suffice to condemnher—a bold, fast, shameless, brazen-faced creature. But youwill forgive me, I am sure, my dear young lady: I ought not todiscuss such painted Jezebels before you. We will leave thisperson's name blank. I will not sully your pen—I mean, yourtypewriter—by asking you to transcribe it.'

I made up my mind at once. 'Mr. Ashurst,' I said, looking upfrom my keyboard, 'I can give you this girl's name; and thenyou can insert the proviso immediately.'[Pg 166]

'You can? My dear young lady, what a wonderful person youare! You seem to know everybody, and everything. But perhaps shewas at Schlangenbad with Lady Georgina, and you were therealso?'

I went on with my typewriting, unmoved. 'Provided always thatthe said Harold Ashurst Tillington does not marry Lois Cayley; inwhich case I will and desire that the said estate shall passto——whom shall I put in, Mr. Ashurst?'

He leant forward with his fat hands on his ample knees. 'It wasreallyyou?' he inquired, open-mouthed.

I nodded. 'There is no use in denying the truth. Mr. Tillingtondid ask me to be his wife, and I refused him.'

'The difference in station?' I said; 'the difference, stillgreater, in this world's goods? Yes, I know. I admit all that. So Ideclined his offer. I did not wish to ruin his prospects.'

The Urbane Old Gentleman eyed me with a sudden tenderness in hisglance. 'Young men are lucky,' he said, slowly, after a shortpause; '—and— Higginson is an idiot. I say itdeliberately—an idiot! How could one dream of trusting thejudgment of a flunkey about a lady? My dear, excuse the familiarityfrom one who may consider himself in a certain sense a contingentuncle—suppose we amend the last clause by the omission of thewordnot. It strikes me as superfluous. "Provided always thesaid Harold Ashurst Tillington consents to marry"— I thinkthat sounds better!'

He looked at me with such fatherly regard that it pricked myheart ever to have poked fun at his Interpretation[Pg 167] ofProphecy on Stock Exchange principles. I think I flushed crimson.'No, no,' I answered, firmly. 'That will not do either, please.That's worse than the other way. You must not put it, Mr. Ashurst.I could not consent to be willed away to anybody.'

He leant forward, with real earnestness. 'My dear,' he said,'that's not the point. Pardon my reminding you that you are here inyour capacity as my amanuensis. I am drawing up my will, and if youwill allow me to say so, I cannot admit that anyone has a claim toinfluence me in the disposition of my Property.'

He looked at me and paused. 'Well,' he went on at last, after along interval; 'sinceyou insist upon it, I will leave thebequest to stand without condition.'

'If I did as I like, though,' he went on, 'I should say, Unlesshe marries Miss Lois Cayley (who is a deal too good for him) theestate shall revert to Kynaston's eldest son, a confounded jackass.I do not usually indulge in intemperate language; but I desire toassure you, with the utmost calmness, that Kynaston's eldest son,Lord Southminster, is a con-founded jackass.'

I rose and took his hand in my own spontaneously. 'Mr. Ashurst,'I said, 'you may interpret prophecy as long as ever you like, butyou are a dear kind old gentleman. I am truly grateful to you foryour good opinion.

'That's hard,' he went on, slowly. 'For ... I should like to beyour uncle.'[Pg 168]

I will only add that when Mr. Ashurst left, I copied the willout neatly, without erasures. The rough original I threw (somewhatcarelessly) into the waste-paper basket.

That afternoon, somebody called to fetch the faircopy[Pg169] for Mr. Ashurst. I went out into the front officeto see him. To my surprise, it was Higginson—in his guise ascourier.

He made no attempt at an excuse. 'Well, I have been sent for thewill,' he broke out, curtly.

'And you were sent for the jewel-case,' I retorted. 'No, no, Dr.Fortescue-Langley;I am in charge of the will, and I willtake it myself to Mr. Ashurst.'

'I will be even with you yet,' he snapped out. 'I have gone backto my old trade, and am trying to lead an honest life; butyou won't let me.'

'On the contrary,' I answered, smiling a polite smile. 'Irejoice to hear it. If you say nothing more against me to youremployer, I will not disclose to him what I know about you. But ifyou slander me, I will. So now we understand one another.'

And I kept the will till I could give it myself into MrAshurst's own hands in his rooms that evening.[Pg 170]

VII

THE ADVENTURE OF THE UNOBTRUSIVE OASIS

I will not attempt to describe to you the minor episodes of ournext twelve months—the manuscripts we type-wrote and theManitous we sold. 'Tis one of my aims in a world so rich in boresto avoid being tedious. I will merely say, therefore, that we spentthe greater part of the year in Florence, where we were building upa connection, but rode back for the summer months to Switzerland,as being a livelier place for the trade in bicycles. The net resultwas not only that we covered our expenses, but that, as chancellorof the exchequer, I found myself with a surplus in hand at the endof the season.

When we returned to Florence for the winter, however, I confessI began to chafe. 'This is slow work, Elsie!' I said. 'I startedout to go round the world; it has taken me eighteen months totravel no further than Italy! At this rate, I shall reach New Yorka gray-haired old lady, in a nice lace cap, and totter back intoLondon a venerable crone on the verge of ninety.'

However, those invaluable doctors came to my rescueunexpectedly. I do love doctors; they are always sending you off ata moment's notice to delightful places you never dreamt of. Elsiewas better, but still far from strong. I[Pg 171] tookit upon me to consult our medical attendant; and his verdict wasdecisive. He did just what a doctor ought to do. 'She is getting onvery well in Florence,' he said; 'but if you want to restore herhealth completely, I should advise you to take her for a winter toEgypt. After six months of the dry, warm desert air, I don't doubtshe might return to her work in London.'

That last point I used as a lever with Elsie. She positivelyrevels in teaching mathematics. At first, to be sure, she objectedthat we had only just money enough to pay our way to Cairo, andthat when we got there we might starve—her favouriteprogramme. I have not this extraordinary taste for starving;my idea is, to go where you like, and find something decentto eat when you get there. However, to humour her, I began to castabout me for a source of income. There is no absolute harm inseeing your way clear before you for a twelvemonth, though ofcourse it deprives you of the plot-interest of poverty.

'Elsie,' I said, in my best didactic style—I excel indidactics—'you do not learn from the lessons that life setsbefore you. Look at the stage, for example; the stage isuniversally acknowledged at the present day to be a great teacherof morals. Does not Irving say so?—and he ought to know.There is that splendid model for imitation, for instance, the Clownin the pantomime. How does Clown regulate his life? Does he takeheed for the morrow? Not a bit of it! "I wish I had a goose," hesays, at some critical juncture; and just as he saysit—pat—a super strolls upon the stage with a propertygoose on a wooden tray; and Clown cries, "Oh, look here, Joey;here's a goose!" and proceeds to appropriate it. Then heputs his fingers in his mouth and observes, "I wish I had a fewapples to make the sauce with"; and as the words escapehim—pat again—a[Pg 172] small boy with a very squeakyvoice runs on, carrying a basket of apples. Clown trips him up, andbolts with the basket.There's a model for imitation! Thestage sets these great moral lessons before you regularly everyChristmas; yet you fail to profit by them. Govern your life on theprinciples exemplified by Clown; expect to find that whatever youwant will turn up with punctuality and dispatch at the propermoment. Be adventurous and you will be happy. Take that as a newmaxim to put in your copy-book!'

'I wish I could think so, dear,' Elsie answered. 'But yourconfidence staggers me.'

That evening at ourtable-d'hôte, however, it wasamply justified. A smooth-faced young man of ample girth and mostprosperous exterior happened to sit next us. He had his wife withhim, so I judged it safe to launch on conversation. We soon foundout he was the millionaire editor-proprietor of a great Londondaily, with many more strings to his journalistic bow; his honouredname was Elworthy. I mentioned casually that we thought of goingfor the winter to Egypt. He pricked his ears up. But at the time hesaid nothing. After dinner, we adjourned to the cosysalon.I talked to him and his wife; and somehow, that evening, the devilentered into me. I am subject to devils. I hasten to add, they aremild ones. I had one of my reckless moods just then, however, and Ireeled off rattling stories of our various adventures. Mr. Elworthybelieved in youth and audacity; I could see I interested him. Themore he was amused, the more reckless I became. 'That's bright,' hesaid at last, when I told him the tale of our amateur exploits inthe sale of Manitous. 'That would make a good article!'

'Yes,' I answered, with bravado, determined tostrike[Pg173] while the iron was hot. 'What theDailyTelephone lacks is just one enlivening touch of femininebrightness.'

'My forte,' I answered, 'is—to go where I choose, andwrite what I like about it.'

He smiled again. 'And a very good new departure in journalism,too! A roving commission! Have you ever tried your hand atwriting?'

Had I ever tried! It was the ambition of my life to see myselfin print; though, hitherto, it had been ineffectual. 'I havewritten a few sketches,' I answered, with becoming modesty. As amatter of fact, our office bulged with my unpublishedmanuscripts.

I assented, with inner joy, but outer reluctance. 'If you wishit,' I murmured; 'but—you must bevery lenient!'

Though I had not told Elsie, the truth of the matter was, I hadjust then conceived an idea for a novel—mymagnumopus—the setting of which compelled Egyptian localcolour; and I was therefore dying to get to Egypt, if chance sowilled it. I submitted a few of my picked manuscripts accordinglyto Mr. Elworthy, in fear and trembling. He read them, cruel man,before my very eyes; I sat and waited, twiddling my thumbs, demurebut apprehensive.

'Racy!' he said. 'Racy! You're quite right, Miss Cayley. That'sjust what we want on theDaily Telephone. I should like toprint these three,' selecting them out, 'at our usual rate of payper thousand.'

'Not at all. I am a man of business. And these are good copy.Now, about this Egypt. I will put the matter[Pg 174] inthe shape of a business proposition. Will you undertake, if I payyour passage, and your friend's, with all travelling expenses, tolet me have three descriptive articles a week, on Cairo, the Nile,Syria, and India, running to about two thousand words apiece, atthree guineas a thousand?'

My breath came and went. It was positive opulence. The superwith the goose couldn't approach it for patness. My editor hadbrought me the apple sauce as well, without even giving me thetrouble of cooking it.[Pg 175]

The very next day everything was arranged. Elsie tried toprotest, on the foolish ground that she had no money: but thefaculty had ordered the apex of her right lung to go to Egypt, andI couldn't let her fly in the face of the faculty. We secured ourberths in a P. and O. steamer from Brindisi; and within a week wewere tossing upon the bosom of the blue Mediterranean.

People who haven't crossed the blue Mediterranean cherish anabsurd idea that it is always calm and warm and sunny. I am sorryto take away any sea's character; but I speak of it as I find it(to borrow a phrase from my old gyp at Girton); and I am bound toadmit that the Mediterranean did not treat me as a lady expects tobe treated. It behaved disgracefully. People may rhapsodize as longas they choose about a life on the ocean wave; for my own part, Iwouldn't give a pin for sea-sickness. We glided down the Adriaticfrom Brindisi to Corfu with a reckless profusion of lateral motionwhich suggested the idea that the ship must have been drinking.

I tried to rouse Elsie when we came abreast of the IonianIslands, and to remind her that 'Here was the home of Nausicaa inthe Odyssey.' Elsie failed to respond; she was otherwise occupied.At last, I succumbed and gave it up. I remember nothing furthertill a day and a half later, when we got under lee of Crete, andthe ship showed a tendency to resume the perpendicular. Then Ibegan once more to take a languid interest in the dinnerquestion.

I may add parenthetically that the Mediterranean is a mere bitof a sea, when you look at it on the map—a pocket sea, to beregarded with mingled contempt and affection; but you learn torespect it when you find that it takes four clear days and nightsof abject misery merely to run across its eastern basin fromBrindisi to Alexandria. I respected[Pg 176] the Mediterraneanimmensely while we lay off the Peloponnesus in the trough of thewaves with a north wind blowing; I only began to temper my respectwith a distant liking when we passed under the welcome shelter ofCrete on a calm, star-lit evening.

It was deadly cold. We had not counted upon such weather in thesunny south. I recollected now that the Greeks were wont torepresent Boreas as a chilly deity, and spoke of the Thracianbreeze with the same deferentially deprecating adjectives which weourselves apply to the east wind of our fatherland; but that aptclassical memory somehow failed to console or warm me. Agood-natured male passenger, however, volunteered to ask us, 'WillI get ye a rug, ladies?' The form of his courteous questionsuggested the probability of his Irish origin.

'You are very kind,' I answered. 'If you don't want it foryourself, I'm sure my friend would be glad to have the use ofit.'

'Is it meself? Sure I've got me big ulsther, and I'm as warrumas a toast in it. But ye're not provided for this weather. Ye'vethrusted too much to those rascals the po-uts. 'Where breaks theblue Sicilian say,' the rogues write.I'd like to set themdown in it, wid a nor'-easter blowing!'

He fetched up his rug. It was ample and soft, a smooth browncamel-hair. He wrapped us both up in it. We sat late on deck thatnight, as warm as a toast ourselves, thanks to our genialIrishman.

We asked his name. ''Tis Dr. Macloghlen,' he answered. 'I'm fromCounty Clare, ye see; and I'm on me way to Egypt for thravel andexploration. Me fader whisht me to see the worruld a bit before I'dsettle down to practise me profession at Liscannor. Have ye everbeen in County Clare? Sure, 'tis the pick of Oireland.'[Pg 177]

'We have that pleasure still in store,' I answered, smiling. 'Itspreads gold-leaf over the future, as George Meredith puts it.'

'Is it Meredith? Ah, there's the foine writer! 'Tis jaynius theman has: I can't undtherstand a word of him. But he's half Oirish,ye know. What proof have I got of it? An' would he write like thatif there wasn't a dhrop of the blood of the Celt inhim?'[Pg178]

Next day and next night, Mr. Macloghlen was our devoted slave. Ihad won his heart by admitting frankly that his countrywomen hadthe finest and liveliest eyes in Europe—eyes with a deeptwinkle, half fun, half passion. He took to us at once, and talkedto us incessantly. He was a red-haired, raw-boned Munster-man, buta real good fellow. We forgot the aggressive inequalities of theMediterranean while he talked to us of 'the pizzantry.' Late thesecond evening he propounded a confidence. It was a lovely night;Orion overhead, and the plashing phosphorescence on the water belowconspired with the hour to make him specially confidential. 'Now,Miss Cayley,' he said, leaning forward on his deck chair, andgazing earnestly into my eyes, 'there's wan question I'd like toask ye. The ambition of me life is to get into Parlimint. And Iwant to know from ye, as a frind—if I accomplish me heart'swish—is there annything, in me apparence, ar in me voice, arin me accent, ar in me manner, that would lade annybody to supposeI was an Oirishman?'

I succeeded, by good luck, in avoiding Elsie's eye. What onearth could I answer? Then a happy thought struck me. 'Dr.Macloghlen,' I said, 'it would not be the slightest use your tryingto conceal it; for even if nobody ever detected a faint Irishintonation in your words or phrases—how could your eloquencefail to betray you for a countryman of Sheridan and Burke andGrattan?'

He seized my hand with such warmth that I thought it best tohurry down to my state-room at once, under cover of mycompliment.

At Alexandria and Cairo we found him invaluable. He looked afterour luggage, which he gallantly rescued from the lean hands offifteen Arab porters, all eagerly[Pg 179] struggling to gainpossession of our effects; he saw us safe into the train; and henever quitted us till he had safely ensconced us in our rooms atShepheard's. For himself, he said, with subdued melancholy, 'twasto some cheaper hotel he must go; Shepheard's wasn't for the likesof him; though if land in County Clare was wort' what it ought tobe, there wasn't a finer estate in all Oireland than hisfader's.

Our Mr. Elworthy was a modern proprietor, who knew how to dothings on the lordly scale. Having commissioned me to write thisseries of articles, he intended them to be written in the firststyle of art, and he had instructed me accordingly to hire one ofCook's little steam dahabeeahs, where I could work at leisure. Dr.Macloghlen was in his element arranging for the trip. 'Sure theonly thing I mind,' he said, 'is—that I'll not be going widye.' I think he was half inclined to invite himself; but thereagain I drew a line. I will not sell salt fish; and I will not goup the Nile, unchaperoned, with a casual man acquaintance.

He did the next best thing, however: he took a place in asailing dahabeeah; and as we steamed up slowly, stopping often onthe way, to give me time to write my articles, he managed to arrivealmost always at every town or ruin exactly when we did.

I will not describe the voyage. The Nile is the Nile. Just atfirst, before we got used to it, we conscientiously looked up thename of every village we passed on the bank in our Murray and ourBaedeker. After a couple of days' Niling, however, we found thatformality quite unnecessary. They were all the same village, undera number of aliases. They did not even take the trouble to disguisethemselves anew, like Dr. Fortescue-Langley, on each freshappearance. They had every one of them a small whitewashedmosque,[Pg180] with a couple of tall minarets; and around itspread a number of mud-built cottages, looking more like bee-hivesthan human habitations. They had also every one of them a group ofdate-palms, overhanging a cluster of mean bare houses; and they allalike had a picturesque and even imposing air from a distance, butfaded away into indescribable squalor as one got abreast of them.Our progress was monotonous. At twelve, noon, we would passAboo-Teeg, with its mosque, its palms, its mud-huts, and itscamels; then for a couple of hours we would go on through the midstof a green field on either side, studded by more mud-huts, andbacked up by a range of gray desert mountains; only to come at 2p.m., twenty miles higher up, uponAboo-Teeg once more, with the same mosque, the same mud-huts, andthe same haughty camels, placidly chewing the same aristocraticcud, but under the alias of Koos-kam. After a wild hubbub at thequay, we would leave Koos-kam behind, with its camels stillserenely munching day-before-yesterday's dinner; and twenty milesfurther on, again, having passed through the same green plain,backed by the same gray mountains, we would stop once more at theidentical Koos-kam, which this time absurdly described itself asTahtah. But whether it was Aboo-Teeg or Koos-kam or Tahtah oranything else, only the name differed: it was always the same town,and had always the same camels at precisely the same stage of thedigestive process. It seemed to us immaterial whether you saw allthe Nile or only five miles of it. It was just like wall-paper. Asample sufficed; the whole was the sample infinitely repeated.

However, I had my letters to write, and I wrote them valiantly.I described the various episodes of the complicated digestiveprocess in the camel in the minutest detail. I gloated over thedate-palms, which I knew in three days[Pg 181] asif I had been brought up upon dates. I gave word-pictures of everyindividual child, veiled woman, Arab sheikh, and Coptic priest whomwe encountered on the voyage. And I am open to reprint thoseconscientious studies of mud-huts and minarets with anyenterprising publisher who will make me an offer.

Another disillusion weighed upon my soul. Before I[Pg 182] wentup the Nile, I had a fancy of my own that the bank was studded withendless ruined temples, whose vast red colonnades were reflected inthe water at every turn. I think Macaulay's Lays were primarilyanswerable for that particular misapprehension. As a matter offact, it surprised me to find that we often went for two wholedays' hard steaming without ever a temple breaking the monotony ofthose eternal date-palms, those calm and superciliouslyirresponsive camels. In my humble opinion, Egypt is a fraud; thereis too much Nile—very dirty Nile at that—and not nearlyenough temple. Besides, the temples, when youdo come upwith them, are just like the villages; they are the same templeover again, under a different name each time, and they have thesame gods, the same kings, the same wearisome bas-reliefs, exceptthat the gentleman in a chariot, ten feet high, who is mowing downenemies a quarter his own size, with unsportsmanslike recklessness,is called Rameses in this place, and Sethi in that, and Amen-hotepin the other. With this trifling variation, when you have seen onetemple, one obelisk, one hieroglyphic table, you have seen thewhole of Ancient Egypt.

At last, after many days' voyage through the same scenerydaily—rising in the morning off a village with a mosque, tenpalms, and two minarets, and retiring late at night off the samevillage once more, with mosque, palms, and minarets, as before,da capo—we arrived one evening at a place calledGeergeh. In itself, I believe, Geergeh did not differ materiallyfrom all the other places we had passed on our voyage: it had itsmosque, its ten palms, and its two minarets as usual. But Iremember its name, because something mysterious went wrong therewith our machinery; and the engineer informed us we must wait atleast three days to mend it. Dr. Macloghlen's dahabeeahhappened[Pg183] opportunely to arrive at the same spot on the sameday; and he declared with fervour he would 'see us through ourthroubles.' But what on earth were we to do with ourselves throughthree long days and nights at Geergeh? There were the ruins ofAbydus close at hand, to be sure; though I defy anybody not aprofessed Egyptologist to give more than one day to the ruins ofAbydus. In this emergency, Dr. Macloghlen came gallantly to ouraid. He discovered by inquiring from an English-speaking guide thatthere was an unobtrusive oasis, never visited by Europeans, onelong day's journey off, across the desert. As a rule, it takes atleast three days to get camels and guides together for such anexpedition: for Egypt is not a land to hurry in. But theindefatigable Doctor further unearthed the fact that a sheikh hadjust come in, who (for a consideration) would lend us camels for atwo days' trip; and we seized the chance to do our duty by Mr.Elworthy and the world-wide circulation. An unvisitedoasis—and two Christian ladies to be the first to explore it:there's journalistic enterprise for you! If we happened to bekilled, so much the better for theDaily Telephone. Ipictured the excitement at Piccadilly Circus. 'Extra Special, OurOwn Correspondent brutally murdered!' I rejoiced at theopportunity.

I cannot honestly say that Elsie rejoiced with me. She cherisheda prejudice against camels, massacres, and the new journalism. Shedidn't like being murdered: though this was premature, for she hadnever tried it. She objected that the fanatical Mohammedans of theSenoosi sect, who were said to inhabit the oasis in question, mightcut our throats for dogs of infidels. I pointed out to her at somelength that it was just that chance which added zest to ourexpedition as a journalistic venture: fancy the glory of being thefirst lady journalists martyred in the cause! But she[Pg 184]failed to grasp this aspect of the question. However, if I went,she would go too, she said, like a dear girl that she is: she wouldnot desert me when I was getting my throat cut.

Dr. Macloghlen made the bargain for us, and insisted onaccompanying us across the desert. He told us his method ofnegotiation with the Arabs with extreme gusto. '"Is it pay inadvance ye want?" says I to the dirty beggars:[Pg 185]"divvil a penny will ye get till ye bring these ladies safe back toGeergeh. And remimber, Mr. Sheikh," says I, fingering me pistol,so, by way of emphasis, "we take no money wid us; so if yer friendsat Wadi Bou choose to cut our throats, 'tis for the pleasure of itthey'll be cutting them, not for anything they'll gain by it.""Provisions, effendi?" says he, salaaming. "Provisions, is it?"says I. "Take everything ye'll want wid you; I suppose ye can buyfood fit for a Crischun in the bazaar in Geergeh; and never wanpenny do ye touch for it all till ye've landed us on the bankagain, as safe as ye took us. So if the religious sintiments of thefaithful at Wadi Bou should lade them to hack us to pieces," saysI, just waving me revolver, "thin 'tis yerself that will be out ofpocket by it." And the ould divvil cringed as if he took me for thePrince of Wales. Faix, 'tis the purse that's the best argumint tocatch these haythen Arabs upon.'

When we set out for the desert in the early dawn next day, itlooked as if we were starting for a few months' voyage. We had acompany of camels that might have befitted a caravan. We had twolarge tents, one for ourselves, and one for Dr. Macloghlen, with athird to dine in. We had bedding, and cushions, and drinking watertied up in swollen pig-skins, which were really goat-skins, lookingfar from tempting. We had bread and meat, and a supply of presentsto soften the hearts and weaken the religious scruples of thesheikhs at Wadi Bou. 'We thravelen prince,' said theDoctor. When all was ready we got under way solemnly, our camelsrising and sniffing the breeze with a superior air, as who shouldsay, 'I happen to be going where you happen to be going; but don'tfor a moment suppose I do it to please you. It is mere coincidence.You are bound for Wadi Bou: I have business of my own which chancesto take me there.'[Pg 186]

Over the incidents of the journey I draw a veil. Riding a camel,I find, does not greatly differ from sea-sickness. They are thesame phenomenon under altered circumstances.[Pg 187] Wehad been assured beforehand on excellent authority that 'much ofthe comfort on a desert journey depends upon having a good camel.'On this matter, I am no authority. I do not set up as a judge ofcamel-flesh. But I did not noticeany of the comfort; so Iventure to believe my camel must have been an exceptionally badone.

We expected trouble from the fanatical natives; I am bound toadmit, we had most trouble with Elsie. She was not insubordinate,but she did not care for camel-riding. And her beast took advantageof her youth and innocence. A well-behaved camel should go almostas fast as a child can walk, and should not sit down plump on theburning sand without due reason. Elsie's brute crawled, and calledhalts for prayer at frequent intervals; it tried to kneel like agood Mussulman many times a day; and it showed an intolerantdisposition to crush the infidel by rolling over on top of Elsie.Dr. Macloghlen admonished it with Irish eloquence, not always inlanguage intended for publication; but it only turned up itssupercilious lip and inquired in its own unspoken tongue whathe knew about the desert.

If the Nile was monotonous, the road to Wadi Bou was nothingshort of dreary. We crossed a great ridge of bare, gray rock, andfollowed a rolling valley of sand, scored by dry ravines, andbaking in the sun. It was ghastly to look upon. All day long, saveat the midday rest by some brackish wells, we rode on and on, thebrutes stepping forward with slow, outstretched legs; thoughsometimes we walked by the camels' sides to vary the monotony; butever through that dreary upland plain, sand in the centre, rockymountain at the edge, and not a thing to look at. We were relievedtowards evening to stumble against stunted tamarisks,[Pg 188] halfburied in sand, and to feel we were approaching the edge of theoasis.

When at last our arrogant beasts condescended to stop, in theirpatronising way, we saw by the dim light of the moon a sort ofuneven basin or hollow, studded with date-palms, and in the midstof the depression a crumbling walled town, with a whitewashedmosque, two minarets by its side, and a crowd of mud-houses. It wasstrangely familiar. We had come all this way just to see Aboo-Teegor Koos-kam over again!

We camped outside the fortified town that night. Next morning weessayed to make our entry.

At first, the servants of the Prophet on watch at the gateraised serious objections. No infidel might enter. But we had apass from Cairo, exhorting the faithful in the name of the Khediveto give us food and shelter; and after much examination and manyloud discussions, the gatemen passed us. We entered the town, andstood alone, three Christian Europeans, in the midst of threethousand fanatical Mohammedans.

I confess it was weird. Elsie shrank by my side. 'Suppose theywere to attack us, Brownie?'

'Thin the sheikh here would never get paid,' Dr. Macloghlen putin with true Irish recklessness. 'Faix, he'll whistle for his moneyon the whistle I gave him.' That touch of humour saved us. Welaughed; and the people about saw we could laugh. They left offscowling, and pressed around trying to sell us pottery and nativebrooches. In the intervals of fanaticism, the Arab has an eye tobusiness.

We passed up the chief street of the bazaar. The inhabitantstold us in pantomime the chief of the town was away at Asioot,whither he had gone two days ago on[Pg 189] business. If he werehere, our interpreter gave us to understand, things might have beendifferent; for the chief had determined that, whatever came, noinfidel dog should settle inhis oasis.

The women with their veiled faces attracted us strangely. Theywere wilder than on the river. They ran when one[Pg 190]looked at them. Suddenly, as we passed one, we saw her give alittle start. She was veiled like the rest, but her agitation wasevident even through her thick covering.

The woman passed close to us. She never looked in our direction,but in a very low voice she murmured, as she passed, 'Then you areEnglish!'

I had presence of mind enough to conceal my surprise at thisunexpected utterance. 'Don't seem to notice her, Elsie,' I said,looking away. 'Yes, we are English.'

She stopped and pretended to examine some jewellery on a stall.'So am I,' she went on, in the same suppressed low voice. 'ForHeaven's sake, help me!'

'I live here—married. I was with Gordon's force atKhartoum. They carried me off. A mere girl then. Now I amthirty.'

She turned away and walked off, but kept whispering behind herveil. We followed, unobtrusively. 'Yes; I was sold to a man atDongola. He passed me on again to the chief of this oasis. I don'tknow where it is; but I have been here ever since. I hate thislife. Is there any chance of a rescue?'

'Anny chance of a rescue, is it?' the Doctor broke in, a trifletoo ostensibly. 'If it costs us a whole British Army, me dear lady,we'll fetch you away and save you.'

'But now—to-day? You won't go away and leave me? You arethe first Europeans I have seen since Khartoum fell. They may sellme again. You will not desert me?'

What on earth could we do? This was a painful dilemma. If weonce lost sight of her, we might not see her again. Yet if wewalked with her openly, and talked like friends, we would betrayourselves, and her, to those fanatical Senoosis.

I made my mind up promptly. I may not have much of a mind; but,such as it is, I flatter myself I can make it up at a moment'snotice.

'Can you come to us outside the gate at sunset?' I asked, as ifspeaking to Elsie.

She turned over some embroidered slippers on a booth, and seemedto be inspecting them. 'But my children?' she murmuredanxiously.

The Doctor interposed. 'Is it childern she has?' he asked. 'Thinthey'll be the Mohammedan gintleman's. We mustn't interfere widthem. We can take away the lady—she's English, anddetained against her will: but we can't deprive anny man of his ownchildern'.

I was firm, and categorical. 'Yes, we can,' I said, stoutly; 'ifhe has forced a woman to bear them to him whether she would or not.That's common justice. I have no respect for the Mohammedangentleman's rights. Let her bring them with her. How many arethere?'

'Two—a boy and girl; not very old; the eldest is seven.'She spoke wistfully. A mother is a mother.

'Then say no more now, but keep us always in sight, and we willkeepyou. Come to us at the gate about sundown. We willcarry you off with us.'

She clasped her hands and moved off with the peculiar glidingair of the veiled Mohammedan woman. Our eyes[Pg 192]followed her. We walked on through the bazaar, thinking of nothingelse now. It was strange how this episode made us forget ourselfish fears for our own safety. Even dear timid Elsie rememberedonly that an Englishwoman's life and liberty were at stake. We kepther more or less in view all day. She glided in and out among thepeople in the alleys. When we went back to the camels atlunch-time, she followed us unobtrusively through the open gate,and sat watching us from a little way off, among a crowd of gazers;for all Wadi Bou was of course agog at this unwonted invasion.

We discussed the circumstance loudly, so that she might hear ourplans. Dr. Macloghlen advised that we should tell our sheikh wemeant to return part of the way to Geergeh that evening bymoonlight. I quite agreed with him. It was the only way out.Besides, I didn't like the looks of the people. They eyed usaskance. This was getting exciting now. I felt a professionaljournalistic interest. Whether we escaped or got killed, whatsplendid business for theDaily Telephone!

The sheikh, of course, declared it was impossible to start thatevening. The men wouldn't move—the camels needed rest. ButDr. Macloghlen was inexorable. 'Very well, thin, Mr. Sheikh,' heanswered, philosophically. 'Ye'll plaze yerself about whether yecome on wid us or whether ye shtop. That's yer own business. Butwe set out at sundown; and whin ye return by yerself on footto Geergeh, ye can ask for yer camels at the BritishConsulate.'

All through that anxious afternoon we sat in our tents, underthe shade of the mud-wall, wondering whether we could carry out ourplan or not. About an hour before sunset the veiled woman strolledout of the gate with her two children. She joined the crowd ofsight-seers once[Pg 193] more, for never through the day werewe left alone for a second. The excitement grew intense. Elsie andI moved up carelessly towards the group, talking as if to oneanother. I looked hard at Elsie: then I said, as though I werespeaking about one of the children, 'Go straight along the road toGeergeh till you are past the big clump of palms at the edge of theoasis. Just beyond it comes a sharp ridge of rock. Wait behind theridge where no one can see you. When we get there,' I patted thelittle girl's head, 'don't say a word, but jump on my camel. My twofriends will each take one of the children. If you understand andconsent, stroke your boy's curls. We will accept that for asignal.'

She stroked the child's head at once without the leasthesitation. Even through her veil and behind her dress, I couldsomehow feel and see her trembling nerves, her beating heart. Butshe gave no overt token. She merely turned and muttered somethingcarelessly in Arabic to a woman beside her.

We waited once more, in long-drawn suspense. Would she manage toescape them? Would they suspect her motives?

After ten minutes, when we had returned to our crouching-placeunder the shadow of the wall, the woman detached herself slowlyfrom the group, and began strolling with almost overdonenonchalance along the road to Geergeh. We could see the little girlwas frightened and seemed to expostulate with her mother:fortunately, the Arabs about were too much occupied in watching thesuspicious strangers to notice this episode of their own people.Presently, our new friend disappeared; and, with beating hearts, weawaited the sunset.

Then came the usual scene of hubbub with the sheikh, the camels,the porters, and the drivers. It was eagerness[Pg 194]against apathy. With difficulty we made them understand we meant toget under way at all hazards. I stormed in bad Arabic. The Doctorinveighed in very choice Irish. At last they yielded, and set out.One by one the camels rose, bent their slow knees, and began tostalk in their lordly way with outstretched necks along the road tothe river. We moved through the palm groves, a crowd of boysfollowing us and shouting for backsheesh. We began to be afraidthey would accompany us too far and discover our fugitive; butfortunately they all turned back with one accord at a littlewhitewashed shrine near the edge of the oasis. We reached the clumpof palms; we turned the corner of the ridge. Had we missed oneanother? No! There, crouching[Pg 195] by the rocks, with herchildren by her side, sat our mysterious stranger.

The Doctor was equal to the emergency. 'Make those basteskneel!' he cried authoritatively to the sheikh.

The sheikh was taken aback. This was a new exploit burst uponhim. He flung his arms up, gesticulating wildly. The Doctor,unmoved, made the drivers understand by some strange pantomime whathe wanted. They nodded, half terrified. In a second, the strangerwas by my side, Elsie had taken the girl, the Doctor the boy, andthe camels were passively beginning to rise again. That is the bestof your camel. Once set him on his road, and he goesmechanically.

The sheikh broke out with several loud remarks in Arabic, whichwe did not understand, but whose hostile character could not easilyescape us. He was beside himself with anger. Then I was suddenlyaware of the splendid advantage of having an Irishman on our side.Dr. Macloghlen drew his revolver, like one well used to suchepisodes, and pointed it full at the angry Arab. 'Look here, Mr.Sheikh,' he said, calmly, yet with a fine touch of bravado; 'do yesee this revolver? Well, unless ye make yer camels thravelsthraight to Geergeh widout wan other wurrud, 'tis yer own brainswill be spattered, sor, on the sand of this desert! And if ye touchwan hair of our heads, ye'll answer for it wid yer life to theBritish Government.'

I do not feel sure that the sheikh comprehended the exact natureof each word in this comprehensive threat, but I am certain he tookin its general meaning, punctuated as it was with some flourishesof the revolver. He turned to the drivers and made a gesture ofdespair. It meant, apparently, that this infidel was too much forhim. Then he called out a few sharp directions in Arabic. Nextminute,[Pg196] our camels' legs were stepping out briskly alongthe road to Geergeh with a promptitude which I'm sure must haveastonished their owners. We rode on and on through the gloom in afever of suspense. Had any of the Senoosis noticed our presence?Would they miss the chief's wife before long, and follow us underarms? Would our own sheikh betray us? I am no coward, as women go,but I confess, if it had not been for our fiery Irishman, I shouldhave felt my heart sink. We were grateful to him for the recklessand good-humoured courage of the untamed Celt. It kept us fromgiving way. 'Ye'll take notice, Mr. Sheikh,' he said, as wethreaded our way among the moon-lit rocks, 'that I have twinty-wancartridges in me case for me revolver; and that if there's throubleto-night, 'tis twinty of them there'll be for your frinds theSenoosis, and wan for yerself; but for fear of disappointing agintleman, 'tis yer own special bullet I'll disthribute first, ifit comes to fighting.'

The sheikh's English was a vanishing quantity, but to judge bythe way he nodded and salaamed at this playful remark, I amconvinced he understood the Doctor's Irish quite as well as Idid.

We spoke little by the way; we were all far too frightened,except the Doctor, who kept our hearts up by a running fire of wildCeltic humour. But I found time meanwhile to learn by a fewquestions from our veiled friend something of her captivity. Shehad seen her father massacred before her eyes at Khartoum, and hadthen been sold away to a merchant, who conveyed her by degrees andby various exchanges across the desert through lonely spots to theSenoosi oasis. There she had lived all those years with the chiefto whom her last purchaser had trafficked her. She did not evenknow that her husband's village was an integral part of theKhedive's territory; far less that the English were nowin[Pg197] practical occupation of Egypt. She had heardnothing and learnt nothing since that fateful day; she had waitedin vain for the off-chance of a deliverer.

'Run away? How could I? I did not even know which way the riverlay; and was it possible for me to cross the desert on foot, orfind the chance of a camel? The Senoosis would have killed me. Evenwith you to help me, see what dangers surround me; alone, I shouldhave perished, like Hagar in the wilderness, with no angel to saveme.'

'An' ye've got the angel now,' Dr. Macloghlen exclaimed,glancing at me. 'Steady, there, Mr. Sheikh. What's this that'scoming?'

It was another caravan, going the opposite way, on its road tothe oasis! A voice halloaed from it.

They were still far off on the desert, and the moon shonebright. A few hurried words to the Doctor, and with a wild resolvewe faced the emergency. He made the camels halt, and all of us,springing off, crouched down behind their shadows in such a waythat the coming caravan must pass on the far side of us. At thesame moment the Doctor turned resolutely to the sheikh. 'Look here,Mr. Arab,' he said in a quiet voice, with one more appeal to thesimple Volapuk of the pointed revolver; 'I cover ye wid this. Letthese frinds of yours go by. If there's anny unnecessary talkingbetwixt ye, or anny throuble of anny kind, remimber, the firstbullet goes sthraight as an arrow t'rough that haythen head ofyours!'

The caravan drew abreast of us. We could hear them[Pg 198] cryaloud on either side the customary salutes: 'In Allah's name,peace!' answered by 'Allah is great; there is no god butAllah.'

Would anything more happen? Would our sheikh play us false? Itwas a moment of breathlessness. We crouched and cowered in theshade, holding our hearts with fear, while the Arab driverspretended to be unsaddling the camels. A minute or two of anxioussuspense; then, peering over our beasts' backs, we saw their longline filing off towards the oasis. We watched their turbaned heads,silhouetted against the sky, disappear slowly. One by one theyfaded away. The danger was past. With beating hearts we rose upagain.

The Doctor sprang into his place and seated himself on hiscamel. 'Now ride on, Mr. Sheikh,' he said, 'wid all yer men, as ifgrim death was afther ye. Camels or no camels, ye've got to marchall night, for ye'll never draw rein till we're safe back atGeergeh!'

And sure enough we never halted, under the persuasive influenceof that loaded revolver, till we dismounted once more in the earlydawn upon the Nile bank, under British protection.

Then Elsie and I and our rescued country-woman broke downtogether in an orgy of relief. We hugged one another and cried likeso many children.[Pg 199]

VIII

THE ADVENTURE OF THE PEA-GREEN PATRICIAN

In plain prose, my arrangement with 'my proprietor,' Mr.Elworthy (thus we speak in the newspaper trade), included a trip toBombay for myself and Elsie. So, as soon as we had drained UpperEgypt journalistically dry, we returned to Cairo on our road toSuez. I am glad to say, my letters to theDaily Telephonegave satisfaction. My employer wrote, 'You are a born journalist.'I confess this surprised me; for I have always considered myself atruthful person. Still, as he evidently meant it for praise, I tookthe doubtful compliment in good part, and offered noremonstrance.

I have a mercurial temperament. My spirits rise and fall as ifthey were Consols. Monotonous Egypt depressed me, as it depressedthe Israelites; but the passage of the Red Sea set me sounding mytimbrel. I love fresh air; I love the sea, if the sea will butbehave itself; and I positively revelled in the change fromEgypt.

Unfortunately, we had taken our passages by a P. and O. steamerfrom Suez to Bombay many weeks beforehand, so as to secure goodberths; and still more unfortunately, in[Pg 200] aletter to Lady Georgina, I had chanced to mention the name of ourship and the date of the voyage. I kept up a spasmodiccorrespondence with Lady Georgina nowadays—tuppence-ha'pennya fortnight; the dear, cantankerous, racy old lady had been thefoundation of my fortunes, and I was genuinely grateful to her; or,rather, I ought to say, she had been their second foundress, for Iwill do myself the justice to admit that the first was my owninitiative and enterprise. I flatter myself I have the knack oftaking the tide on the turn, and I am justly proud of it. But,being a grateful animal, I wrote once a fortnight to reportprogress to Lady Georgina. Besides—let mewhisper—strictly between ourselves—'twas an indirectway of hearing about Harold.

This time, however, as events turned out, I recognised that Ihad made a grave mistake in confiding my movements to my shrewd oldlady. She did not betray me on purpose, of course; but I gatheredlater that casually in conversation she must have mentioned thefact and date of my sailing before somebody who ought to have hadno concern in it; and the somebody, I found, had governed himselfaccordingly. All this, however, I only discovered afterwards. So,without anticipating, I will narrate the facts exactly as theyoccurred to me.

When we mounted the gangway of theJumna at Suez, andbegan the process of frizzling down the Red Sea, I noted on deckalmost at once an odd-looking young man of twenty-two orthereabouts, with a curious faint pea-green complexion. He was thewishy-washiest young man I ever beheld in my life; an achromaticstudy: in spite of the delicate pea-greeniness of his skin, all thecolouring matter of the body seemed somehow to have faded out ofhim. Perhaps he had been bleached. As he leant over the[Pg 201]taffrail, gazing down with open mouth and vacant stare at thewater, I took a good long look at him. He interested memuch—because he was so exceptionally uninteresting; a pallid,anæmic, indefinite hobbledehoy, with a high, narrow forehead,and sketchy features. He had watery, restless eyes of an insipidlight blue; thin, yellow hair, almost white in its paleness; andtwitching hands that played nervously all the time with a shadowymoustache. This shadowy moustache seemed to absorb as a rule thebest part of his attention; it was so sparse and so blanched thathe felt it continually—to assure himself, no doubt, of thereality of its existence. I need hardly add that he wore aneye-glass.

He was an aristocrat, I felt sure; Eton and Christ Church: noordinary person could have been quite so flavourless. Imbecilitylike his is only to be attained as the result of long and judiciousselection.

He went on gazing in a vacant way at the waterbelow,[Pg202] an ineffectual patrician smile playing feebly roundthe corners of his mouth meanwhile. Then he turned and stared at meas I lay back in my deck-chair. For a minute he looked me over asif I were a horse for sale. When he had finished inspecting me, hebeckoned to somebody at the far end of the quarter-deck.

The somebody sidled up with a deferential air which confirmed mybelief in the pea-green young man's aristocratic origin. It wassuch deference as the British flunkey pays only to blue blood; forhe has gradations of flunkeydom. He is respectful to wealth; politeto acquired rank; but servile only to hereditary nobility. Indeed,you can make a rough guess at the social status of the person headdresses by observing which one of his twenty-seven nicelygraduated manners he adopts in addressing him.

The pea-green young man glanced over in my direction, andmurmured something to the satellite, whose back was turned towardsme. I felt sure, from his attitude, he was asking whether I was theperson he suspected me to be. The satellite nodded assent, whereatthe pea-green young man, screwing up his face to fix his eye-glass,stared harder than ever. He must be heir to a peerage, I feltconvinced; nobody short of that rank would consider himselfentitled to stare with such frank unconcern at an unknown lady.

Presently it further occurred to me that the satellite's backseemed strangely familiar. 'I have seen that man somewhere, Elsie,'I whispered, putting aside the wisps of hair that blew about myface.

'So have I, dear,' Elsie answered, with a slight shudder. And Iwas instinctively aware that I too disliked him.

As Elsie spoke, the man turned, and strolled slowly past us,with that ineffable insolence which is the other side of theflunkey's insufferable self-abasement. He cast a glance[Pg 203] atus as he went by, a withering glance of brazen effrontery. We knewhim now, of course: it was that variable star, our oldacquaintance, Mr. Higginson the courier.

He was here as himself this time; no longer the count or themysterious faith-healer. The diplomat hid his rays under the garbof the man-servant.

'Depend upon it, Elsie,' I cried, clutching her arm with a vaguesense of fear, 'this man means mischief. There is danger ahead.When a creature of Higginson's sort, who has risen to be a countand a fashionable physician, descends again to be a courier, youmay rest assured it is because he has something to gain by it. Hehas some deep scheme afloat. Andwe are part of it.'

'His master looks weak enough and silly enough for anything,'Elsie answered, eyeing the suspected lordling. 'I should think heis just the sort of man such a wily rogue would naturally fastenupon.'

'When a wily rogue gets hold of a weak fool, who is alsodishonest,' I said, 'the two together may make a formidablecombination. But never mind. We're forewarned. I think I shall beeven with him.'

That evening, at dinner in the saloon, the pea-green young manstrolled in with a jaunty air and took his seat next to us. The RedSea, by the way, was kinder than the Mediterranean: it allowed usto dine from the very first evening. Cards had been laid on theplates to mark our places. I glanced at my neighbour's. It bore theinscription, 'Viscount Southminster.'

That was the name of Lord Kynaston's eldest son—LadyGeorgina's nephew; Harold Tillington's cousin! Sothis wasthe man who might possibly inherit Mr. Marmaduke Ashurst's money! Iremembered now how often and how fervently Lady Georgina had said,'Kynaston's sons are all[Pg 204] fools.' If the rest came up tosample, I was inclined to agree with her.

It also flashed across me that Lord Southminster might haveheard through Higginson of our meeting with Mr. Marmaduke Ashurstat Florence, and of my acquaintance with Harold Tillington atSchlangenbad and Lungern. With a woman's instinct, I jumped at thefact that the pea-green young man had taken passage by this boat,on purpose to baffle both me and Harold.

Thinking it over, it seemed to me, too, that he might havevarious possible points of view on the matter. He might desire, forexample, that Harold should marry me, under the impression that hismarriage with a penniless outsider would annoy his uncle; for thepea-green young man doubtless thought that I was still to Mr.Ashurst just that dreadful adventuress. If so, his obvious cuewould be to promote a good understanding between Harold and myself,in order to make us marry, so that the urbane old gentlemen mightthen disinherit his favourite nephew, and make a new will in LordSouthminster's interest. Or again, the pea-green young man might,on the contrary, be aware that Mr. Ashurst and I had got onadmirably together when we met at Florence; in which case his aimwould naturally be to find out something that might set the richuncle against me. Yet once more, he might merely have heard that Ihad drawn up Uncle Marmaduke's will at the office, and he mightdesire to worm the contents of it out of me. Whichever was hisdesign, I resolved to be upon my guard in every word I said to him,and leave no door open to any trickery either way. For of one thingI felt sure, that the colourless young man had torn himself awayfrom the mud-honey of Piccadilly for this voyage to India onlybecause he had heard there was a chance of meeting me.[Pg 205]

That was a politic move, whoever planned it—himself orHigginson; for a week on board ship with a person or persons is thevery best chance of getting thrown in with them; whether they likeit or lump it, they can't easily avoid you.

It was while I was pondering these things in my mind, andresolving with myself not to give myself away, that the young manwith the pea-green face lounged in and dropped into the next seatto me. He was dressed (amongst other things) in a dinner jacket anda white tie; for myself, I detest such fopperies on board ship;they seem to me out of place; they conflict with the infinitepossibilities of the situation. One stands too near the realitiesof things. Evening dress andmal-de-mer sort illtogether.

As my neighbour sat down, he turned to me with an inane smilewhich occupied all his face. 'Good evening,' he said, in a baronialdrawl. 'Miss Cayley, I gathah? I asked the skippah's leave to setnext yah. We ought to be[Pg 206] friends—rathah. I think yahknow my poor deah old aunt, Lady Georgina Fawley.'

I bowed a somewhat, freezing bow. 'Lady Georgina is one of mydearest friends,' I answered.

'No, really? Poor deah old Georgey! Got somebody to stick up forher at last, has she? Now that's what I call chivalrous of yah.Magnanimous, isn't it? I like to see people stick up for theirfriends. And it must be a novelty for Georgey. For between you andme, a moah cantankerous spiteful acidulated old cough-drop than thepoor deah soul it 'ud be difficult to hit upon.'

'Lady Georgina has brains,' I answered; 'and they enable her torecognise a fool when she sees him. I will admit that she does notsuffer fools gladly.'

He turned to me with a sudden sharp look in the depths of thelack-lustre eyes. Already it began to strike me that, though thepea-green young man was inane, he had his due proportion of acertain insidious practical cunning. 'That's true,' he answered,measuring me. 'And according to her, almost everybody's afool—especially her relations. There's a fine knack ofsweeping generalisation about deah skinny old Georgey. The fewpeople she reahlly likes are all archangels; the rest areblithering idiots; there's no middle course with her.'

'She thinks me a very special and peculiah fool,' he went on,crumbling his bread.

'Lady Georgina,' I answered, 'is a person of exceptionaldiscrimination. I would almost always accept her judgment on anyoneas practically final.'

He laid down his soup-spoon, fondled the imperceptible moustachewith his tapering fingers, and then broke once more into a cheerfulexpanse of smile which reminded me of[Pg 207] nothing so much as ofthe village idiot. It spread over his face as the splash from astone spreads over a mill-pond. 'Now that's a nice cheerful sort ofthing to say to a fellah,' he ejaculated, fixing his eye-glass inhis eye, with a few fierce contortions of his facial muscles.'That's encouraging, don't yah know, as the foundation of anacquaintance. Makes a good cornah-stone. Calculated to place thingsat once upon what yah call a friendly basis. Georgey said you had apretty wit; I see now why she admiahed it. Birds of a feathah: verywise old proverb.'

I reflected that, after all, this young man had nothing overtagainst him, beyond a fishy blue eye and an inane expression; so,feeling that I had perhaps gone a little too far, I continued aftera minute, 'And your uncle, how is he?'

'Marmy?' he inquired, with another elephantine smile; and then Iperceived it was a form of humour with him (or rather, a cheapsubstitute) to speak of his elder relations by their abbreviatedChristian names, without any prefix. 'Marmy's doing very well,thank yah; as well as could be expected. In fact, bettah. Habakkukon the brain: it's carrying him off at last. He has Bright'sdisease very bad—drank port, don't yah know—and won'ttrouble this wicked world much longah with his presence. It will bea happy release—especially for his nephews.'

I was really grieved, for I had grown to like the urbane oldgentleman, as I had grown to like the cantankerous old lady. Inspite of his fussiness and his Stock Exchange views on theinterpretation of Scripture, his genuine kindliness and his realliking for me had softened my heart to him; and my face must haveshown my distress, for the pea-green young man added quickly withan afterthought: 'Butyou needn't be afraid, yah know. It'sall right for Harold Tillington. You ought to know that as well asanyone—and[Pg 208] bettah: for it was you who drew uphis will for him at Florence.'

I flushed crimson, I believe. Then he knew all about me! 'I wasnot asking on Mr. Tillington's account,' I answered. 'I askedbecause I have a personal feeling of friendship for your uncle, Mr.Ashurst.'

His hand strayed up to the straggling yellow hairs on his upperlip once more, and he smiled again, this time with a curiousundercurrent of foolish craftiness. 'That's a good one,' heanswered. 'Georgey told me you were original. Marmy's amillionaire, and many people love millionaires for their money. Butto love Marmy for himself— I do call that originality! Why,weight for age, he's acknowledged to be the most portentous oldboah in London society!'

'I like Mr. Ashurst because he has a kind heart and some genuineinstincts,' I answered. 'He has not allowed all human feeling to bereplaced by a cheap mask of Pall Mall cynicism.'

'Oh, I say; how's that for preaching? Don't you manage to giveit hot to a fellah, neithah! And at sight, too, without the usualthree days of grace. Have some of my champagne? I'm a forgivingcreachah.'

To my great disgust, Elsie held out her glass. I was annoyed atthat. It showed she had missed the drift of our conversation, andwas therefore lacking in feminine intuition. I should be sorry if Ihad allowed the higher mathematics to kill out in me the mostdistinctively womanly faculty.

From that first day forth, however, in spite of this beginning,Lord Southminster almost persecuted me with[Pg 209] hispersistent attentions. He did all a fellah could possibly do toplease me. I could not make out precisely what he was driving at;but I saw he had some artful game of his own to play, and that hewas playing it subtly. I also saw that, vapid as he was, hisvapidity did not prevent him from being worldly wise with thewisdom of the self-seeking man of the world, who utterly distrustsand disbelieves in all the higher emotions of humanity. He harpedso often on this string that on our second day out, as we lolled ondeck in the heat, I had to rebuke him sharply. He had been sneeringfor some hours. 'There are two kinds of silly simplicity, LordSouthminster,' I said, at last. 'One kind is the silly simplicityof the rustic who trusts everybody; the other kind is the sillysimplicity of the Pall Mall clubman who trusts nobody. It is justas foolish and just as one-sided to overlook the good as tooverlook the evil in humanity. If you trust everyone, you arelikely to be taken in; but if you trust no one, you put yourself ata serious practical disadvantage, besides losing half the joy ofliving.'

'Well, you're what I call a first-rate companion for a voyagedown the Red Sea,' he put in, gazing abstractedly at the awnings.'Such a lovely freezing mixture! A fellah doesn't need ices whenyou're on tap. I recommend you as a refrigeratah.'

'I am glad,' I answered demurely, 'if I have secured yourapprobation in that humble capacity. I'm sure I have tried hard forit.'

Yet nothing that I could say seemed to put the man down. Inspite of rebuffs, he was assiduous in running[Pg 210] downthe companion-ladder for my parasol or my smelling-bottle; hefetched me chairs; he stayed me with cushions; he offered to lendme books; he pestered me to drink his wine; and he kept Elsie inchampagne, which she annoyed me by accepting. Poor dear Elsieclearly failed to understand the creature. 'He's so kind andpolite, Brownie, isn't he?' she would observe in her simplefashion. 'Do you know, I think he's taken quite a fancy to you! Andhe'll be an earl by-and-by. I call it romantic. How lovely it wouldseem, dear, to see you a countess.'

'Elsie,' I said severely, with one hand on her arm, 'you are adear little soul, and I am very fond of you; but if you[Pg 211]think I could sell myself for a coronet to a pasty-faced young manwith a pea-green complexion and glassy blue eyes—I can onlysay, my child, you have misread my character. He isn't a man: he'sa lump of putty!'

I think Elsie was quite shocked that I should apply these termsto a courtesy lord, the eldest son of a peer. Nature had endowedher with the profound British belief that peers should be spoken ofin choice and peculiar language. 'If a peer's a fool,' LadyGeorgina said once to me, 'people think you should say histemperament does not fit him for the conduct of affairs: if he's aroué or a drunkard, they think you should say he hasunfortunate weaknesses.'

What most of all convinced me, however, that the wishy-washyyoung man with the pea-green complexion must be playing somestealthy game, was the demeanour and mental attitude of Mr.Higginson, his courier. After the first day, Higginson appeared tobe politeness and deference itself to us. He behaved to us both,almost as if we belonged to the titled classes. He treatedus with the second best of his twenty-seven graduated manners. Hefetched and carried for us with a courtly grace which recalled thatdistinguished diplomat, the Comte de Laroche-sur-Loiret, at thestation at Malines with Lady Georgina. It is true, at his politestmoments, I often caught the undercurrent of a wicked twinkle in hiseye, and felt sure he was doing it all with some profound motive.But his external demeanour was everything that one could desirefrom a well-trained man-servant; I could hardly believe it was thesame man who had growled to me at Florence, 'I shall be even withyou yet,' as he left our office.

'Do you know, Brownie,' Elsie mused once, 'I really begin tothink we must have misjudged Higginson. He's[Pg 212] soextremely polite. Perhaps, after all, he is really a count, who hasbeen exiled and impoverished for his political opinions.'

I smiled and held my tongue. Silence costs nothing. But Mr.Higginson's political opinions, I felt sure, were of that simplecommunistic sort which the law in its blunt way calls fraudulent.They consisted in a belief that all was his which he could lay hishands on.

'Higginson's a splendid fellah for his place, yah know, MissCayley,' Lord Southminster said to me one evening as we wereapproaching Aden. 'What I like about him is, he's so doosidintelligent.'

'Extremely so,' I answered. Then the devil entered into meagain. 'He had the doosid intelligence even to take in LadyGeorgina.'

'Yaas; that's just it, don't you know. Georgey told me thatstory. Screamingly funny, wasn't it? And I said to myself at once,"Higginson's the man for me. I want a courier with jolly lots ofbrains and no blooming scruples. I'll entice this chap away fromMarmy." And I did. I outbid Marmy. Oh, yaas, he's a first-ratefellah, Higginson. WhatI want is a man who will do whathe's told, and ask no beastly unpleasant questions. Higginson'sthat man. He's as sharp as a ferret.'

He opened his hands with a gesture of unconcern. 'All the bettahfor my purpose. See how frank I am, Miss Cayley. I tell the truth.The truth is very rare. You ought to respect me for it.'

'It depends somewhat upon thekind of truth,' I answered,with a random shot. 'I don't respect a man, for instance, forconfessing to a forgery.'

He winced. Not for months after did I know how a[Pg 213]stone thrown at a venture had chanced to hit the spot, and hadvastly enhanced his opinion of my cleverness.

'Oh, yaas. Wasn't it real jam? He did the doctor-trick on a ladyin Switzerland. And the way he has come it ovah deah simple oldMarmy! He played Marmy with Ezekiel! Not so dusty, was it? He's toolovely for anything!'

'Not mine,' he answered, taking out a cigarette. 'Oh deah no. Hecan't turn againstme. He wouldn't dare to. Yah see, I havethe fellah entirely in my powah. I know all his little games, and Ican expose him any day. But it suits me to keep him. I don't mindtelling yah, since I respect your intellect, that he and I areengaged in pulling off a bigcoup togethah. If it were notfor that, I wouldn't be heah. Yah don't catch me going away so fahfrom Newmarket and the Empire for nothing.'

But I wondered to myself why the neutral-tinted young man shouldbe so communicative to an obviously hostile stranger.

For the next few days it amused me to see how hard our lordlingtried to suit his conversation to myself and Elsie. He was absurdlyanxious to humour us. Just at first, it is true, he had discussedthe subjects that lay nearest to his own heart. He was an ardentvotary of the noble quadruped; and he loved the turf—whosesward, we judged, he trod mainly at Tattersall's. He spoke to uswith erudition on 'two-year-old form,' and gave us several 'safethings'[Pg214] for the spring handicaps. The Oaks he considered 'amoral' for Clorinda. He also retailed certain choice anecdotesabout ladies whose Christian names were chiefly Tottie and Flo, andwhose honoured surnames have escaped my memory. Most of themflourished, I recollect, at the Frivolity Music Hall. But when helearned that our interest in the noble quadruped was scarcely morethan tepid, and that we had never even visited 'the Friv.,' as heaffectionately called it, he did his best in turn to acquire oursubjects. He had heard us talk about Florence, for example, and hegathered from our talk that we loved its art treasures. So he sethimself to work to be studiously artistic. It was[Pg 215] abeautiful study in human ineptitude. 'Ah, yaas,' he, murmured,turning up the pale blue eyes ecstatically towards the mast-head.'Chawming place, Florence! I dote on the pickchahs. I know them allby heart. I assuah yah, I've spent houahs and houahs feeding mysoul in the galleries.'

'And what particular painter does your soul most feed upon?' Iasked bluntly, with a smile.

The question staggered him. I could see him hunting through thevacant chambers of his brain for a Florentine painter. Then a faintlight gleamed in the leaden eyes, and he fingered thestraw-coloured moustache with that nervous hand till he almost puta visible point upon it. 'Ah, Raphael?' he said, tentatively, withan inquiring air, yet beaming at his success. 'Don't you think so?Splendid artist, Raphael!'

'And a very safe guess,' I answered, leading him on. 'You can'tgo far wrong in mentioning Raphael, can you? But after him?'

He dived into the recesses of his memory again, peered about himfor a minute or two, and brought back nothing. 'I can't remembahthe othah fellahs' names,' he went on; 'they're all so much alike:all inelli, don't yah know; but I recollect at the timethey impressed me awfully.'

He tried to look through me, and failed. Then he plunged, like anoble sportsman that he was, on a second fetch of memory.'Ah—and Michael Angelo,' he went on, quite proud of histreasure-trove. 'Sweet things, Michael Angelo's!'

I thought Elsie would explode; but she kept her countenance. Thepea-green young man gazed at me[Pg 216] uneasily. He had halfan idea by this time that I was making game of him.

However, he fished up a name once more, and clutched at it.'Savonarola, too,' he adventured. 'I adore Savonarola. Hispickchahs are beautiful.'

'Then there is Fra Diavolo?' I suggested, going one better. 'Howdo you like Fra Diavolo?'

He seemed to have heard the name before, but still he hesitated.'Ah—what did he paint?' he asked, with growing caution.

I stuffed him valiantly. 'Those charming angels, you know,' Ianswered. 'With the roses and the glories!'

'Oh, yaas; I recollect. All askew, aren't they; like[Pg 217]this! I remembah them very well. But——' a doubt flittedacross his brain, 'wasn't his name Fra Angelico?'

'His brother,' I replied, casting truth to the winds. 'Theyworked together, you must have heard. One did the saints; the otherdid the opposite. Division of labour, don't you see; Fra Angelico,Fra Diavolo.'

He fingered his cigarette with a dubious hand, and wriggled hiseye-glass tighter. 'Yaas, beautiful; beautiful! But——'growing suspicious apace, 'wasn't Fra Diavolo also a composah?'

'Of course,' I assented. 'In his off time, he composed. Thoseearly Italians—so versatile, you see; so versatile!'

'And Torricelli,' I went on, with a side glance at Elsie, whowas choking by this time. 'And Chianti, and Frittura, andCinquevalli, and Giulio Romano.'

His distrust increased. 'Now you're trying to make me commitmyself,' he drawled out. 'I remembah Torricelli—he's thefellah who used to paint all his women crooked. But Chianti's awine; I've often drunk it; and Romano's—well, every fellahknows Romano's is a restaurant near the Gaiety Theatre.'

'Besides,' I continued, in a drawl like his own, 'there areRisotto, and Gnocchi, and Vermicelli, and Anchovy—all famouspaintahs, and all of whom I don't doubt you admiah.'

Elsie exploded at last. But he took no offence. He smiledinanely, as if he rather enjoyed it. 'Look heah, you know,' hesaid, with his crafty smile; 'that's one too much. I'm not takingany. You think yourselves very clevah for kidding me with paintahswho are really macaroni and cheese and claret; yet if I were totell you the Lejah was run at Ascot, or the Cesarewitch atDoncastah, why, you'd[Pg 218] be no wisah. When it comes to art, Idon't have a look in; but I could tell you a thing or two aboutstarting prices.'

Still, I think he realised that he had better avoid the subjectof art in future, as we avoided the noble quadruped. He saw hislimitations.

Not till the last evening before we reached Bombay did I reallyunderstand the nature of my neighbour's project. That evening, asit chanced, Elsie had a headache and went below early. I stoppedwith her till she dozed off; then I slipped up on deck once morefor a breath of fresh air, before retiring for the night to the hotand stuffy cabin. It was an exquisite evening. The moon rode in thepale green sky of the tropics. A strange light still lingered onthe western horizon. The stifling heat of the Red Sea had given waylong since to the refreshing coolness of the Indian Ocean. Istrolled a while on the quarter-deck, and sat down at last near thestern. Next moment, I was aware of somebody creeping up to me.

'Look heah, Miss Cayley,' a voice broke in; 'I'm in luck atlast! I've been waiting, oh, evah so long, for thisopportunity.'

I turned and faced him. 'Have you, indeed?' I answered. 'Well, Ihavenot, Lord Southminster.'

I tried to rise, but he motioned me back to my chair. There wereladies on deck, and to avoid being noticed I sank into my seatagain.

'I want to speak to you,' he went on, in a voice that (for him)was almost impressive. 'Half a mo, Miss Cayley. I want tosay—this last night—you misunderstand me.'

'On the contrary,' I answered, 'the trouble is—that Iunderstand you perfectly.'

'No, yah don't. Look heah.' He bent forward quite[Pg 219]romantically. 'I'm going to be perfectly frank. Of course yah knowthat when I came on board this ship I came—to checkmateyah.'

'Of course,' I replied. 'Why else should you and Higginson havebothered to come here?'

He rubbed his hands together. 'That's just it. You're alwaysclevah. You hit it first shot. But there's wheah the point comesin. At first, I only thought of how we could circumvent yah. Itreated yah as the enemy. Now, it's all the othah way. Miss Cayley,you're the cleverest woman I evah met in this world; you extort myadmiration.'

I could not repress a smile. I didn't know how it was, but Icould see I possessed some mysterious attraction for the Ashurstfamily. I was fatal to Ashursts. Lady Georgina, Harold Tillington,the Honourable Marmaduke, Lord Southminster—different typesas they were, all succumbed without one blow to me.

'No, I don't,' he cried, flashing his cuffs and gazingaffectionately at his sleeve-links. ''Pon my soul, I assuah yah, Imean it. I can't tell you how much I admiah yah. I admiah yourintellect. Every day I have seen yah, I feel it moah and moah. Why,you're the only person who has evah out-flanked my fellah,Higginson. As a rule I don't think much of women. I've been throughseveral London seasons, and lots of 'em have tried their level bestto catch me; the cleverest mammas have been aftah me for theirEthels. But I wasn't so easily caught: I dodged the Ethels. Withyou, it's different. I feel'—he paused—'you're a womana fellah might be really proud of.'

'Well, will you take me?' he asked, trying to seize my hand.'Miss Cayley, if you will, you will make me unspeakably happy.'

It was a great effort—for him—and I was sorry tocrush it. 'I regret,' I said, 'that I am compelled to deny youunspeakable happiness.'

'Oh, but you don't catch on. You mistake. Let me explain. You'rebacking the othah man. Now, I happen[Pg 221] to know about that:and I assuah you, it's an error. Take my word for it, you'restaking your money on the wrong fellah.'

'I do not understand you,' I replied, drawing away from hisapproach. 'And what is more, I may add, you could never understandme.'

'Yaas, but I do. I understand perfectly. I can see where you gowrong. You drew up Marmy's will; and you think Marmy has left allhe's worth to Harold Tillington; so you're putting every pennyyou've got on Harold. Well, that's mere moonshine. Harold may thinkit's all right; but it's not all right. There's many a slip 'twixtthe cup and the Probate Court. Listen heah, Miss Cayley: Higginsonand I are a jolly sight sharpah than your friend Harold. Harold'swhat they call a clevah fellah in society, and I'm what they call afool; but I know bettah than Harold which side of my bread'sbuttahed.'

'Well, I have managed this business. I don't mind telling younow, I had a telegram from Marmy's valet when we touched at Aden;and poor old Marmy's sinking. Habakkuk's been too much for him.Sixteen stone going under. Why am I not with him? yah may ask.Because, when a man of Marmy's temperament is dying, it's safah tobe away from him. There's plenty of time for Marmy to altah hiswill yet—and there are othah contingencies. Still, Harold'squite out of it. You take my word for it; if you back Harold, youback a man who's not going to get anything; while if you back me,you back the winnah, with a coronet into the bargain.' And hesmiled fatuously.

I looked at him with a look that would have made a wiser manwince. But it fell flat on Lord Southminster. 'Do you know why I donot rise and go down to my cabin[Pg 222] at once?' I said,slowly. 'Because, if I did, somebody as I passed might see myburning cheeks—cheeks flushed with shame at your insultingproposal—and might guess that you had asked me, and that Ihad refused you. And I should shrink from the disgrace of anyone'sknowing that you had put such a humiliation upon me. You have beenfrank with me—after your kind, Lord Southminster; frank withthe frankness of a low and purely commercial nature. I will befrank with you in turn. You are right in supposing that I loveHarold Tillington—a man whose name I hate to mention in yourpresence. But you are wrong in supposing that the disposition ofMr. Marmaduke Ashurst's money has or can have anything to do withthe feelings I entertain towards him. I would marry him all thesooner if he were poor and penniless. You cannotunderstandthat state of mind, of course: but you must be content toaccept it. And I would not marryyou if there were noother man left in the world to marry. I should as soon think ofmarrying a lump of dough.' I faced him all crimson. 'Isthatplain enough? Do you see now that I really mean it?'

He gazed at me with a curious look, and twirled what heconsidered his moustache once more, quite airily. The man wasimperturbable—a pachydermatous imbecile. 'You're all wrong,yah know,' he said, after a long pause, during which he hadregarded me through his eye-glass as if I were a specimen of somerare new species. 'You're all wrong, and yah won't believe me. ButI tell yah, I know what I'm talking about. You think it's quitesafe about Marmy's money—that he's left it to Harold, becauseyou drew the will up. I assuah you that will's not worth the paperit's written on. You fancy Harold's a hot favourite: he's a rankoutsidah. I give you a chance, and you won't[Pg 223] takeit. I want yah because you're a remarkable woman. Most of theEthels cry when they're trying to make a fellah propose to 'em; andI don't like 'em damp: butyou have some go about yah. Youinsist upon backing the wrong man. But you'll find your mistake outyet.' A bright idea struck him. 'I say—why don't you hedge?Leave it open till Marmy's gone, and then marry the winnah?'

It was hopeless trying to make this clod understand. His brainwas not built with the right cells for understanding me. 'LordSouthminster,' I said, turning upon him and clasping my hands, 'Iwill not go away while you stop here. But you have some sparkenough of a gentleman in your composition, I hope, not to inflictyour company any longer upon a woman who does not desire it. I askyou to leave me here alone. When you have gone, and I have had timeto recover from your degrading offer, I may perhaps feel able to godown to my cabin.'

He stared at me with open blue eyes—those watery blueeyes. 'Oh, just as you like,' he answered. 'I wanted to do you agood turn, because you're the only woman I evah reallyadmiahed—to say admiah, don't you know; not trotted roundlike the Ethels: but you won't allow me. I'll go if you wish it;though I tell you again, you're backing the wrong man, and soonahor latah you'll discover it. I don't mind laying you six to fouragainst him. Howevah, I'll do one thing for yah: I'll leave thisoffah always open. I'm not likely to marry any othahwoman—not good enough, is it?—and if evah you find outyou're mistaken about Harold Tillington, remembah, honour bright, Ishall be ready at any time to renew my offah.'

By this time I was at boiling-point. I could not find words toanswer him. I waved him away angrily with one hand. He raised hishat with quite a jaunty air and strolled[Pg 224] offforward, puffing his cigarette. I don't think he even knew thedisgust with which he inspired me.

I sat some hours with the cool air playing about my burningcheeks before I mustered up courage to rise and go down belowagain.[Pg225]

THE ADVENTURES OF THE MAGNIFICENT MAHARAJAH

Our arrival at Bombay was a triumphal entry. We were receivedlike royalty. Indeed, to tell you the truth, Elsie and I werebeginning to get just a leetle bit spoiled. It struck us now thatour casual connection with the Ashurst family in its variousbranches had succeeded in saddling us, like the Lady of Burleigh,'with the burden of an honour unto which we were not born.' We wereeverywhere treated as persons of importance; and, oh dear, by dintof such treatment we began to feel at last almost as if we had beenraised in the purple. I felt that when we got back to England weshould turn up our noses at plain bread and butter.

Yes, life has been kind to me. Have your researches into Englishliterature ever chanced to lead you into reading Horace Walpole, Iwonder? That polite trifler is fond of a word which he coinedhimself—'Serendipity.' It derives from the name of a certainhappy Indian Prince Serendip, whom he unearthed (or invented) insome obscure Oriental story; a prince for whom the fairies or thegenii always managed to make everything pleasant. It implies thefaculty, which a few of us possess, of finding whatever we wantturn up accidentally at the exact right moment. Well, I believe Imust have been born with serendipity in[Pg 226] mymouth, in place of the proverbial silver spoon, for wherever I go,all things seem to come out exactly right for me.

TheJumna, for example, had hardly heaved to in BombayHarbour when we noticed on the quay a very distinguished-lookingOriental potentate, in a large, white turban with a particularlybig diamond stuck ostentatiously in its front. He stalked on boardwith a martial air, as soon as we stopped, and made inquiries fromour captain after someone he expected. The captain received himwith that odd mixture of respect for rank and wealth, combined withtrue British contempt for the inferior black man, which isuniversal among his class in their dealings with native Indiannobility. The Oriental potentate, however, who was accompanied by agorgeous suite like that of the Wise Men in Italian pictures,seemed satisfied with his information, and moved over with hisstately glide in our direction. Elsie and I were standing near thegangway among our rugs and bundles, in the hopeless helplessness ofdisembarkation. He approached us respectfully, and, bowing withextended hands and a deferential air, asked, in excellent English,'May I venture to inquire which of you two ladies is Miss LoisCayley?'

'I am,' I replied, my breath taken away by thisunexpected greeting. 'May I venture to inquire in return how youcame to know I was arriving by this steamer?'

He held out his hand, with a courteous inclination. 'I am theMaharajah of Moozuffernuggar,' he answered in an impressive tone,as if everybody knew of the Maharajah of Moozuffernuggar asfamiliarly as they knew of the Duke of Cambridge. 'Moozuffernuggarin Rajputana—not the one in the Doab. You must haveheard my name from Mr. Harold Tillington.'[Pg 227]

I had not; but I dissembled, so as to salve his pride. 'Mr.Tillington's friends areour friends,' I answered,sententiously.

'And Mr. Tillington's friends aremy friends,' theMaharajah retorted, with a low bow to Elsie. 'This is no doubt,Miss Petheridge. I have heard of your expected arrival, as you willguess, from Tillington. He and I were at Oxford together; I am aMerton man. It was Tillington who first taught me all I know ofcricket. He took me to stop at his father's place in Dumfriesshire.I owe much to his friendship; and when he wrote me that friends ofhis were arriving by theJumna, why, I made haste to rundown to Bombay to greet them.'

The episode was one of those topsy-turvy mixtures of[Pg 228] allplaces and ages which only this jumbled century of ours haswitnessed; it impressed me deeply. Here was this Indian prince, afeudal Rajput chief, living practically among his vassals in theMiddle Ages when at home in India; yet he said 'I am a Merton man,'as Harold himself might have said it; and he talked about cricketas naturally as Lord Southminster talked about the noble quadruped.The oddest part of it all was, we alone felt the incongruity; tothe Maharajah, the change from Moozuffernuggar to Oxford and fromOxford back again to Moozuffernuggar seemed perfectly natural. Theywere but two alternative phases in a modern Indian gentleman'seducation and experience.

Still, what were we to do with him? If Harold had presented mewith a white elephant I could hardly have been more embarrassedthan I was at the apparition of this urbane and magnificent Hindooprince. He was young; he was handsome; he was slim, for a rajah; hewore European costume, save for the huge white turban with itsobtrusive diamond; and he spoke English much better than a greatmany Englishmen. Yet what place could he fill in my life andElsie's? For once, I felt almost angry with Harold. Why couldn't hehave allowed us to go quietly through India, two simple unofficialjournalistic pilgrims, in our native obscurity?

His Highness of Moozuffernuggar, however, had his own views onthis question. With a courteous wave of one dusky hand, he motionedus gracefully into somebody else's deck chairs, and then sat downon another beside us, while the gorgeous suite stood by inrespectful silence—unctuous gentlemen in pink-and-goldbrocade—forming a court all round us. Elsie and I,unaccustomed to be so observed, grew conscious of our hands, ourskirts, our postures. But the Maharajah posed himself with perfectunconcern, like[Pg 229] one well used to the fierce light ofroyalty. 'I have come,' he said, with simple dignity, 'tosuperintend the preparations for your reception.'

'Gracious heavens!' I exclaimed. 'Our reception, Maharajah? Ithink you misunderstand. We are two ordinary English ladies of theproletariat, accustomed to the level plain of professional society.We expect no reception.'

He bowed again, with stately Eastern deference. 'Friends ofTillington's,' he said, shortly, 'are persons of distinction.Besides, I have heard of you from Lady Georgina Fawley.'

'Lady Georgina is too good,' I answered, though inwardly I ragedagainst her. Why couldn't she leave us alone, to feed in peace ondak-bungalow chicken, instead of sending this regal-manneredheathen to bother us?

'So I have come down to Bombay to make sure that you are met inthe style that befits your importance in society,' he went on,waving his suite away with one careless hand, for he saw it fussedus. 'I mentioned you to His Honour the Acting-Governor, who had notheard you were coming. His Honour's aide-de-camp will followshortly with an invitation to Government House while you remain inBombay—which will not be many days, I don't doubt, for thereis nothing in this city of plague to stop for. Later on, duringyour progress up country, I do myself the honour to hope that youwill stay as my guests for as long as you choose atMoozuffernuggar.'

My first impulse was to answer: 'Impossible, Maharajah; wecouldn't dream of accepting your kind invitation.' But on secondthoughts, I remembered my duty to my proprietor. Journalism first:inclination afterwards! My letter from Egypt on the rescue of theEnglishwoman who escaped from Khartoum had brought me greatéclat as a special correspondent, and theDailyTelephone now billed my name[Pg 230] in big letters on itsplacards, so Mr. Elworthy wrote me. Here was another noble chance;must I not strive to rise to it? Two English ladies at a nativecourt in Rajputana! that ought to afford scope for some rattlingjournalism!

'It is extremely kind of you,' I said, hesitating, 'and it wouldgive us great pleasure, were it feasible, to accept your friendlyoffer. But—English ideas, you know, prince! Two unprotectedwomen! I hardly see how we could come alone to Moozuffernuggar,unchaperoned.'

The Maharajah's face lighted up; he was evidently flattered thatwe should even thus dubiously entertain his proposal. 'Oh, I'vethought about that, too,' he answered, growing more colloquial intone. 'I've been some days in Bombay, making inquiries andpreparations. You see, you had not informed the authorities of yourintended visit, so that you were travellingincognito—or should it beincognita?—andif Tillington hadn't written to let me know your movements, youmight have arrived at this port without anybody's knowing it, andhave been compelled to take refuge in an hotel on landing.' Hespoke as if we had been accustomed all our lives long to bereceived with red cloth by the Mayor and Corporation, and presentedwith illuminated addresses and the freedom of the city in a goldsnuff-box. 'But I have seen to all that. The Acting-Governor'saide-de-camp will be down before long, and I have arranged that ifyou consent a little later to honour my humble roof in Rajputanawith your august presence, Major Balmossie and his wife willaccompany you and chaperon you. I have lived in England: of courseI understand that two English ladies of your rank and positioncannot travel alone—as if you were Americans. But Mrs.Balmossie is a nice little soul, of unblemishedcharacter'—that sweet touch charmed me—'received atGovernment House'—he had learned the[Pg 231]respect due to Mrs. Grundy—'so that if you will accept myinvitation, you may rest assured that everything will be done withthe utmost regard to the—the unaccountable prejudices ofEuropeans.'

His thoughtfulness took me aback. I thanked him warmly. Heunbent at my thanks. 'And I am obliged to you in return,' he said.'It gives me real pleasure to be able, through you, to repay HaroldTillington part of the debt I owe him. He was so good to me atOxford. Miss Cayley, you are new to India, and therefore—asyet—no doubt unprejudiced. You treat a native gentleman, Isee, like a human being. I hope you will not stop long enough inour country to get over that stage—as happens to most of yourcountrymen and countrywomen. In England, a man like myself is anIndian prince; in India, to ninety-nine out of a hundred Europeans,he is just "a damned nigger."'

I smiled sympathetically. 'I think,' I said, venturing underthese circumstances on a harmless little swear-word—ofcourse, in quotation marks—'you may trust me never to reach"damn-nigger" point.'

'So I believe,' he answered, 'if you are a friend of HaroldTillington's. Ebony or ivory, he never forgot we were two mentogether.'

Five minutes later, when the Maharajah had gone to inquire aboutour luggage, Lord Southminster strolled up. 'Oh, I say, MissCayley,' he burst out, 'I'm off now; ta-ta: but remembah, thatoffah's always open. By the way, who's your black friend? Icouldn't help laughing at the airs the fellah gave himself. To seea niggah sitting theah, with his suite all round him, waving hishands and sunning his rings, and behaving for all the world as ifhe were a gentleman; it's reahly too ridiculous. Harold Tillingtonpicked up with[Pg 232] a fellah like that atOxford—doosid good cricketer too; wondah if this is the sameone?'

'Good-bye, Lord Southminster,' I said, quietly, with a stifflittle bow. 'Remember, on your side, that your "offer" was rejectedonce for all last night. Yes, the Indian princeis HaroldTillington's friend, the Maharajah of Moozuffernuggar—whoseancestors were princes while ours were[Pg 233]dressed in woad and oak-leaves. But you were right about one thing;he behaves—like a gentleman.'

'Oh, I say,' the pea-green young man ejaculated, drawing back;'that's anothah in the eye for me. You're a good 'un at facers. Yougave me one for a welcome, and you give me one now for a partingshot. Nevah mind though, I can wait; you're backing the wrongfellah—but you're not the Ethels, and you're well worthwaiting for.' He waved his hand. 'So-long! See yah again inLondon.'

Our three days in Bombay were uneventful; we merely waited toget rid of the roll of the ship, which continued to haunt us forhours after we landed—the floor of our bedrooms havingacquired an ugly trick of rising in long undulations, as if Bombaywere suffering from chronic earthquake. We made the acquaintance ofHis Honour the Acting Governor, and His Honour's consort. We werealso introduced to Mrs. Balmossie, the lady who was to chaperon usto Moozuffernuggar. Her husband was a soldierly Scotchman fromForfarshire, but she herself was English—a flighty littlebody with a perpetual giggle. She giggled so much over the idea ofthe Maharajah's inviting us to his palace that I wondered why onearth she accepted his invitation. At this she seemed surprised.'Why, it's one of the jolliest places in Rajputana,' she answered,with a bland Simla smile; 'so picturesque—he, he,he—andso delightful. Simpkin flows like water—Simpkin's baboo English for champagne, you know—he, he, he;and though of course the Maharajah's only a native like the rest ofthem—he, he, he—still, he's been educated at Oxford,and has[Pg234] mixed with Europeans, and he knows how to makeone—he, he, he—well, thoroughly comfortable.'

'Oh dear no—he, he, he—Europe food, every bit of it.Foie gras, and York ham, and winead lib. His hospitality'smassive. If it weren't for that, of course, one wouldn't dream ofgoing there. But Archie hopes some day to be made Resident, don'tyou know; and it will do him no harm—he, he, he—withthe Foreign Office, to have cultivated friendly relationsbeforehand with His Highness of Moozuffernuggar. Thesenatives—he, he, he—so absurdly sensitive!'

For myself, the Maharajah interested me, and I rather liked him.Besides, he was Harold's friend, and that was in itself sufficientrecommendation. So I determined to push straight into the heart ofnative India first, and only afterwards to do the regulationtourist round of Agra and Delhi, the Taj and the mosques, Benaresand Allahabad, leaving the English and Calcutta for the tail-end ofmy journey. It was better journalism; as I thought that thought, Ibegan to fear that Mr. Elworthy was right after all, and that I wasa born journalist.

On the day fixed for our leaving Bombay, whom should I meet butLord Southminster—with the Maharajah—at the railwaystation!

He lounged up to me with that eternal smile still vaguelypervading his empty features. 'Well, we shall have a jolly party, Igathah,' he said. 'They tell me this niggah is famous for histigahs.'

I gazed at him, positively taken aback. 'You don't mean to tellme,' I cried, 'you actually propose to accept the Maharajah'shospitality?'

His smile absorbed him. 'Yaas,' he answered twirling[Pg 235] hisyellow moustache, and gazing across at the unconscious prince, whowas engaged in overlooking the arrangements for our salooncarriage. 'The black fellah discovahed I was a cousin of Harold's,so he came to call upon me at the club, of which some Johnnies heahmade me an honorary membah. He's offahed me the run of his placewhile I'm in Indiah, and, of course, I've accepted. Eccentric sortof chap; can't make him out myself: says anyone connected withHarold Tillington is always deah to him. Rum start, isn't it?'

'He is a mere Oriental,' I answered, 'unused to the ways ofcivilised life. He cherishes the superannuated virtue ofgratitude.'

I drew back, horrified. 'Now? While I am there? After what Itold you last week on the steamer?'

'Oh, that's all right. I bear yah no malice. If I want any fun,of course I must go whileyou're at Moozuffernuggar.'

'Yah see, this black boundah means to get up some big things athis place in your honah; and one naturally goes to stop with anyonewho has big things to offah. Hang it all, what does it mattah who afellah is if he can give yah good shooting? It's shooting, don'tyah know, that keeps society in England togethah!'

'And therefore you propose to stop in the same house with me!' Iexclaimed, 'in spite of what I have told you! Well, LordSouthminster, I should have thought there were limits which evenyour taste——'

He cut me short with an inane grin. 'There you make yourblooming little erraw,' he answered, airily. 'I told yah, I keep myoffah still open; and, hang it all, I don't mean to lose sight ofyah in a hurry. Some other fellah might come along and pick you upwhen I wasn't looking; and I don't[Pg 236] want to miss yah. Inpoint of fact, I don't mind telling yah, I back myself still for acouple of thou' soonah or latah to marry yah. It's dogged as doesit; faint heart, they say, nevah won fair lady!'

If it had not been that I could not bear to disappoint my Indianprince, I think, when I heard this, I should have turned back thenand there at the station.

The journey up country was uneventful, but dusty. The Mofussilappears to consist mainly of dust; indeed, I can now recall nothingof it but one pervading white cloud, which has blotted from mymemory all its other components. The dust clung to my hair aftermany washings, and was never really beaten out of my travellingclothes; I believe part of it thus went round the world with me toEngland. When at last we reached Moozuffernuggar, after two days'and a night's hard travelling, we were met by a crowd of localgrandees, who looked as if they had spent the greater part of theirlives in brushing back their whiskers, and we drove up at once, inEuropean carriages, to the Maharajah's palace. The look of itastonished me. It was a strange and rambling old Hindoo hill-fort,high perched on a scarped crag, like Edinburgh Castle, andaccessible only on one side, up a gigantic staircase, guarded oneither hand by huge sculptured elephants cut in the livingsandstone. Below clustered the town, an intricate mass of tangledalleys. I had never seen anything so picturesque or so dirty in mylife; as for Elsie, she was divided between admiration for itsbeauty and terror at the big-whiskered and white-turbanedattendants.

'What sort of rooms shall we have?' I whispered to our moralguarantee, Mrs. Balmossie.

'Oh, beautiful, dear,' the little lady smirked back. 'Furnishedthroughout—he, he, he—by Liberty. The[Pg 237]Maharajah wants to do honour to his European guests—he, he,he—he fancies, poor man, he's quite European. That's whatcomes of sending these creatures to Oxford! So he's had suites ofrooms furnished for any white visitors who may chance to come hisway. Ridiculous, isn't it?And champagne—oh, gallonsof it! He's quite proud of his rooms, he, he, he—he's alwaysasking people to come and occupy them; he thinks he's done them upin the best style of decoration.'

He had reason, for they were as tasteful as they were dainty andcomfortable. And I could not for the life of me make out why hishospitable inclination should be voted 'ridiculous.' But Mrs.Balmossie appeared to find all natives alike a huge joke together.She never even spoke of them without a condescending smile ofdistant compassion. Indeed, most Anglo-Indians seem first to dotheir best to Anglicise the Hindoo, and then to laugh at him foraping the Englishman.

After we had been three days at the palace and had spent hoursin the wonderful temples and ruins, the Maharajah announced withconsiderable pride at breakfast one morning that he had got up atiger-hunt in our special honour.

'Ha, that's right, Maharaj,' he said, briskly. 'I do love biggame. To tell yah the truth, old man, that's just what I came heahfor.'

'You do me too much honour,' the Hindoo answered, with quietsarcasm. 'My town and palace may have little to offer that is worthyour attention; but I am glad that my big game, at least, has beenlucky enough to attract you.'

The remark was thrown away on the pea-green young man. He haddescribed his host to me as 'a black boundah.' Out of his own mouthI condemned him—he supplied the[Pg 238] very word—he washimself nothing more than a born bounder.

During the next few days, the preparations for the tiger-huntoccupied all the Maharajah's energies. 'You know, Miss Cayley,' hesaid to me, as we stood upon the big stairs, looking down on theHindoo city, 'a tiger-hunt is not a thing to be got up lightly. Ourpeople themselves don't like killing a tiger. They reverence it toomuch. They're afraid its spirit might haunt them afterwards andbring them bad luck. That's one of our superstitions.'

He drew himself up and opened his palms, with a twinkling ofpendant emeralds. 'I am royal,' he answered, with naïvedignity, 'and the tiger is a royal beast. Kings know the ways ofkings. If a king kills what is kingly, it owes him no grudge forit. But if a common man or a low caste man were to kill atiger—who can say what might happen?'

'Our peasants,' he went on, fixing me with his great black eyes,'won't even mention the tiger by name, for fear of offending him:they believe him to be the dwelling-place of a powerful spirit. Ifthey wish to speak of him, they say, "the great beast," or "mylord, the striped one." Some think the spirit is immortal except atthe hands of a king. But they have no objection to see himdestroyed by others. They will even point out his whereabouts, andrejoice over his death; for it relieves the village of a seriousenemy, and they believe the spirit will only haunt the huts ofthose who actually kill him.'

'As well as your gamekeepers in England know which covert may bedrawn for foxes. Yes; 'tis a royal sport, and we keep it forMaharajahs. I myself never hunt a tiger till some European visitorof distinction comes to Moozuffernuggar, that I may show him goodsport. This tiger we shall hunt to-morrow, for example, he is a badold hand. He has carried off the buffaloes of my villagers overyonder for years and years, and of late he has also become aman-eater. He once ate a whole family at a meal—a man, hiswife, and his three children. The people at Janwargurh have beenpestering me for weeks to come and shoot him; and each week he haseaten somebody—a child or a woman; the last wasyesterday—but I waited till you came, because[Pg 240] Ithought it would be something to show you that you would not belikely to see elsewhere.'

'And you let the poor people go on being eaten, that we mightenjoy this sport!' I cried.

He shrugged his shoulders, and opened his palms. 'They werevillagers, you know—ryots: mere tillers of thesoil—poor naked peasants. I have thousands of them to spare.If a tiger eats ten of them, they only say, "It was written upontheir foreheads." One woman more or less—who would notice herat Moozuffernuggar?'

The eventful morning arrived at last, and we started, all agog,for the jungle where the tiger was known to live. Elsie excusedherself. She remarked to me the night before, as I brushed her backhair for her, that she had 'half a mind' not to go. 'My dear,' Ianswered, giving the brush a good dash, 'for a highermathematician, that phrase lacks accuracy. If you were to say"seven-eighths of a mind" it would be nearer the mark. In point offact, if you ask my opinion, your inclination to go is a vanishingquantity.'

She admitted the impeachment with an accusing blush. 'You'requite right, Brownie; to tell you the truth, I'm afraid of it.'

'So am I, dear; horribly afraid. Between ourselves, I'm in adeadly funk of it. But "the brave man is not he that feels nofear"; and I believe the same principle applies almost equally tothe brave woman. I mean "that fear to subdue" as far as I am able.The Maharajah says I shall be the first girl who has ever gonetiger-hunting. I'm frightened out of my life. I never held a gun inmy born days before. But, Elsie, recollect, this issplendidjournalism! I intend to go through with it.'[Pg 241]

'I do, dear; I propose to die in the cause. I expect myproprietor to carve on my tomb, "Sacred to the memory of the martyrof journalism. She was killed, in the act of taking shorthandnotes, by a Bengal tiger."'

We started at early dawn, a motley mixture. My short bicyclingskirt did beautifully for tiger-hunting. There was a vast companyof native swells, nawabs and ranas, in gorgeous costumes, whoseprecise names and titles I do not pretend to remember; there werealso Major Balmossie, Lord Southminster, the Maharajah, andmyself—all mounted on gaily-caparisoned elephants. We hadlikewise, on foot, a miserable crowd of wretched beaters, withdirty white loin-cloths. We were all very brave, ofcourse—demonstratively brave—and we talked a great dealat the start about the exhilaration given by 'the spice of danger.'But it somehow struck me that the poor beaters on foot had themajority of the danger and extremely little of the exhilaration.Each of us great folk was mounted on his own elephant, whichcarried a light basket-work howdah in two compartments: the frontone intended for the noble sportsman, the back one for a servantwith extra guns and ammunition. I pretended to like it, but I fearI trembled visibly. Our mahouts sat on the elephants' necks, eacharmed with a pointed goad, to whose admonition the huge beastsanswered like clock-work. A born journalist always pretends to knoweverything before hand, so I speak carelessly of the 'mahout,' asif he were a familiar acquaintance. But I don't mind telling youaside, in confidence, that I had only just learnt the word thatmorning.

The Maharajah protested at first against my taking part in theactual hunt, but I think his protest was merely formal. In hisheart of hearts I believe he was proud that the first ladytiger-hunter should have joined his party.[Pg 242]

Dusty and shadeless, the road from Moozuffernuggar faresstraight across the plain towards the crumbling mountains. Behind,in the heat mist, the castle and palace on their steeply-scarpedcrag, with the squalid town that clustered at their feet, remindedme once more most strangely of Edinburgh, where I used to spend myvacations from Girton. But the pitiless sun differed greatly fromthe gray haar of the northern metropolis. It warmed into intensewhite the little temples of the wayside, and beat on our heads withtropical garishness.

I am bound to admit also that tiger-hunting is not quite all itis cracked up to be. In my fancy I had pictured the gallant andbloodthirsty beast rushing out upon us full pelt from somegrass-grown nullah at the first sniff of our presence, and fiercelyattacking both men and elephants. Instead of that, I will confessthe whole truth: frightened as at least one of us was of the tiger,the tiger was still more desperately frightened of his humanassailants. I could see clearly that, so far from rushing out ofhis own accord to attack us, his one desire was to be let alone. Hewas horribly afraid; he skulked in the jungle like a wary old foxin a trusty spinney. There was no nullah (whatever a nullah maybe), there was only a waste of dusty cane-brake. We encircled thetall grass patch where he lurked, forming a big round with aring-fence of elephants. The beaters on foot, advancing, halfnaked, with a caution with which I could fully sympathise,endeavoured by loud shouts and gesticulations to rouse the royalbeast to a sense of his position. Not a bit of it: the royal beastdeclined to be drawn; he preferred retirement. The Maharajah, whoseelephant was stationed next to mine, even apologised for theresolute cowardice with which he clung to his ignoblelurking-place.

The beaters drew in: the elephants, raising theirtrunks[Pg243] in air and sniffing suspicion, moved slowly inward.We had girt him round now with a perfect ring, through which hecould not possibly break without attacking somebody. The Maharajahkept a fixed eye on my personal safety. But still the royal animalcrouched and skulked, and still the black beaters shrieked, howled,and gesticulated. At last, among the tall perpendicular lights andshadows of the big grasses and bamboos, I seemed to see somethingmove—something striped like the stems, yet passing slowly,slowly, slowly between them. It moved in a stealthy undulatingline. No one could believe till he saw it how the brightflame-coloured bands of vivid orange-yellow on the monster'sflanks, and the interspersed black stripes, could fade away andharmonise, in their native surroundings, with the lights and shadesof the upright jungle. It was a marvel of mimicry. 'Look there!' Icried to the Maharajah, pointing one eager hand. 'What is thatthing there, moving?'

He stared where I pointed. 'By Jove,' he cried, raising hisrifle with a sportsman's quickness, 'you have spotted him first!The tiger!'

The terrified beast stole slowly and cautiously through the tallgrasses, his lithe, silken side gliding in and out snakewise, andonly his fierce eyes burning bright with gleaming flashes betweenthe gloom of the jungle. Once I had seen him, I could follow withease his sinuous path among the tangled bamboos, a waving line ofbeauty in perpetual motion. The Maharajah followed him too, withhis keen eyes, and pointed his rifle hastily. But, quick as he was,Lord Southminster was before him. I had half expected to find thepea-green young man turn coward at the last moment; but in that Iwas mistaken: I will do him the justice to say, whatever else hewas, he was a born sportsman. The gleam of joy in his leaden eyewhen he[Pg244] caught sight of the tiger, the flush of excitementon his pasty face, the eagerness of his alert attitude, were thingsto see and remember. That moment almost ennobled him. In sight ofdanger, the best instincts of the savage seemed to revive withinhim. In civilised life he was a poor creature; face to face with awild beast he became a mighty shikari. Perhaps that was why he wasso fond of big-game shooting. He may have felt it raised him in thescale of being.

He lifted his rifle and fired. He was a cool shot, and hewounded the beast upon its left shoulder. I could see the greatcrimson stream gush out all at once across the shapely sides,staining the flame-coloured stripes and reddening the blackshadows. The tiger drew back, gave a low, fierce growl, and thencrouched among the jungle. I saw he was going to leap; he bent hishuge backbone into a strong downward curve, took in a deep breath,and stood at bay, glaring at us. Which elephant would he attack?That was what he was now debating. Next moment, with a frightfulR'-r'-r'-r', he had straightened out his muscles, and, like a boltfrom a bow, had launched his huge bulk forward.

I never saw his charge. I never knew he had leapt upon me. Ionly felt my elephant rock from side to side like a ship in astorm. He was trumpeting, shaking, roaring with rage and pain, forthe tiger was on his flanks, its claws buried deep in the skin ofhis forehead. I could not keep my seat; I felt myself tossed aboutin the frail howdah like a pill in a pill-box. The elephant, in adeath grapple, was trying to shake off his ghastly enemy. For aminute or two, I was conscious of nothing save this swingingmovement. Then, opening my eyes for a second, I saw the tiger, inall his terrible beauty, clinging to the elephant's head by theclaws of his fore paws, and struggling for a[Pg 245]foothold on its trunk with his mighty hind legs, in a wounded agonyof despair and vengeance. He would sell his life dear; he wouldhave one or other of us.

Lord Southminster raised his rifle again; but the Maharajahshouted aloud in an angry voice: 'Don't fire! Don't fire! You willkill the lady! You can't aim at him[Pg 246] like that. The beastis rocking so that no one can say where a shot will take effect.Down with your gun, sir, instantly!'

My mahout, unable to keep his seat with the rocking, now droppedoff his cushion among the scrub below. He could speak a few wordsof English. 'Shoot, Mem Sahib, shoot!' he cried, flinging his handsup. But I was tossed to and fro, from side to side, with my rifleunder my arm. It was impossible to aim. Yet in sheer terror I triedto draw the trigger. I failed; but somehow I caught my rifleagainst the side of my cage. Something snapped in it somewhere. Itwent off unexpectedly, without my aiming or firing. I shut my eyes.When I opened them again, I saw a swimming picture of the greatsullen beast, loosing his hold on the elephant. I saw his brindledface; I saw his white tusks. But his gleaming pupils burned brightno longer. His jaw was full towards me: I had shot him between theeyes. He fell, slowly, with blood streaming from his nostrils, andhis tongue lolling out. His muscles relaxed; his huge limbs grewlimp. In a minute, he lay stretched at full length on the ground,with his head on one side, a grand, terrible picture.

My mahout flung up his hands in wonder and amazement. 'Myfather!' he cried aloud. 'Truly, the Mem Sahib is a greatshikari!'

The Maharajah stretched across to me. 'That was a wonderfulshot!' he exclaimed. 'I could never have believed a woman couldshow such nerve and coolness.'

Nerve and coolness, indeed! I was trembling all over like anItalian greyhound, every limb a jelly; and I had not even fired:the rifle went off of itself without me. I am innocent of havingever endangered the life of a haycock. But once more I dissembled.'Yes, itwas a difficult shot,'[Pg 247] Isaid jauntily, as if I rather liked tiger-hunting. 'I didn't thinkI'd hit him.' Still the effect of my speech was somewhat marred, Ifear, by the tears that in spite of me rolled down my cheeksilently.

''Pon honah, I nevah saw a finah piece of shooting in my life,'Lord Southminster drawled out. Then he added aside, in anundertone, 'Makes a fellow moah determined to annex her thanevah!'

I sat in my howdah, half dazed. I hardly heard what they weresaying. My heart danced like the elephant. Then it stood stillwithin me. I was only aware of a feeling of faintness. Luckily formy reputation as a mighty sportswoman, however, I just managed tokeep up, and did not actually faint, as I was more than halfinclined to do.

Next followed the native pæan. The beaters crowded roundthe fallen beast in a chorus of congratulation. Many of thevillagers also ran out, with prayers and ejaculations, to swell ourtriumph. It was all like a dream. They hustled round me andsalaamed to me. A woman had shot him! Wonderful! A babel of voicesresounded in my ears. I was aware that pure accident had elevatedme into a heroine.

The Maharajah's face grew stern. 'Where are the whiskers?' heasked, fiercely, in his own tongue, which Major Balmossieinterpreted for me.

The beaters and the villagers, bowing low and expanding theirhands, made profuse expressions of ignorance and innocence. But thefact was patent—the grand face had been mangled. While theyhad crowded in a dense group[Pg 248] round the fallencarcass, somebody had cut off the lips and whiskers and secretedthem.[Pg249]

'They have ruined the skin!' the Maharajah cried out in angrytones. 'I intended it for the lady. I shall have them all searched,and the man who has done this thing——'

He broke off, and looked around him. His silence was moreterrible by far than the fiercest threat. I saw him now theOriental despot. All the natives drew back, awe-struck.

'The voice of a king is the voice of a great god,' my mahoutmurmured, in a solemn whisper. Then nobody else said anything.

'Why do they want the whiskers?' I asked, just to set thingsstraight again. 'They seem to have been in a precious hurry to takethem!'

The Maharajah's brow cleared. He turned to me once more with hisEuropean manner. 'A tiger's body has wonderful power after hisdeath,' he answered. 'His fangs and his claws are very potentcharms. His heart gives courage. Whoever eats of it will never knowfear. His liver preserves against death and pestilence. But thehighest virtue of all exists in his whiskers. They are mightytalismans. Chopped up in food, they act as a slow poison, which nodoctor can detect, no antidote guard against. They are also asovereign remedy against magic or the evil eye. And administered towomen, they make an irresistible philtre, a puissant love-potion.They secure you the heart of whoever drinks them.'

'I'd give a couple of monkeys for those whiskahs,' LordSouthminster murmured, half unnoticed.

We began to move again. 'We'll go on to where we know there isanother tiger,' the Maharajah said, lightly, as if tigers werepartridges. 'Miss Cayley, you will come with us?'

I rested on my laurels. (I was quivering still from head tofoot.) 'No, thank you, Maharajah,' as unconcernedly as[Pg 250] Icould; 'I've had quite enough sport for my first day'stiger-hunting. I think I'll go back now, and write a newspaperaccount of this little adventure.'

'You have had luck,' he put in. 'Not everyone kills a tiger hisfirst day out. This will make good reading.'

'I wouldn't try another for a thousand,' I cried, fervently.That evening, at the palace, I was the heroine of the day. Theytoasted me in a bumper of Heidsieck's dry[Pg 251]monopole. The men made speeches. Everybody talked gushingly of mysplendid courage and my steadiness of hand. It was a brilliantshot, under such difficult circumstances. For myself, I saidnothing. I pretended to look modest. I dared not confess thetruth—that I never fired at all. And from that day to this Ihave never confessed it, till I write it down now in theseconfiding memoirs.

One episode cast a gloom over my ill-deserved triumph. In thecourse of the evening, a telegram arrived for the pea-green youngman by a white-turbaned messenger. He read it, and crumpled it upcarelessly in his hand. I looked inquiry. 'Yaas,' he answered,nodding. 'You're quite right. It's that! Pooah old Marmy has gone,aftah all! Ezekiel and Habakkuk have carried off his sixteen stoneat last! And I don't mind telling yah now—though it was aneah thing—it'sI who am the winnah!'[Pg 252]

THE ADVENTURE OF THE CROSS-EYED Q.C.

The 'cold weather,' as it is humorously called, was now drawingto a close, and the young ladies in sailor hats and cambricblouses, who flock to India each autumn for the annualmarriage-market, were beginning to resign themselves to a return toEngland—unless, of course, they had succeeded in 'catching.'So I realised that I must hurry on to Delhi and Agra, if I was notto be intercepted by the intolerable summer.

When we started from Moozuffernuggar for Delhi and the East,Lord Southminster was starting for Bombay and Europe. Thissurprised me not a little, for he had confided to my unsympatheticear a few nights earlier, in the Maharajah's billiard-room, that hewas 'stony broke,' and must wait at Moozuffernuggar for lack offunds 'till the oof-bird laid' at his banker's in England. Hisconversation enlarged my vocabulary, at any rate.

'So you've managed to get away?' I exclaimed, as he dawdled upto me at the hot and dusty station.

'Yaas,' he drawled, fixing his eye-glass, and lighting acigarette. 'I've—p'f—managed to get away. Maharaj seemsto have thought—p'f—it would be cheepah in the end topay me out than to keep me.'[Pg 253]

His smile spread broader over his face than ever. 'Well, weborrow from the Jews, yah know,' he said pleasantly, 'so why thejooce shouldn't we borrow from the heathen also? Spoiling theEgyptians, don't yah see?—the same as we used to read aboutin the Scripchah when we were innocent kiddies. Like marriage,quite. You borrow in haste—and repay at leisure.'

He strolled off and took his seat. I was glad to get rid of himat the main line junction.

In accordance with my usual merciful custom, I spare you thedetails of our visit to Agra, Muttra, Benares. At Calcutta, Elsieleft me. Her health was now quite restored, dear little soul—I felt I had done that one good thing in life if no other—andshe could no longer withstand the higher mathematics, which werebeckoning her to London with invisible fingers. For myself, havingso far accomplished my original design of going round the worldwith twopence in my pocket, I could not bear to draw back at halfthe circuit; and Mr. Elworthy having willingly consented to myreturn by Singapore and Yokohama, I set out alone on my homewardjourney.

Harold wrote me from London that all was going well. He hadfound the will which I drew up at Florence in his uncle'sescritoire, and everything was left to him; but he trusted, inspite of this untoward circumstance, long absence might havealtered my determination. 'Dear Lois,' he wrote, 'Iexpectyou to come back to England and marry me!'

I was brief, but categorical. Nothing, meanwhile, had altered myresolve. I did not wish to be considered mercenary.[Pg 254]While he was rich and honoured, I could never take him. If, someday, fortune frowned—but, there—let us not forestallthe feet of calamity: let us await contingencies.

Still, I was heavy in heart. If only it had been otherwise! Tosay the truth, I should be thrown away on a millionaire; but justthink what a splendid managing wife a girl like me would have madefor a penniless pauper!

At Yokohama, however, while I dawdled in curiosity shops, atelegram from Harold startled me into seriousness. My chance atlast! I knew what it meant; that villain Higginson!

'Come home at once. I want your evidence to clear my character.Southminster opposes the will as a forgery. He has a strong case;the experts are with him.'

Forgery! That was clever. I never thought of that. I suspectedthem of trying to forge a will of their own; but to upset the realone—to throw the burden of[Pg 255] suspicion on Harold'sshoulders—how much subtler and craftier!

I saw at a glance it gave them every advantage. In the firstplace, it put Harold virtually in the place of the accused, andcompelled him to defend instead of attacking—an attitudewhich prejudices people against one from the outset. Then, again,it implied positive criminality on his part, and so allowed LordSouthminster to assume the air of injured innocence. The eldest sonof the eldest brother, unjustly set aside by the schemingmachinations of an unscrupulous cousin! Primogeniture, theingrained English love for keeping up the dignity of a noblefamily, the prejudice in favour of the direct male line as againstthe female—all were astutely utilised in Lord Southminster'sinterest. But worst of all, it wasI who had typewritten thewill—I, a friend of Harold's, a woman whom Lord Southminsterwould doubtless try to exhibit as hisfiancée. I sawat once how much like conspiracy it looked: Harold and I had agreedtogether to concoct a false document, and Harold had forged hisuncle's signature to it. Could a British jury doubt when a Lorddeclared it?

Fortunately, I was just in time to catch the Canadian steamerfrom Japan to Vancouver. But, oh, the endless breadth of that broadPacific! How time seemed to lag, as each day one rose in themorning, in the midst of space; blue sky overhead; behind one, thehard horizon; in front of one, the hard horizon; and nothing elsevisible: then steamed on all day, to arrive at night,where?—why, in the midst of space; starry sky overhead;behind one, the dim horizon; in front of one, the dim horizon; andnothing else visible. The Nile was child's play to it.

Day after day we steamed, and night after night were still wherewe began—in the centre of the sea, no farther[Pg 256] fromour starting-point, no nearer to our goal, yet for ever steaming.It was endlessly wearisome; who could say what might be happeningmeanwhile in England?

At last, after months, as it seemed, of this slow torture, wereached Vancouver. There, in the raw new town, a telegram awaitedme. 'Glad to hear you are coming. Make all haste. You may be justin time to arrive for the trial.'

Just in time! I would not waste a moment. I caught the firsttrain on the Canadian Pacific, and travelled straight[Pg 257]through, day and night, to Montreal and Quebec, without one hour'sinterval.

I cannot describe to you that journey across a continent I hadnever before seen. It was endless and hopeless. I only know that wecrawled up the Rocky Mountains and the Selkirk Range, overspider-like viaducts, with interminable effort, and that theprairies were just the broad Pacific over again. They rolled on forever. But we did reach Quebec—in time we reached it; and wecaught by an hour the first liner to Liverpool.

At Prince's Landing-stage another telegram awaited me. 'Come onat once. Case now proceeding. Harold is in court. We need yourevidence.—Georgina Fawley.'

At Euston, to my surprise, I was met not only by my dearcantankerous old lady, but also by my friend, the magnificentMaharajah, dressed this time in a frock-coat and silk hat of BondStreet glossiness.

He smiled, and showed his two fine rows of white teeth. 'That,nominally. In reality, the cricket season (I play for Berks). Butmost of all, to see dear Tillington safe through this trouble.'

'He's a brick!' Lady Georgina cried with enthusiasm. 'A regularbrick, my dear Lois! His carriage is waiting outside to take you upto my house. He has stood by Harold—well, like aChristian!'

'And how have you been all this time, dear Lady Georgina?' Iasked, hardly daring to inquire about what was nearest to mysoul—Harold.

The cantankerous old lady knitted her brows in a[Pg 258]familiar fashion. 'Oh, my dear, don't ask: I haven't known a happyhour since you left me in Switzerland. Lois, I shall never be happyagain without you! It would pay me to give you a retaining fee of athousand a year—honour bright, it would, I assure you. WhatI've suffered from the Gretchens since you've been in the East hasonly been equalled by what I've suffered from the Mary Annes andthe Célestines. Not a hair left on my scalp; not one hair, Ideclare to you. They've made my head into atabula rasa forthe various restorers. George R. Sims and Mrs. S. A. Allen aregoing to fight it out between them. My dear, I wishyoucould take my maid's place; I've always said——'

I finished the speech for her. 'A lady can do better whatevershe turns her hand to than any of these hussies.'

She nodded. 'And why? Because her handsare hands; whileas for the Gretchens and the Mary Annes, "paws" is the only wordone can honestly apply to them. Then, on top of it all comes thistrouble about Harold. So distressing, isn't it? You see, at thepoint which the matter has reached, it's simply impossible to saveHarold's reputation without wrecking Southminster's. Prettyposition that for a respectable family! The Ashursts hitherto havebeenquite respectable: a co-respondent or two, perhaps, butnever anything serious. Now, either Southminster sends Harold toprison, or Harold sends Southminster. There's a nice sort ofdilemma! I always knew Kynaston's boys were born fools; but to findthey're born knaves, too, is hard on an old woman in her hairlessdotage. However,you've come, my child, andyou'llsoon set things right. You're the one person on earth I can trustin this matter.'

Harold go to prison! My head reeled at the thought. I staggeredout into the open air, and took my seat mechanically in theMaharajah's carriage. All London swam before[Pg 259] me.After so many months' absence, the polychromatic decorations of ourEnglish streets, looming up through the smoke, seemed both strangeand familiar. I drove through the first half mile with a vagueconsciousness that Lipton's tea is the perfection of cocoa andmatchless for the complexion, but that it dyes all colours, andwon't wash clothes.

After a while, however, I woke up to the full terror of thesituation. 'Where are you taking me?' I inquired.

'To my house, dear,' Lady Georgina answered, looking anxiouslyat me; for my face was bloodless.

'No, that won't do,' I answered. 'My cue must be now to keepmyself as aloof as possible from Harold and Harold's backers. Imust put up at an hotel. It will sound so much better incross-examination.'

'She's quite right,' the Maharajah broke in, with suddenconviction. 'One must block every ball with these nasty swiftbowlers.'

'My dear, how could he? He's under examination. A cross-eyedQ.C. with an odious leer. Southminster's chosen the biggest bullyat the Bar to support his contention.'

'Drive to some hotel in the Jermyn Street district,' I cried tothe Maharajah's coachman. 'That will be handy for the lawcourts.'

He touched his hat and turned. In a sort of dickey behind sattwo gorgeous-turbaned Rajput servants.

That evening Harold came round to visit me at my rooms. I couldsee he was much agitated. Things had gone very badly. Lady Georginawas there; she had stopped to dine with me, dear old thing, lest Ishould feel lonely and give way; so had Elsie Petheridge. Mr.Elworthy sent a telegram of welcome from Devonshire. I knewat[Pg260] least that my friends were rallying round me inthis hour of trial. The kind Maharajah himself would have come too,if I had allowed him, but I thought it inexpedient. They explainedeverything to me. Harold had propounded Mr. Ashurst'swill—the one I drew up at Florence—and had asked forprobate. Lord Southminster intervened and opposed the grant ofprobate on the ground that the signatures were forgeries. Hepropounded instead another will, drawn some twenty years earlier,when they were both children, duly executed at the time, andundoubtedly genuine; in it, testator left everything withoutreserve to the eldest son of his eldest brother, Lord Kynaston.

'Marmy didn't know in those days that Kynaston's sons would allgrow up fools,' Lady Georgina said tartly. 'Besides which, that wasbefore the poor dear soul took to plunging on the Stock Exchangeand made his money. He had nothing to leave then but his best silkhat and a few paltry hundreds. Afterwards, when he'd feathered hisnest in soap and cocoa, he discovered that Bertie—that's LordSouthminster—was a first-class idiot. Marmy never likedSouthminster, nor Southminster Marmy. For after all, with all hisfaults, Marmywas a gentleman; while Bertie—well, mydear, we needn't put a name to it. So he altered his will, as youknow, when he saw the sort of man Southminster turned out, and leftpractically everything he possessed to Harold.'

'There's the trouble. Who do you think? Why, Higginson's sister,who was Marmy'smasseuse, and a waiter—FranzMarkheim—at the hotel at Florence, who's dead theysay—or, at least, not forthcoming.'

'And Higginson's sister forswears her signature,' Harold addedgloomily; 'while the experts are, most of them, dead against thegenuineness of my uncle's.'[Pg 261]

'That's clever,' I said, leaning back, and taking it in slowly.'Higginson's sister! How well they've worked it. They couldn'tprevent Mr. Ashurst from making this will, but they managed tosupply their own tainted witnesses! If it had been Higginsonhimself now, he'd have had to be cross-examined; and incross-examination, of course, we could have shaken his credit, bybringing up the episodes of the Count de Laroche-sur-Loiret and Dr.Fortescue-Langley. But his sister! What's she like? Have youanything against her?'

'My dear,' Lady Georgina cried, 'there the rogue has bested us.Isn't it just like him? What do you suppose he has done? Why,provided himself with a sister of tried respectability andblameless character.'

I was fairly puzzled. It was a stupendously clever dodge.Higginson must have trained up his sister for forty years in theways of wickedness, yet held her in reserve for this suprememoment.

Lady Georgina broke into a hysterical laugh. 'Where is he, mydear? That's the question. With consummate strategy, the wretch hasdisappeared into space at the last moment.'

'That's artful again,' I said. 'His presence could only damagetheir case. I can see, of course, Lord Southminster has no need ofhim.'

'Southminster's the wiliest fool that ever lived,' Harold brokeout bitterly. 'Under that mask of imbecility, he's a fox fortrickiness.'

I bit my lip. 'Well, if you succeed in evading him,'I[Pg262] said, 'you will have cleared your character. And ifyou don't—then, Harold, our time will have come: you willhave your longed-for chance of trying me.'

'That won't do me much good,' he answered, 'if I have to waitfourteen years for you—at Portland.'

Next morning, in court, I heard Harold's cross-examination. Hedescribed exactly where he had found the contested will in hisuncle's escritoire. The cross-eyed Q.C, a heavy man with bloatedfeatures and a bulbous nose, begged him, with one fat upliftedforefinger, to be very careful. How did he know where to look forit?[Pg263]

'Because I knew the house well: I knew where my uncle was likelyto keep his valuables.'

After an hour or two of fencing, Harold was dismissed. He stooddown, baffled. Counsel recalled Lord Southminster.

The pea-green young man, stepping briskly up, gazed about him,open-mouthed, with a vacant stare. The look of cunning on his facewas carefully suppressed. He wore, on the contrary, an air ofinjured innocence combined with an eye-glass.

'You did not put this will in the drawer where Mr.Tillington found it, did you?' counsel asked.

The pea-green young man laughed. 'No, I certainly didn't put ittheah. My cousin Harold was man in possession. He took jolly goodcareI didn't come neah the premises.'

Lord Southminster laughed. 'No, I don't,' he answered, with awell-assumednaïveté. 'That's just thedifference between us, don't yah know.I'm what they call afool, and my cousin Harold's a precious clevah fellah.'

It was not. But it told far more than much that was. It toldstrongly against Harold.

'Besides,' Lord Southminster continued, with engaging frankness,'if I forged a will at all, I'd take jolly good care to forge it inmy own favah.'

My turn came next. Our counsel handed me the incriminated will.'Did you draw up this document?' he asked.[Pg 264]

I looked at it closely. The paper bore our Florentinewater-mark, and was written with a Spread-Eagle. 'I type-wrote it,'I answered, gazing at it with care to make sure I recognisedit.

Our counsel's business was to uphold the will, not to castaspersions upon it. He was evidently annoyed at my closeexamination. 'You have no doubts about it?' he said, trying toprompt me.

I hesitated. 'No, no doubts,' I answered, turning over the sheetand inspecting it still closer. 'I type-wrote it at Florence.'

I stared at it. Was it his? It was like it, certainly. Yet thatk? and thoses's? I almost wondered.

Counsel was obviously annoyed at my hesitation. He thought I wasplaying into the enemy's hands. 'Is it his, or is it not?' heinquired again, testily.

He asked many questions about the circumstances of the interviewwhen I took down the will. I answered them all. But I vaguely felthe and I were at cross-purposes. I grew almost as uncomfortableunder his gaze as if he had been examining me in the interest ofthe other side. He managed to fluster me. As a witness for Harold,I was a grotesque failure.

Then the cross-eyed Q.C., rising and shaking his huge bulk,began to cross-examine me. 'Where did you type-write this thing, doyou say?' he said, pointing to it contemptuously.

'Yes, I understand; you had an office in Florence—afteryou gave up retailing bicycles on the public roads; and[Pg 265] youhad a partner, I think—a Miss Petherick, or Petherton, orPennyfarthing, or something?'

'Ah, Petheridge, you call it! Well, now answer this questioncarefully. Did your Miss Petheridge hear Mr. Ashurst dictate theterms of his last will and testament?'

'No,' I answered. 'The interview was of a strictly confidentialcharacter. Mr. Ashurst took me aside into the back room at ouroffice.'[Pg266]

'Oh, he took you aside? Confidential? Well, now we're getting atit. And did anybody but yourself see or hear any part whatsoever ofthis precious document?'

'Private! oh, very! Nobody else saw it. Did Mr. Ashurst take itaway from the office in person?'

'Yes; but I refused to give it to Higginson. I took it myselfthat night to the hotel where Mr. Ashurst was stopping.'

'Ah! You took it yourself. So the only other person who knowsanything at first hand about the existence of the alleged will isthis person Higginson?'

'Oh,you told her. Well, that doesn't help us much. Ifwhat you are swearing isn't true—remember, you are on youroath—what you told Miss Petherick or Petheridge orPennyfarthing, "at the time," can hardly be regarded ascorroborative evidence. Your word then and your word now are justequally valuable—or equally worthless. The only person whoknows besides yourself is Higginson. Now, I ask you,whereis Higginson?Are you going to produce him?'

The wicked cunning of it struck me dumb. They were keeping himaway, and then using his absence to cast doubts on my veracity.'Stop,' I cried, taken aback, 'Higginson is well known to be arogue, and he is keeping away lest he may damage your side. I knownothing of Higginson.'

'Yes, I'm coming to that in good time. Don't be afraid thatwe're going to pass over Higginson. You admit[Pg 267] thisman is a man of bad character. Now, what do you know of him?'

The cross-eyed cross-examiner leant across towards me andleered. 'And this is the man,' he exclaimed, with a triumphant air,'whose sister you pretended you had got to sign this preciousdocument of yours?'

'So they tell me. She is Higginson's sister. For all I know, shemay be prepared to swear, or to forswear, anything.'

'Don't cast doubt upon our witnesses without cause! MissHigginson is an eminently respectable woman. You gave this documentto Mr. Ashurst, you say. There your knowledge of it ends. Asignature is placed on it which is not his, as our experts testify.It purports to be witnessed by a Swiss waiter, who is notforthcoming, and who is asserted to be dead, as well as by a nursewho denies her signature. And the only other person who knows ofits existence before Mr. Tillington "discovers" it in his uncle'sdesk is—the missing man Higginson. Is that, or is it not, thetruth of the matter?'

'Well, now, as to this man Higginson. He first appears upon thescene, so far as you are concerned, on the day when you travelledfrom London to Schlangenbad?'

'And he nearly succeeded then in stealing Lady Georgina Fawley'sjewel-case?'[Pg 268]

The cross-eyed Q.C. held his fat sides with his hands, lookingincredulously at me, and smiled. His vast width of waistcoat shookwith silent merriment. 'You are a very clever young lady,' hemurmured. 'You can explain away anything. But don't you think itjust as likely that it was a plot between you two, and that owingto some mistake the plot came off unsuccessful?'

He tried another tack. 'Still, wherever you went, this manHigginson—the only other person, you admit, who knows aboutthe previous existence of the will—turned up simultaneously.He was always turning up—at the same place as you did. Heturned up at Lucerne, as a faith-healer, didn't he?'

He bowed, all blandness. 'Oh, certainly,' he murmured. 'Explainaway everything!'

He made no comment. 'And then,' he went on, with his hands onhis hips, and his obtrusive rotundity, 'he turned up at Florence,as courier to Mr. Ashurst, at the very date when this so-calledwill was being concocted?'

'He was at Florence when Mr. Ashurst dictated it to me,' Ianswered, growing desperate.

'You admit he was in Florence. Good! Once more he turned up inIndia with my client, Lord Southminster, upon whose youth andinexperience he had managed to impose himself. And he carried himoff, did he not, by one of these strange coincidences to whichyou are peculiarly[Pg 269] liable, on the very same steameron whichyou happened to be travelling?'

'Lord Southminster told me he took Higginson with him because arogue suited his book,' I answered, warmly.

'Will you swear his lordship didn't say "the rogue suitedhis book"—which is quite another thing?' the Q.C. askedblandly.

'Then I congratulate you, young lady, on your excellent memory.My lud, will you allow me later to recall Lord Southminster totestify on this point?'

'Now, once more, as to your relations with the various membersof the Ashurst family. You introduced yourself to Lady GeorginaFawley, I believe, quite casually, on a seat in KensingtonGardens?'

'And you promptly offered to go with her as her lady's maid toSchlangenbad in Germany?'

'Ah; a delicate distinction! "In place of her lady's maid." Youare a lady, I believe; an officer's daughter, you told us; educatedat Girton?'

'And you stick to it? By all means. Tell—thetruth—and stick to it. It's always safest. Now, don't youthink it was rather an odd thing for an officer's daughter todo—to run about Germany as maid to a lady of title?'

I tried to explain once more; but the jury smiled.[Pg 270] Youcan't justify originality to a British jury. Why, they would sendyou to prison at once for that alone, if they made the laws as wellas dispensing them.[Pg 271]

He passed on after a while to another topic. 'I think you haveboasted more than once in society that when you first met LadyGeorgina Fawley you had twopence in your pocket to go round theworld with?'

'Exactly. I'm getting there in time. With it—and otherthings. A few months later, more or less, you were touring up theNile in your steam dahabeeah, and in the lap of luxury; you weretaking saloon-carriages on Indian railways, weren't you?'

I explained again. 'The dahabeeah was in the service of theDaily Telephone,' I answered. 'I became a journalist.'

He cross-questioned me about that. 'Then I am to understand,' hesaid at last, leaning forward with all his waistcoat, 'that yousprang yourself upon Mr. Elworthy at sight, pretty much as yousprang yourself upon Lady Georgina Fawley?'

'We arranged matters quickly,' I admitted. The dexterous wretchwas making my strongest points all tell against me.

'H'm! Well, he was a man: and you will admit, I suppose,'fingering his smooth fat chin, 'that you are a lady of—whatis the stock phrase the reporters use?—considerable personalattractions?'

'My Lord,' I said, turning to the Bench, 'I appeal to you. Hashe the right to compel me to answer that question?'

The judge bowed slightly. 'The question requires no answer,' hesaid, with a quiet emphasis. I burned bright scarlet.

'Well, my lud, I defer to your ruling,' the cross-eyedcross-examiner continued, radiant. 'I go on to another[Pg 272]point. When in India, I believe, you stopped for some time as aguest in the house of a native Maharajah.'

'My lud,' the Q.C. said, in his blandest voice, 'I am strivingto suggest to the jury that this lady—the only person whoever beheld this so-called will till Mr. HaroldTillington—described in its terms as "Younger ofGledcliffe,"[Pg 273] whatever that may be—producedit out of his uncle's desk— I am striving to suggest thatthis lady is—my duty to my client compels me to say—anadventuress.'

He had uttered the word. I felt my character had not a leg leftto stand upon before a British jury.

'Accompanied and chaperoned by a married lady, the wife of aMajor Balmossie, on the Bombay Staff Corps.'

'That was certainly prudent. One ought to be chaperoned. Can youproduce the lady?'

'Do you not consider it curious,' he asked, 'that theseHigginsons and these Maharajahs should happen to follow you soclosely round the world?—should happen to turn up whereveryou do?'

'And so did you. I believe he met you at Euston last night, anddrove you to your hotel in his private carriage.'

'And Lady Georgina is on Mr. Tillington's side, I fancy? Ah,yes, I thought so. And Mr. Tillington also called to see you; andlikewise Miss Petherick— I beg your pardon, Petheridge. Wemust be strictly accurate—where Miss Petheridge is concerned.And, in fact, you had quite a little family party.'[Pg 274]

He sprang a fresh innuendo. 'But Mr. Tillington did not resentyour visit to this gallant Maharajah?'

'Oh, we're getting to that too. Now answer me this carefully. Wewant to find out what interest you might have, supposing a willwere forged, on either side, in arranging its terms. We want tofind out just who would benefit by it. Please reply to thisquestion, yes or no, without prevarication. Are you or are you notconditionally engaged to Mr. Harold Tillington?'

He sneered. 'You have a genius for explaining, we are aware.Answer me first, yes or no; we will qualify afterward.'

I glanced appealingly at the judge. He was adamant. 'Answer ascounsel directs you, witness,' he said, sternly.

'Excuse me one moment. You promised to marry him conditionallyupon the result of Mr. Ashurst's testamentary dispositions?'

My explanation was drowned in roars of laughter, in which thejudge joined, in spite of himself. When the mirth in court hadsubsided a little, I went on: 'I told Mr. Tillington I would onlymarry him in case he was poor and without expectations. If heinherited Mr. Marmaduke Ashurst's money, I could never be hiswife,' I said it proudly.

The cross-eyed Q.C. drew himself up and let his rotundity takecare of itself. 'Do you take me,' he inquired, 'for one of HerMajesty's horse-marines?'[Pg 275]

There was another roar of laughter—feebly suppressed by ajudicial frown—and I slank away, annihilated.

'You can go,' my persecutor said. 'I think we havegot—well, everything we wanted from you. You promised tomarry him, if all went ill! That is a delicate feminine way ofputting it. Women like these equivocations. They relieve one fromthe onus of speaking frankly.'

I stood down from the box, feeling, for the first time in mylife, conscious of having scored an ignominious failure.

Our counsel did not care to re-examine me; I recognised that itwould be useless. The hateful Q.C. had put all my history in suchan odious light that explanation could only make mattersworse—it must savour of apology. The jury could neverunderstand my point of view. It could never be made to see thatthere are adventuresses and adventuresses.

Then came the final speeches on either side. Harold's advocatesaid the best he could in favour of the will our party propounded;but his best was bad; and what galled me most was this— Icould see he himself did not believe in its genuineness. His speechamounted to little more than a perfunctory attempt to put the mostfavourable face on a probable forgery.

As for the cross-eyed Q.C., he rose to reply with humorousconfidence. Swaying his big body to and fro, he crumpled our willand our case in his fat fingers like so much flimsy tissue-paper.Mr. Ashurst had made a disposition of his property twenty yearsago—the right disposition, the natural disposition; he hadleft the bulk of it as childless English gentlemen have ever beenwont to leave their wealth—to the eldest son of the eldestson of his family. The Honourable Marmaduke Courtney Ashurst, thetestator, was the scion of a great house, which recent agriculturalchanges,[Pg276] he regretted to say, had relatively impoverished;he had come to the succour of that great house, as such a scionshould, with his property acquired by honest industry elsewhere. Itwas fitting and reasonable that Mr. Ashurst should wish to see theKynaston peerage regain, in the person of the amiable andaccomplished young nobleman whom he had the honour to represent,some portion of its ancient dignity and splendour.

But jealousy and greed intervened. (Here he frowned at Harold.)Mr. Harold Tillington, the son of one of Mr. Ashurst's marriedsisters, cast longing eyes, as he had tried to suggest to them, onhis cousin Lord Southminster's natural heritage. The result, hefeared, was an unnatural intrigue. Mr. Harold Tillington formed theacquaintance of a young lady—should we say younglady?—(he withered me with his glance)—well, yes, alady, indeed, by birth and education, but an adventuress bychoice—a lady who, brought up in a respectable, though not(he must admit) a distinguished sphere, had lowered herself byaccepting the position of a lady's maid, and had trafficked inpatent American cycles on the public high-roads of Germany andSwitzerland. This clever and designing woman (he would grant herability—he would grant her good looks) had fascinated Mr.Tillington—that was the theory he ventured to lay before thejury to-day; and the jury would see for themselves that whateverelse the young lady might be, she had distinctly a certain outergift of fascination. It was for them to decide whether Miss LoisCayley had or had not suggested to Mr. Harold Tillington the designof substituting a forged will for Mr. Marmaduke Ashurst'sundeniable testament. He would point out to them her singularconnection with the missing man Higginson, whom the young ladyherself described as a rogue, and from whom she had done hervery[Pg277] best to dissociate herself in this court—butineffectually. Wherever Miss Cayley went, the man Higginson wentindependently. Such frequent recurrences, such apt juxtapositionscould hardly be set down to mere accidental coincidence.

He went on to insinuate that Higginson and I had concocted thedisputed will between us; that we had passed it on to ourfellow-conspirator, Harold; and that Harold had forged his uncle'ssignature to it, and had appended those of the two supposedwitnesses. But who, now, were these witnesses? One, Franz Markheim,was dead or missing; dead men tell no tales: the other wasobviously suggested by Higginson. It was his own sister. Perhaps heforged her name to the document. Doubtless he thought that familyfeeling would induce her, when it came to the pinch, to accept andendorse her brother's lie; nay, he might even have been foolishenough to suppose that this cock-and-bull will would not bedisputed. If so, he and his master had reckoned without LordSouthminster, a gentleman who concealed beneath the carelessexterior of a man of fashion the solid intelligence of a man ofaffairs, and the hard head of a man not to be lightly cheated inmatters of business.

The alleged will had thus not a leg to stand upon. It was'typewritten' (save the mark!) 'from dictation' at Florence, bywhom? By the lady who had most to gain from its success—thelady who was to be transformed from a shady adventuress, tossedabout between Irish doctors and Hindu Maharajahs, into the lawfulwife of a wealthy diplomatist of noble family, on one conditiononly—if this pretended will could be satisfactorilyestablished. The signatures were forgeries, as shown by the expertevidence, and also by the oath of the one survivingwitness.[Pg278]

The will left all the estate—practically—to Mr.Harold Tillington, and five hundred pounds to whom?—why, tothe accomplice Higginson. The minor bequests the Q.C. regarded asingenious inventions, pure play of fancy, 'intended to giveartistic verisimilitude,' as Pooh-Bah says in the opera, 'to anotherwise bald and unconvincing narrative.' The fads, it was true,were known fads of Mr. Ashurst's: but what sort of fads?Bimetallism? Anglo-Israel? No, braces and shoe-horns—clearlythe kind that would best be known to a courier like Higginson, thesole begetter, he believed, of this nefarious conspiracy.

The cross-eyed Q.C., lifting his fat right hand in solemnadjuration, called upon the jury confidently to set aside thisridiculous fabrication, and declare for a will of undoubtedgenuineness, a will drawn up in London by a firm of eminentsolicitors, and preserved ever since by the testator's bankers. Itwould then be for his lordship to decide whether in the publicinterest he should recommend the Crown to prosecute on a charge offorgery the clumsy fabricator of this preposterous document.

The judge summed up—strongly in favour of LordSouthminster's will. If the jury believed the experts and MissHigginson, one verdict alone was possible. The jury retired forthree minutes only. It was a foregone conclusion. They found forLord Southminster. The judge, looking grave, concurred in theirfinding. A most proper verdict. And he considered it would be theduty of the Public Prosecutor to pursue Mr. Harold Tillington onthe charge of forgery.

He had slipped from the court, unseen, during counsel's address,some minutes earlier!

That distressed me more than anything else on that[Pg 279]dreadful day. I wished he had stood up in his place like a man toface this vile and cruel conspiracy.

I walked out slowly, supported by Lady Georgina, who was aswhite as a ghost herself, but very straight and[Pg 280]scornful. 'I always knew Southminster was a fool,' she said aloud;'I always knew he was a sneak; but I did not know till now he wasalso a particularly bad type of criminal.'

On the steps of the court, the pea-green young man met us. Hisair was jaunty. 'Well, I was right, yah see,' he said, smiling andwithdrawing his cigarette. 'You backed the wrong fellah! I told youI'd win. I won't say moah now; this is not the time or place torecur to that subject; but, by-and-by, you'll come round; you'llthink bettah of it still; you'll back the winnah!'

We drove back to my hotel and waited for Harold. To my horrorand alarm, he never came near us. I might almost have doubtedhim—if he had not been Harold.

I waited and waited. He did not come at all. He sent no word, nomessage. And all that evening we heard the newsboys shouting at thetop of their voice in the street, 'Extra Speshul! the Ashurst WillKise; Sensational Developments' 'Mysterious Disappearance of Mr.'Arold Tillington.'[Pg 281]

THE ADVENTURE OF THE ORIENTAL ATTENDANT

I did not sleep that night. Next morning, I rose very early froma restless bed with a dry, hot mouth, and a general feeling thatthe solid earth had failed beneath me.

Still no news from Harold! It was cruel, I thought. My faithalmost flagged. He was a man and should be brave. How could he runaway and hide himself at such a time? Even if I set my own anxietyaside, just think to what serious misapprehension it laid himopen!

I sent out for the morning papers. They were full of Harold.Rumours, rumours, rumours! Mr. Tillington had deliberately chosento put himself in the wrong by disappearing mysteriously at thelast moment. He had only himself to blame if the worstinterpretation were put upon his action. But the police were on histrack; Scotland Yard had 'a clue': it was confidently expected anarrest would be made before evening at latest. As to details,authorities differed. The officials of the Great Western Railway atPaddington were convinced that Mr. Tillington had started, aloneand undisguised, by the night express for Exeter. The South-Easterninspectors at Charing Cross, on the other hand, were equallycertain that he had slipped away with a false beard, in companywith his 'accomplice' Higginson, by the 8.15[Pg 282]p.m. to Paris. Everybody took it forgranted, however, that he had left London.

Conjecture played with various ultimatedestinations—Spain, Morocco, Sicily, the Argentine. In Italy,said theChronicle, he might lurk for a while—he spokeItalian fluently, and could manage to put up at tinyosteriein out-of-the-way places seldom visited by Englishmen. He might tryAlbania, said theMorning Post, airing its exclusive'society' information: he had often hunted there, and might in turnbe hunted. He would probably attempt to slink away to some remotespot in the Carpathians or the Balkans, said theDaily News,quite proud of its geography. Still, wherever he went,leaden-footed justice in this age, said theTimes, mustsurely overtake him. The day of universal extradition had dawned;we had no more Alsatias: even the Argentine itself gives up itsrogues—at last; not an asylum for crime remains in Europe,not a refuge in Asia, Africa, America, Australia, or the PacificIslands.

I noted with a shudder of horror that all the papers alike tookhis guilt as certain. In spite of a few decent pretences at notprejudging an untried cause, they treated him already as thedetected criminal, the fugitive from justice. I sat in my littlesitting-room at the hotel in Jermyn Street, a limp rag, lookingidly out of the window with swimming eyes, and waiting for LadyGeorgina. It was early, too early, but—oh, why didn't shecome! Unlesssomebody soon sympathised with me, my heartwould break under this load of loneliness!

Presently, as I looked out on the sloppy morning street, I wasvaguely aware through the mist that floated before my dry eyes (fortears were denied me) of a very grand carriage driving up to thedoorway—the porch with the four wooden Ionic pillars. I tookno heed of it. I was too[Pg 283] heart-sick for observation. Mylife was wrecked, and Harold's with it. Yet, dimly through themist, I became conscious after a while that the carriage was thatof an Indian prince; I could see the black faces, the whiteturbans, the gold brocades of the attendants in the dickey. Then itcame home to me with a pang that this was the Maharajah.

It was kindly meant; yet after all that had been insinuated incourt the day before, I was by no means over-pleased that his duskyHighness should come to call upon me. Walls have eyes and ears.Reporters were hanging about all over London, eager to distinguishthemselves by successful eavesdropping. They would note, with briskinnuendoes after their kind, how 'the Maharajah of Moozuffernuggarcalled early in the day on Miss Lois Cayley, with whom he remainedfor at least half an hour in close consultation.' I had half a mindto send down a message that I could not see him. My face stillburned with the undeserved shame of the cross-eyed Q.C.'sunspeakable suggestions.

Before I could make my mind up, however, I saw to my surprisethat the Maharajah did not propose to come in himself. He leanedback in his place with his lordly Eastern air, and waited, lookingdown on the gapers in the street, while one of the two gorgeousattendants in the dickey descended obsequiously to receive hisorders. The man was dressed as usual in rich Oriental stuffs, andwore his full white turban swathed in folds round his head. I couldnot see his features. He bent forward respectfully with Orientalsuppleness to take his Highness's orders. Then, receiving a cardand bowing low, he entered the porch with the wooden Ionic pillars,and disappeared within, while the Maharajah folded his hands andseemed to resign himself to a temporary Nirvana.[Pg 284]

A minute later, a knock sounded on my door. 'Come in!' I said,faintly; and the messenger entered.

I turned and faced him. The blood rushed to my cheek. 'Harold!'I cried, darting forward. My joy overcame me. He folded me in hisarms. I allowed him, unreproved. For the first time he kissed me. Idid not shrink from it.

Then I stood away a little and gazed at him. Even at thatcrucial moment of doubt and fear, I could not help[Pg 285]noticing how admirably he made up as a handsome young Rajput. Threeyears earlier, at Schlangenbad, I remembered he had struck me asstrangely Oriental-looking: he had the features of a high-bornIndian gentleman, without the complexion. His large, poetical eyes,his regular, oval face, his even teeth, his mouth and moustache,all vaguely recalled the highest type of the Eastern temperament.Now, he had blackened his face and hands with some permanentstain—Indian ink, I learned later—and the resemblanceto a Rajput chief was positively startling. In his gold brocade andample white turban, no passer-by, I felt sure, would ever havedreamt of doubting him.

'Then you knew me at once?' he said, holding my face between hishands. 'That's bad, darling! I flattered myself I had transformedmy face into the complete Indian.'

'Love has sharp eyes,' I answered. 'It can see through brickwalls. But the disguise is perfect. No one else would detectyou.'

'Not where it ought to see. There, it pierces everything. I knewyou instantly, Harold. But all London, I am sure, would pass youby, unknown. You are absolute Orient.'

'That's well; for all London is looking for me,' he answered,bitterly. 'The streets bristle with detectives. Southminster'sknaveries have won the day. So I have tried this disguise.Otherwise, I should have been arrested the moment the jury broughtin their verdict.'

'And why were you not?' I asked, drawing back. 'Oh, Harold, Itrust you; but why did you disappear and make all the world believeyou admitted yourself guilty?'

I nestled in them once more; but I answered through mytears—I had found tears now—'No Harold; it bafflesme.'

'You remember what you promised me?' he murmured, leaning overme and clasping me. 'If ever I were poor, friendless,hunted—you would marry me. Now the opportunity has come whenwe can both prove ourselves. To-day, except you and dear Georgey, Ihaven't a friend in the world. Everyone else has turned against me.Southminster holds the field. I am a suspected forger; in a veryfew days I shall doubtless be a convicted felon. Unjustly, as youknow; yet still—we must face it—a convicted felon. So Ihave come to claim you. I have come to ask you now, in this momentof despair, will you keep your promise?'

I lifted my face to his. He bent over it trembling. I whisperedthe words in his ear. 'Yes, Harold, I will keep it. I have alwaysloved you. And now I will marry you.'

We sat for some minutes, holding each other's hands, and sayingnothing; we were too full of thought for words. Then suddenly,Harold roused himself. 'We must make haste, darling,' he cried. 'Weare keeping Partab outside, and every minute is precious, everyminute's delay dangerous. We ought to go down at once. Partab'scarriage is waiting at the door for us.'

'Go down?' I exclaimed, clinging to him. 'How? Why? I don'tunderstand. What is your programme?'

'Ah, I forgot I hadn't explained to you! Listen here,dearest—quick; I can waste no words over it. I said just nowI had no friends in the world but you and Georgey. That's not true,for dear old Partab has stuck to me nobly.[Pg 287] Whenall my English friends fell away, the Rajput was true to me. Hearranged all this; it was his own idea; he foresaw what was coming.He urged me yesterday, just before the verdict (when he saw myacquaintances beginning to look askance), to slip quietly out ofcourt, and make my way by unobtrusive roads to his house in CurzonStreet. There, he darkened my face like his, and converted me toHinduism. I don't suppose the disguise will serve me for more thana day or two; but it will last long enough for us to get safelyaway to Scotland.'

'It is the only thing possible. We must be married to-day, andin England, of course, we cannot do it. We would have to be calledin church, or else to procure a license, either of which wouldinvolve disclosure of my identity. Besides, even the license wouldkeep us waiting about for a day or two. In Scotland, on the otherhand, we can be married at once. Partab's carriage is below, totake you to King's Cross. He is staunch as steel, dear fellow. Doyou consent to go with me?'

My faculty for promptly making up such mind as I possess stoodme once more in good stead. 'Implicitly,' I answered. 'Dear Harold,this calamity has its happy side—for without it, much as Ilove you, I could never have brought myself to marry you!'

'One moment,' he cried. 'Before you go, recollect, this step isirrevocable. You will marry a man who may be torn from you thisevening, and from whom fourteen years of prison may separateyou.'

'I know it,' I cried, through my tears. 'But— I shall beshowing my confidence in you, my love for you.'

He kissed me once more, fervently. 'This makes[Pg 288]amends for all,' he cried. 'Lois, to have won such a woman as you,I would go through it all a thousand times over. It was for this,and for this alone, that I hid myself last night. I wanted to giveyou the chance of showing me how much, how truly you loved me.'

I clung to him wistfully. My heart half urged me to urge him toescape. But I knew that was wrong. 'Give yourself up, then,' Isaid, sobbing. 'It is a brave man's place. You must stand yourtrial; and, come what will, I will strive to bear it with you.'

I drew back. 'Not with you, dearest,' I whispered. 'Not in theMaharajah's carriage. You must start by yourself. I will follow youat once, to King's Cross, in a hansom.'

He saw I was right. It would avoid suspicion, and it wouldprevent more scandal. He withdrew without a word. 'We meet,' Isaid, 'at ten, at King's Cross Station.'

I did not even wait to wash the tears from my eyes. All red asthey were, I put on my hat and my little brown travelling jacket. Idon't think I so much as glanced once at the glass. The secondswere precious. I saw the Maharajah drive away, with Harold in thedickey, arms crossed, imperturbable, Orientally silent. He lookedthe very counterpart of the Rajput by his side. Then I descendedthe stairs and walked out boldly. As I passed through the hall, theservants and the visitors stared at me and whispered.[Pg 289] Theyspoke with nods and liftings of the eyebrows. I was aware that thatmorning I had achieved notoriety.

At Piccadilly Circus, I jumped of a sudden into a passinghansom. 'King's Cross!' I cried, as I mounted the step. 'Drivequick! I have no time to spare.' And, as the man drove off, I saw,by a convulsive dart of someone across the road, that I had giventhe slip to a disappointed reporter.

At the station I took a first-class ticket for Edinburgh. On theplatform, the Maharajah and his attendants were waiting. He liftedhis hat to me, though otherwise he took no overt notice. But I sawhis keen eyes follow me down the train. Harold, in his Orientaldress, pretended not to observe me. One or two porters, and a fewcurious travellers, cast inquiring eyes on the Eastern prince, andmade remarks about him to one another. 'That's the chap as was upyesterday in the Ashurst will kise!' said one lounger to hisneighbour. But nobody seemed to look at Harold; his subordinateposition secured him from curiosity. The Maharajah had always twoEastern servants, gorgeously dressed, in attendance; he had been awell-known figure in London society, and at Lord's and the Oval,for two or three seasons.

'Yuss; not so dusty for a nigger,' the other man replied.'Fust-rite bowler; but, Lord, he can't 'old a candle to good oldRanji.'

As for myself, nobody seemed to recognise me. I set this factdown to the fortunate circumstance that the evening papers hadpublished rough wood-cuts which professed to be my portrait, andwhich naturally led the public to look out for a brazen-faced,raw-boned, hard-featured termagant.

I took my seat in a ladies' compartment by myself.As[Pg290] the train was about to start, Harold strolled up asif casually for a moment. 'You think it better so?' he queried,without moving his lips or seeming to look at me.

'Decidedly,' I answered. 'Go back to Partab. Don't come near meagain till we get to Edinburgh. It is dangerous still. The policemay at any moment hear we have started and stop us half-way; andnow that we have once committed ourselves to this plan it would befatal to be interrupted before we have got married.'

I wished I could think so myself; but 'twas with seriousmisgivings that I felt the train roll out of the station.

Oh, that long journey north, alone, in a ladies'compartment—with the feeling that Harold was so near, yet sounapproachable: it was an endless agony.He had theMaharajah, who loved and admired him, to keep him from brooding;but I, left alone, and confined with my own fears, conjured upbefore my eyes every possible misfortune that Heaven could send us.I saw clearly now that if we failed in our purpose this journeywould be taken by everyone for a flight, and would deepen thesuspicion under which we both laboured. It would make me still moreobviously a conspirator with Harold.

Whatever happened, we must strain every nerve to reach Scotlandin safety, and then to get married, in order that Harold mightimmediately surrender himself.

At York, I noticed with a thrill of terror that a man in plainclothes, with the obtrusively unobtrusive air of a detective,looked carefully though casually into every carriage. I felt surehe was a spy, because of his marked outer jauntiness of demeanour,which hardly masked an underlying hang-dog expression of scrutiny.When he reached my[Pg 291] place, he took a long, carelessstare at me—a seemingly careless stare, which was yetbrim-full of the keenest observation. Then he paced slowly alongthe line of carriages, with a glance at each, till he arrived justopposite the Maharajah's compartment. There he stared hard oncemore. The Maharajah descended; so did Harold and the Hinduattendant, who was dressed just like him. The man I took for adetective indulged in a frank, long gaze at the unconscious Indianprince, but cast only a hasty eye on the two apparent followers.That touch of revelation relieved my mind a little. I feltconvinced the police were watching[Pg 292] the Maharajah andmyself, as suspicious persons connected with the case; but they hadnot yet guessed that Harold had disguised himself as one of the twoinvariable Rajput servants.

We steamed on northward. At Newcastle, the same detectivestrolled, with his hands in his pockets, along the train once more,and puffed a cigar with the nonchalant air of a sporting gentleman.But I was certain now, from the studious unconcern he was anxiousto exhibit, that he must be a spy upon us. He overdid his mood ofcareless observation. It was too obvious an assumption. Preciselythe same thing happened again when we pulled up at Berwick. I knewnow that we were watched. It would be impossible for us to getmarried at Edinburgh if we were thus closely pursued. There was butone chance open; we must leave the train abruptly at the firstScotch stopping station.

The detective knew we were booked through for Edinburgh. So muchI could tell, because I saw him make inquiries of the ticketexaminer at York, and again at Berwick, and because theticket-examiner thereupon entered a mental note of the fact as hepunched my ticket each time: 'Oh, Edinburgh, miss? All right'; andthen stared at me suspiciously. I could tell he had heard of theAshurst will case. He also lingered long about the Maharajah'scompartment, and then went back to confer with the detective. Thus,putting two and two together, as a woman will, I came to theconclusion that the spy did not expect us to leave the train beforewe reached Edinburgh. That told in our favour. Most men trust muchto just such vague expectations. They form a theory, and thenneglect the adverse chances. You can only get the better of askilled detective by taking him thus, psychologically andhumanly.[Pg293]

By this time, I confess, I felt almost like a criminal. Never inmy life had danger loomed so near—not even when we returnedwith the Arabs from the oasis. For then we feared for our livesalone; now, we feared for our honour.

I drew a card from my case before we left Berwick station, andscribbled a few hasty words on it in German. 'We are watched. Adetective! If we run through to Edinburgh, we shall doubtless bearrested or at least impeded. This train will stop at Dunbar forone minute. Just before it leaves again, get out as quietly as youcan—at the last moment. I will also get out and join you. LetPartab go on; it will excite less attention. The scheme I suggestis the only safe plan. If you agree, as soon as we have wellstarted from Berwick, shake your handkerchief unobtrusively out ofyour carriage window.'

I beckoned a porter noiselessly without one word. The detectivewas now strolling along the fore-part of the train, with his backturned towards me, peering as he went into all the windows. I gavethe porter a shilling. 'Take this to a black gentleman in the nextcarriage but one,' I said, in a[Pg 294] confidential whisper.The porter touched his hat, nodded, smiled, and took it.

Would Harold see the necessity for acting on my advice?— Iwondered. I gazed out along the train as soon as we had got wellclear of Berwick. A minute—two minutes—three minutespassed; and still no handkerchief. I began to despair. He wasdebating, no doubt. If he refused, all was lost, and we weredisgraced for ever.

At last, after long waiting, as I stared still along thewhizzing line, with the smoke in my eyes, and the dust halfblinding me, I saw, to my intense relief, a handkerchief flutter.It fluttered once, not markedly, then a black hand withdrew it.Only just in time, for even as it disappeared, the detective's headthrust itself out of a farther window. He was not looking foranything in particular, as far as I could tell—just observingthe signals. But it gave me a strange thrill to think even now wewere so nearly defeated.

My next trouble was—would the train draw up at Dunbar? The10 A.M. from King's Cross is not set down to stop there inBradshaw, for no passengers are booked to or from the station bythe day express; but I remembered from of old when I lived atEdinburgh, that it used always to wait about a minute for someengine-driver's purpose. This doubt filled me with fresh fear; didit draw up there still?—they have accelerated the service somuch of late years, and abolished so many old accustomed stoppages.I counted the familiar stations with my breath held back. Theyseemed so much farther apart than usual. Reston—Grant'sHouse—Cockburnspath—Innerwick.

The next was Dunbar. If we rolled pastthat, then all waslost. We could never get married. I trembled and hugged myself.

The engine screamed. Did that mean she was running[Pg 295]through? Oh, how I wished I had learned the interpretation of thesignals!

Then gradually, gently, we began to slow. Were we slowing topass the station only? No; with a jolt she drew up. My heart gave abound as I read the word 'Dunbar' on the station notice-board.

I rose and waited, with my fingers on the door. Happily it hadone of those new-fashioned slip-latches which open from inside. Noneed to betray myself prematurely to the detective by a handdisplayed on the outer handle. I glanced out at him cautiously. Hishead was thrust through his window, and his sloping shouldersrevealed the spy, but he was looking the other way—observingthe signals, doubtless, to discover why we stopped at a place notmentioned in Bradshaw.

Harold's face just showed from another window close by. Too soonor too late might either of them be fatal. He glanced inquiry atme. I nodded back, 'Now!' The train gave its first jerk, a faintbackward jerk, indicative of the nascent intention of starting. Asit braced itself to go on, I jumped out; so did Harold. We facedone another on the platform without a word. 'Stand away there:' thestation-master cried, in an angry voice. The guard waved his greenflag. The detective, still absorbed on the signals, never oncelooked back. One second later, we were safe at Dunbar, and he wasspeeding away by the express for Edinburgh.

For half a minute I could not speak. My heart was in my mouth. Ihardly even dared to look at Harold. Then the station-masterstalked up to us with a threatening manner. 'You can't get outhere,' he said, crustily, in a gruff Scotch voice. 'This train isnot timed to set down before Edinburgh.'[Pg 296]

'Wehave got out,' I answered, taking it upon me to speakfor my fellow-culprit, the Hindu—as he was to all seeming.'The logic of facts is with us. We were booked through toEdinburgh, but we wanted to stop at Dunbar; and as the trainhappened to pull up, we thought we needn't waste time by going onall that way and then coming back again.'

'Ye should have changed at Berwick,' the station-master said,still gruffly, 'and come on by the slow train.' I could[Pg 297] seehis careful Scotch soul was vexed (incidentally) at ourextravagance in paying the extra fare to Edinburgh and backagain.

In spite of agitation, I managed to summon up one of my sweetestsmiles—a smile that ere now had melted the hearts of rickshawcoolies and of Frenchdouaniers. He thawed before itvisibly. 'Time was important to us,' I said—oh, he guessednot how important; 'and besides, you know, it is so good for thecompany!'

'That's true,' he answered, mollified. He could not tilt againstthe interests of the North British shareholders. 'But how about yerluggage? It'll have gone on to Edinburgh, I'm thinking.'

He stared at us both, puckered his brow a moment, and then burstout laughing. 'Oh, ay, I see,' he answered, with a comic air ofamusement. 'Well, well, it's none of my business, no doubt, and Iwill not interfere with ye; though why a lady likeyou——' He glanced curiously at Harold.

I saw he had guessed right, and thought it best to throw myselfunreservedly on his mercy. Time was indeed important. I glanced atthe station clock. It was not very far from the stroke of six, andwe must manage to get married before the detective could miss us atEdinburgh, where he was due at 6.30.

So I smiled once more, that heart-softening smile. 'We have eachour own fancies,' I said blushing—and, indeed (such is thepride of race among women), I felt myself blush in earnest at thebare idea that I was marrying a black man, in spite of our goodMaharajah's kindness. 'He is a gentleman, and a man of educationand culture.' I thought that recommendation ought to tell with aScotchman. 'We are in sore straits now, but our case is a just one.Can you tell[Pg 298] me who in this place is most likelyto sympathise—most likely to marry us?'

He looked at me—and surrendered at discretion. 'I shouldthink anybody would marry ye who saw yer pretty face and heard yersweet voice,' he answered. 'But, perhaps, ye'd better presentyerself to Mr. Schoolcraft, the U.P. minister at Little Kirkton. Hewas aye soft-hearted.'

We interviewed a 'machine,' and drove out to Little Kirkton.There, we told our tale in the fewest words possible to theobliging and good-natured U.P. minister. He looked, as thestation-master had said, 'soft-hearted'; but he dashed our hopes tothe ground at once by telling us candidly that unless we had hadour residence in Scotland for twenty-one days immediately precedingthe marriage, it would not be legal. 'If you were Scotch,' headded, 'I could go through the ceremony at once, of course; andthen you could apply to the sheriff to-night for leave to registerthe marriage in proper form afterward: but as one of you isEnglish, and the other I judge'—he smiled and glanced towardsHarold—'an Indian-born subject of Her Majesty, it would beimpossible for me to do it: the ceremony would be invalid, underLord Brougham's Act, without previous residence.'

This was a terrible blow. I looked away appealingly. 'Harold,' Icried in despair, 'do you think we could manage to hide ourselvessafely anywhere in Scotland for twenty-one days?'

His face fell. 'How could I escape notice? All the world ishunting for me. And then the scandal! No matter where youstopped—however far from me—no, Lois darling, I couldnever expose you to it.'

The minister glanced from one to the other of us, puzzled.'Harold?' he said, turning over the word on his tongue. 'Harold?That doesn't sound like an Indian name, does it? And——'he hesitated, 'you speak wonderful English!'

I saw the safest plan was to make a clean breast of it. Helooked the sort of man one could trust on an emergency. 'You haveheard of the Ashurst will case?' I said, blurting it outsuddenly.[Pg300]

'I have seen something about it in the newspapers; yes. But itdid not interest me: I have not followed it.'

I told him the whole truth; the case against us—the factsas we knew them. Then I added, slowly, 'This is Mr. HaroldTillington, whom they accuse of forgery. Does he look like aforger? I want to marry him before he is tried. It is the only wayby which I can prove my implicit trust in him. As soon as we aremarried, he will give himself up at once to the police—if youwish it, before your eyes. But married we must be.Can't youmanage it somehow?'

My pleading voice touched him. 'Harold Tillington?' he murmured.'I know of his forebears. Lady Guinevere Tillington's son, is itnot? Then you must be Younger of Gledcliffe.' For Scotland is avillage: everyone in it seems to have heard of every other.'

'What does he mean?' I asked. 'Younger of Gledcliffe?' Iremembered now that the phrase had occurred in Mr. Ashurst's will,though I never understood it.

'A Scotch fashion,' Harold answered. 'The heir to a laird iscalled Younger of so-and-so. My father has a small estate of thatname in Dumfriesshire; avery small estate: I was born andbrought up there.'

'Yes,' Harold answered frankly: 'by remote descent. We aretrebly of the female line at Gledcliffe; still, I am no doubt moreor less Scotch by domicile.'

'Younger of Gledcliffe! Oh, yes, that ought certainly to bequite sufficient for our purpose. Do you live there?'

'I have been living there lately. I always live there when I'min Britain. It is my only home. I belong to the diplomaticservice.'

'Not quite,' I answered. 'I lived four years in Edinburgh. And Ispent my holidays there while I was at Girton. I keep my boxesstill at my old rooms in Maitland Street.'

'Oh, that will do,' the minister answered, quite relieved; forit was clear that our anxiety and the touch of romance in our talehad enlisted him in our favour. 'Indeed, now I come to think of it,it suffices for the Act if one only of the parties is domiciled inScotland. And as Mr. Tillington lives habitually at Gledcliffe,that settles the question. Still, I can do nothing save marry younow by religious service in the presence of my servants—whichconstitutes what we call an ecclesiastical marriage—itbecomes legal if afterwards registered; and then you must apply tothe sheriff for a warrant to register it. But I will do what I can;later on, if you like, you can be re-married by the rites of yourown Church in England.'

'Are you quite sure our Scotch domicile is good enough in law?'Harold asked, still doubtful.

'I can turn it up, if you wish. I have a legal handbook. BeforeLord Brougham's Act, no formalities were necessary. But the Act waspassed to prevent Gretna Green marriages. The usual phrase is thatsuch a marriage does not hold good unless one or other of theparties either has had his or her usual residence in Scotland, orelse has lived there for twenty-one days immediately preceding thedate of the marriage. If you like, I will wait to consult theauthorities.'

'No, thank you,' I cried. 'There is no time to lose. Marry usfirst, and look it up afterwards. "One or other" will do, it seems.Mr. Tillington is Scotch enough, I am[Pg 302] sure; he has noaddress in Britain but Gledcliffe: we will rest our claim uponthat. Even if the marriage turns out invalid, we only remain wherewe were. This is a preliminary ceremony to prove good faith, and tobind us to one another. We can satisfy the law, if need be, when wereturn to England.'

The minister called in his wife and servants, and explained tothem briefly. He exhorted us and prayed. We gave our solemn consentin legal form before two witnesses. Then he pronounced us dulymarried. In a quarter of an hour more, we had made declaration tothat effect before the sheriff, the witnesses accompanying us, andwere formally affirmed to be man and wife before the law of GreatBritain. I asked if it would hold in England as well.

'You couldn't be firmer married,' the sheriff said, withdecision, 'by the Archbishop of Canterbury in WestminsterAbbey.'

Harold turned to the minister. 'Will you send for the police?'he said, calmly. 'I wish to inform them that I am the man for whomthey are looking in the Ashurst will case.'

Our own cabman went to fetch them. It was a terrible moment. ButHarold sat in the sheriff's study and waited, as if nothing unusualwere happening. He talked freely but quietly. Never in my life hadI felt so proud of him.

At last the police came, much inflated with the dignity of sogreat a capture, and took down our statement. 'Do you give yourselfin charge on a confession of forgery?' the superintendent asked, asHarold ended.

'Certainly not,' Harold answered. 'I have not committed forgery.But I do not wish to skulk or hide myself. I understand a warrantis out against me in London. I have come to Scotland, hurriedly,for the sake of getting[Pg 303] married, not to escape apprehension.I am here, openly, under my own name. I tell you the facts; 'tisfor you to decide; if you choose, you can arrest me.'

The superintendent conferred for some time in another room withthe sheriff. Then he returned to the study. 'Very well, sir,' hesaid, in a respectful tone, 'I arrest you.'

So that was the beginning of our married life. More than ever, Ifelt sure I could trust in Harold.

The police decided, after hearing by telegram from London, thatwe must go up at once by the night express, which they stopped forthe purpose. They were forced to divide us. I took thesleeping-car; Harold travelled with two constables in a ordinarycarriage. Strange to say, notwithstanding all this, so great wasour relief from the tension of our flight, that we both sleptsoundly.

Next morning we arrived in London, Harold guarded.[Pg 304] Thepolice had arranged that the case should come up at Bow Street thatafternoon. It was not an ideal honeymoon, and yet, I was somehowhappy.

At King's Cross, they took him away from me. Still, I hardlycried. All the way up in the train, whenever I was awake, an ideahad been haunting me—a possible clue to this trickery of LordSouthminster's. Petty details cropped up and fell into theirplaces. I began to unravel it all now. I had an inkling of a planto set Harold right again.

When we parted, Harold kissed me on the forehead, and murmuredrather sadly, 'Now, I suppose it's all up. Lois, I must go. Theserogues have been too much for us.'

'Not a bit of it,' I answered, new hope growing stronger andstronger within me. 'I see a way out. I have found a clue. Ibelieve, dear Harold, the right will still be vindicated.'

And red-eyed as I was, I jumped into a hansom, and called to thecabman to drive at once to Lady Georgina's.[Pg 305]

XII

THE ADVENTURE OF THE UNPROFESSIONAL DETECTIVE

'Is Lady Georgina at home?' The discreet man-servant in soberblack clothes eyed me suspiciously. 'No, miss,' he answered. 'Thatis to say—no, ma'am. Her ladyship is still at Mr. MarmadukeAshurst's—the late Mr. Marmaduke Ashurst, I mean—inPark Lane North. You know the number, ma'am?'

'Yes, I know it,' I replied, with a gasp; for this was indeed atriumph. My one fear had been lest Lord Southminster should alreadyhave taken possession—why, you will see hereafter; and itrelieved me to learn that Lady Georgina was still at hand to guardmy husband's interests. She had been living at the house,practically, since her brother's death. I drove round with allspeed, and flung myself into my dear old lady's arms.

'Kiss me,' I cried, flushed. 'I am your niece!' But she knew italready, for our movements had been fully reported by this time(with picturesque additions) in the morning papers. Imagination,ill-developed in the English race, seems to concentrate itself inthe lower order of journalists.

She kissed me on both cheeks with unwonted tenderness. 'Lois,'she cried, with tears in her eyes, 'you're a brick!'[Pg 306] Itwas not exactly poetical at such a moment, but from her it meantmore than much gushing phraseology.

The Cantankerous Old Lady nodded. She was in her element, I mustadmit. She dearly loved a row—above all, a family row; but tobe in the thick of a family row, and to feel herself in the right,with the law against her—that was joy such as Lady Georginahad seldom before experienced. 'Yes, dear,' she burst out volubly,'I'm in possession, thank Heaven. And what's more, they won't oustme without a legal process. I've been here, off and on, you know,ever since poor dear Marmy died, looking after things forHarold;[Pg307] and I shall look after them still, till BertieSouthminster succeeds in ejecting me, which won't be easy. Oh, I'veheld the fort by main force, I can tell you; held it like a Trojan.Bertie's in a precious great hurry to move in, I can see; but Iwon't allow him. He's been down here this morning, fatuouslyblustering, and trying to carry the post by storm, with a couple ofpolicemen.'

'Yes, my dear, policemen: but (the Lord be praised) I was toomuch for him. There are legal formalities to fulfil yet; and Iwon't budge an inch, Lois, not one inch, my dear, till he'sfulfilled every one of them. Mark my words, child, that boy's up tosome devilry.'

'Yes, he wouldn't be in such a rampaging hurry to getin—being as lazy as he's empty-headed—takes afterGwendoline in that—if he hadn't some excellent reason forwishing to take possession: and depend upon it, the reason is thathe wants to get hold of something or other that's Harold's. But hesha'n't if I can help it; and, thank my stars, I'm a dour woman toreckon with. If he comes, he comes over my old bones, child. I'vebeen overhauling everything of Marmy's, I can tell you, tocheckmate the boy if I can; but I've found nothing yet, and tillI've satisfied myself on that point, I'll hold the fort still, if Ihave to barricade that pasty-faced scoundrel of a nephew of mineout by piling the furniture against the front door— I will,as sure as my name's Georgina Fawley!'

'I know you will, dear,' I assented, kissing her, 'and so Ishall venture to leave you, while I go out to institute anotherlittle enquiry.'

I shook my head. 'It's only a surmise,' I said,hesitating.[Pg 308] 'I'll tell you about it later. I'vehad time to think while I've been coming back in the train, andI've thought of many things. Mount guard till I return, and mindyou don't let Lord Southminster have access to anything.'

I drove on in the same cab to Harold's solicitor. There I laidmy fresh doubts at once before him. He rubbed his bony hands.'You've hit it!' he cried, charmed. 'My dear madam, you've hit it!I never did like that will. I never did like the signatures, thewitnesses, the look of it. But what[Pg 309] could I do? Mr.Tillington propounded it. Of course it wasn't my business to godead against my own client.'

'Never!' he answered. 'Never! I felt sure there must be somemistake somewhere, but not any trickery on—your husband'spart. Now,you supply the right clue. We must look intothis, immediately.'

He hurried round with me at once in the same cab to the court.The incriminated will had been 'impounded,' as they call it; but,under certain restrictions, and subject to the closestsurveillance, I was allowed to examine it with my husband'ssolicitor, before the eyes of the authorities. I looked at it longwith the naked eye and also with a small pocket lens. The paper, asI had noted before, was the same kind of foolscap as that which Ihad been in the habit of using at my office in Florence; and thetypewriting—was it mine? The longer I looked at it, the moreI doubted it.

After a careful examination I turned round to our solicitor.'Mr. Hayes,' I said, firmly, having arrived at my conclusion, 'thisisnot the document I type-wrote at Florence.'

'How do you know?' he asked. 'A different machine? Some smallpeculiarity in the shape of the letters?'

'No, the rogue who typed this will was too cunning for that. Hedidn't allow himself to be foiled by such a scholar's mate. It iswritten with a Spread Eagle, the same sort of machine precisely asmy own. I know the type perfectly. But——' Ihesitated.

'Well, it is difficult to explain. There is character intypewriting, just as there is in handwriting, only, of course, notquite so much of it. Every operator is liable to his[Pg 310] ownpeculiar tricks and blunders. If I had some of my own typewrittenmanuscript here to show you, I could soon make that evident.'

'I can easily believe it. Individuality runs through all we do,however seemingly mechanical. But are the points of a sort that youcould make clear in court to the satisfaction of a jury?'

'I think so. Look here, for example. Certain letters gethabitually mixed up in typewriting;c andv standnext one another on the keyboard of the machine, and the person whotyped this draft sometimes strikes ac instead of av, orvice versâ. I never do that. The lettersI tend to confuse ares andw, or elsee andr, which also come very near one another in the arbitraryarrangement. Besides, when I type-wrote the original of this will,I made no errors at all; I took such very great pains aboutit.'

'Yes; struck the wrong letter first, and then corrected it oftenby striking another rather hard on top of it. See, this was av to begin with, and he turned it into ac. Besides,the hand that wrote this will is heavier than mine: it comes downthump,thump,thump, while mine glideslightly. And the hyphens are used with a space between them, andthe character of the punctuation is not exactly as I make it.'

'Still,' Mr. Hayes objected, 'we have nothing but your word. I'mafraid, in such a case, we could never induce a jury to accept yourunsupported evidence.'

'I don't want them to accept it,' I answered. 'I am looking thisup for my own satisfaction. I want to know, first, who wrote thiswill. And of one thing I am quite clear: it isnot thedocument I drew up for Mr. Ashurst. Just look at thatx. Thex alone is conclusive. My typewriter had the upperright-hand stroke of the smallx badly[Pg 311]formed, or broken, while this one is perfect. I remember it well,because I used always to improve all my lower-casex's witha pen when I re-read and corrected. I see their dodge clearly now.It is a most diabolical conspiracy. Instead of forging a will inLord Southminster's favour, they have substituted a forgery for thereal will, and then managed to make my poor Harold prove it.'

'In that case, no doubt, they have destroyed the real one, theoriginal,' Mr. Hayes put in.

'I don't think so,' I answered, after a moment's deliberation.'From what I know of Mr. Ashurst, I don't believe it is likely hewould have left his will about carelessly anywhere. He was asecretive man, fond of mysteries and mystifications. He would besure to conceal it. Besides, Lady Georgina and Harold have beentaking care of everything in the house ever since he died.'

'But,' Mr. Hayes objected, 'the forger of this document,supposing it to be forged, must have had access to the original,since you say the terms of the two are identical; only thesignatures are forgeries. And if he saw and copied it, why might henot also have destroyed it?'

A light flashed across me all at once. 'The forgerdidsee the original,' I cried, 'but not the fair copy. I have it allnow! I detect their trick! It comes back to me vividly! When I hadfinished typing the copy at Florence from my first rough draft,which I had taken down on the machine before Mr. Ashurst's eyes, Iremember now that I threw the original into the waste-paper basket.It must have been there that evening when Higginson called andasked for the will to take it back to Mr. Ashurst. He called forit, no doubt, hoping to open the packet before he delivered it andmake a copy of the document for this very purpose. But I refused tolet him have it. Before he saw[Pg 312] me, however, he hadbeen left by himself for ten minutes in the office; for I remembercoming out to him and finding him there alone: and during that tenminutes, being what he is, you may be sure he fished out the roughdraft and appropriated it!'

'That is more than likely,' my solicitor nodded. 'You aretracking him to his lair. We shall have him in our power.'

I grew more and more excited as the whole cunning plotunravelled itself mentally step by step before me. 'He[Pg 313] mustthen have gone to Lord Southminster,' I went on, 'and told him ofthe legacy he expected from Mr. Ashurst. It was five hundredpounds—a mere trifle to Higginson, who plays for thousands.So he must have offered to arrange matters for Lord Southminster ifSouthminster would consent to make good that sum and a great dealmore to him. That odious little cad told me himself on theJumna they were engaged in pulling off "a bigcoup"between them. He thought then I would marry him, and that he wouldso secure my connivance in his plans; but who would marry such apiece of moist clay? Besides, I could never have taken anyone butHarold.' Then another clue came home to me. 'Mr. Hayes,' I cried,jumping at it, 'Higginson, who forged this will, never saw the realdocument itself at all; he saw only the draft: for Mr. Ashurstaltered one wordviva voce in the original at the lastmoment, and I made a pencil note of it on my cuff at the time: andsee, it isn't here, though I inserted it in the final clean copy ofthe will—the word 'especially.' It grows upon me more andmore each minute that the real instrument is hidden somewhere inMr. Ashurst's house—Harold's house—our house; and thatbecause it is there Lord Southminster is so indecentlyanxious to oust his aunt and take instant possession.'

'In that case,' Mr. Hayes remarked, 'we had better go back toLady Georgina without one minute's delay, and, while she stillholds the house, institute a thorough search for it.'

No sooner said than done. We jumped again into our cab andstarted. As we drove back, Mr. Hayes asked me where I thought wewere most likely to find it.

'In a secret drawer in Mr. Ashurst's desk,' I answered, by aflash of instinct, without a second's hesitation.[Pg 314]

'I don't know it. I infer it from my general knowledge of Mr.Ashurst's character. He loved secret drawers, ciphers, cryptograms,mystery-mongering.'

'But it was in that desk that your husband found the forgeddocument,' the lawyer objected.

Once more I had a flash of inspiration or intuition. 'BecauseWhite, Mr. Ashurst's valet, had it in readiness in his possession,'I answered, 'and hid it there, in the most obvious and unconcealedplace he could find, as soon as the breath was out of his master'sbody. I remember now Lord Southminster gave himself away to someextent in that matter. The hateful little creature isn't reallyclever enough, for all his cunning,—and with Higginson toback him,—to mix himself up in such tricks as forgery. Hetold me at Aden he had had a telegram from "Marmy's valet," toreport progress; and he received another, the night Mr. Ashurstdied, at Moozuffernuggar. Depend upon it, White was more or less inthis plot; Higginson left him the forged will when they started forIndia; and, as soon as Mr. Ashurst died, White hid it where Haroldwas bound to find it.'

'If so,' Mr. Hayes answered, 'that's well; we have something togo upon. The more of them, the better. There is safety innumbers—for the honest folk. I never knew three rogues holdlong together, especially when threatened with a criminalprosecution. Their confederacy breaks down before the chance ofpunishment. Each tries to screen himself by betraying theothers.'

'Higginson was the soul of this plot,' I went on. 'Of that youmay be sure. He's a wily old fox, but we'll run him to earth yet.The more I think of it, the more I feel sure, from what I know ofMr. Ashurst's character, he would[Pg 315] never have put thatwill in so exposed a place as the one where Harold says he foundit.'

We drew up at the door of the disputed house just in time forthe siege. Mr. Hayes and I walked in. We found Lady Georgina faceto face with Lord Southminster. The opposing forces were still atthe stage of preliminaries of warfare.

'Look heah,' the pea-green young man was observing, in hisdrawling voice, as we entered; 'it's no use your talking, deahGeorgey. This house is mine, and I won't have you meddling withit.'

'This house is not yours, you odious little scamp,' his auntretorted, raising her shrill voice some notes higher than usual;'and while I can hold a stick you shall not come inside it.'

'Very well, then; you drive me to hostilities, don't yah know.I'm sorry to show disrespect to your gray hairs—ifany—but I shall be obliged to call in the police to ejectyah.'

'Call them in if you like,' I answered, interposing betweenthem. 'Go out and get them! Mr. Hayes, while he's gone, send for acarpenter to break open the back of Mr. Ashurst's escritoire.'

'A carpentah?' he cried, turning several degrees whiter than hispasty wont. 'What for? A carpentah?'

I spoke distinctly. 'Because we have reason to believe Mr.Ashurst's real will is concealed in this house in a secret drawer,and because the keys were in the possession of White, whom webelieve to be your accomplice in this shallow conspiracy.'

He gasped and looked alarmed. 'No, you don't,' he cried,stepping briskly forward. 'You don't, I tell yah! Break openMarmy's desk! Why, hang it all, it's my property.'[Pg 316]

'We shall see about that after we've broken it open,' I answeredgrimly. 'Here, this screw-driver will do. The back's not strong.Now, your help, Mr. Hayes—one, two, three; we can prise itapart between us.'

Lord Southminster rushed up and tried to prevent us. But LadyGeorgina, seizing both wrists, held him tight as in a vice with herdear skinny old hands. He writhed and struggled all in vain: hecould not escape her. 'I've often spanked you, Bertie,' she cried,'and if you attempt to interfere, I'll spank you again; that's thelong and the short of it!'

He broke from her and rushed out, to call the police, I believe,and prevent our desecration of pooah Marmy's property.

Inside the first shell were several locked drawers, and two orthree open ones, out of one of which Harold had fished the falsewill. Instinct taught me somehow that the central drawer on theleft-hand side was the compartment behind which lay the secretreceptacle. I prised it apart and peered about inside it. PresentlyI saw a slip-panel,[Pg 317] which I touched with one finger. Thepigeon-hole flew open and disclosed a narrow slit I clutched atsomething—the will! Ho, victory! the will! I raised it aloftwith a wild shout. Not a doubt of it! The real, the genuinedocument!

We turned it over and read it. It was my own fair copy, writtenat Florence, and bearing all the small marks of authenticity aboutit which I had pointed out to Mr. Hayes as wanting to the forgedand impounded document. Fortunately, Lady Georgina and four of theservants had stood by throughout this scene, and had watched ourdemeanour, as well as Lord Southminster's.

We turned next to the signatures. The principal one was clearlyMr. Ashurst's— I knew it at once—his legible fat hand,'Marmaduke Courtney Ashurst.' And then the witnesses? They fairlytook our breath away.

A flush of remorse came over me. I saw it all now. I hadmisjudged that poor woman! She had the misfortune to be a rogue'ssister, but, as Harold had said, was herself a most respectable andblameless person. Higginson must have forged her name to thedocument; that was all; and she had naturally sworn that she neversigned it. He knew her honesty. It was a master-stroke ofrascality.

'The other one isn't here, either,' I exclaimed, growing morepuzzled. 'The waiter at the hotel! Why, that's another forgery!Higginson must have waited till the man was safely dead, and thenused him similarly. It was all very clever. Now, who are thesepeople who really witnessed it?'

'The first one,' Mr. Hayes said, examining the handwriting, 'isSir Roger Bland, the Dorsetshire baronet: he's[Pg 318]dead, poor fellow; but he was at Florence at the time, and I cananswer for his signature. He was a client of mine, and died atMentone. The second is Captain Richards, of the Mounted Police:he's living still, but he's away in South Africa.'

'If they knew who the real witnesses were at all—which isdoubtful. You see, as you say, they may have seen the rough draftonly.'

'Higginson would know,' I answered. 'He was with Mr. Ashurst atFlorence at the time, and he would take good care to keep a watchupon his movements. In my belief, it was he who suggested thiswhole plot to Lord Southminster.'

'Of course it was,' Lady Georgina put in. 'That's absolutelycertain. Bertie's a rogue as well as a fool: but he's too great afool to invent a clever roguery, and too great a knave not to joinin it foolishly when anybody else takes the pains to inventit.'

'And itwas a clever roguery,' Mr. Hayes interposed. 'Anordinary rascal would have forged a later will in LordSouthminster's favour and run the risk of detection; Higginson hadthe acuteness to forge a will exactly like the real one, and to letyour husband bear the burden of the forgery. It was as sagacious asit was ruthless.'

At that moment the bell rang, and one of thehouse-servants—all puzzled by this conflict ofinterests—came in with a telegram, which he handed me on asalver. I broke it open, without glancing at the envelope. Itscontents baffled me: 'My address is Hotel Bristol, Paris; name asusual. Send me a thousand pounds on account at once. I can't affordto wait. No shillyshallying.'[Pg 319]

The message was unsigned. For a moment, I couldn't imagine whosent it, or what it was driving at.

Then I took up the envelope. 'Viscount Southminster, 24 ParkLane North, London.'

My heart gave a jump. I saw in a second that chance, orProvidence, had delivered the conspirators into my hands that day.The telegram was from Higginson! I had opened it by accident.

It was obvious what had happened. Lord Southminster must havewritten to him on the result of the trial, and told him he meant totake possession of his uncle's house immediately. Higginson hadacted on that hint, and addressed his telegram where he thought itlikely Lord Southminster would receive it earliest. I had opened itin error, and that, too, was fortunate, for even in dealing withsuch a pack of scoundrels, it would never have occurred to me toviolate somebody else's correspondence had I not thought it wasaddressed to me. But having arrived at the truth thusunintentionally, I had, of course, no scruples about making fulluse of my information.

I showed the despatch at once to Lady Georgina and Mr. Hayes.They recognised its importance. 'What next?' I inquired. 'Timepresses. At half-past three Harold comes up for examination at BowStreet.'

Mr. Hayes was ready with an apt expedient. 'Ring the bell forMr. Ashurst's valet,' he said, quietly. 'The moment has now arrivedwhen we can begin to set these conspirators by the ears. As soon asthey learn that we know all, they will be eager to inform upon oneanother.'

The valet stole up, self-accused, a timid, servile creature,rubbing his hands nervously, and suspecting mischief.He[Pg320] was a rat in trouble. He had thin brown hair,neatly brushed and plastered down, so as to make it look stillthinner, and his face was the average narrow cunning face of thedishonest man-servant. It had an ounce of wile in it to a pound ortwo of servility. He seemed just the sort of rogue meanly to joinin an underhand conspiracy, and then meanly to back out of it. Youcould read at a glance that his principle in life was to save hisown bacon.

He advanced, fumbling his hands all the time, and[Pg 321]smiling and fawning. 'You wished to see me, sir?' he murmured, in adeprecatory voice, looking sideways at Lady Georgina and me, butaddressing the lawyer.

'Yes, White, I wished to see you. I have a question to ask you.Who put the forged will in Mr. Ashurst's desk? Was it you,or some other person?'

The question terrified him. He changed colour and gasped. But herubbed his hands harder than ever and affected a sickly smile. 'Oh,sir, how shouldI know, sir?I had nothing to do withit. I suppose—it was Mr. Tillington.'

Our lawyer pounced upon him like a hawk on a titmouse. 'Don'tprevaricate with me, sir,' he said, sternly. 'If you do, it may beworse for you. This case has assumed quite another aspect. It isyou and your associates who will be placed in the dock, not Mr.Tillington. You had better speak the truth; it is your one chance,I warn you. Lie to me, and instead of calling you as a witness forour case, I shall include you in the indictment.'

White looked down uneasily at his shoes, and cowered. 'Oh, sir,I don't understand you.'

'Yes you do. You understand me, and you know I mean it.Wriggling is useless; we intend to prosecute. We have unravelledthis vile plot. We know the whole truth. Higginson and LordSouthminster forged a will between them——'

Mr. Hayes's keen eye had noted the subtle shade of distinctionand admission. But he said nothing openly. 'Well, then, Higginsonforged, and Lord Southminster accepted, a false will, whichpurported to be Mr. Marmaduke Ashurst's. Now, follow me clearly.That will could not have been put[Pg 322] into the escritoireduring Mr. Ashurst's life, for there would have been risk of hisdiscovering it. It must, therefore, have been put there afterward.The moment he was dead, you, or somebody else with your consent andconnivance, slipped it into the escritoire; and you afterwardsshowed Mr. Tillington the place where you had set it or seen itset, leading him to believe it was Mr. Ashurst's will, and soinvolved him in all this trouble. Note that that was a feloniousact. We accuse you of felony. Do you mean to confess, and giveevidence on our behalf, or will you force me to send for apoliceman to arrest you?'

The cur hesitated still. 'Oh, sir,' drawing back, and fumblinghis hands on his breast, 'you don't mean it.'

That curt sentence brought the rogue on his marrow-bones atonce. He clasped his hands and debated inwardly. 'If I tell you allI know,' he said, at last, looking about him with an air of abjectterror, as if he thought Lord Southminster or Higginson would hearhim, 'will you promise not to prosecute me?' His tone becameinsinuating. 'For a hundred pounds, I could find the real will foryou. You'd better close with me. To-day is the last chance. As soonas his lordship comes in, he'll hunt it up and destroy it.'

I flourished it before him, and pointed with one hand to thebroken desk, which he had not yet observed in his cravenagitation.

'We do not need your aid,' I answered. 'We have found the will,ourselves. Thanks to Lady Georgina, it is safe till thisminute.'

'And to me,' he put in, cringing, and trying after his kind, tocurry favour with the winners at the last moment. 'It's allmy doing, my lady! I wouldn't destroy it. His[Pg 323]lordship offered me a hundred pounds more to break open the back ofthe desk at night, while your ladyship was asleep, and burn thething quietly. But I told him he might do his own dirty work if hewanted it done. It wasn't good enough while your ladyship was herein possession. Besides, I wanted the right will preserved, for Ithought things might turn up so; and I wouldn't stand by and see agentleman like Mr. Tillington, as has always behaved well to me,deprived of his inheritance.'

'Which is why you conspired with Lord Southminster to rob him ofit, and to send him to prison for Higginson's crime,' I interposedcalmly.

'Then you confess you put the forged will there?' Mr. Hayessaid, getting to business.

White looked about him helplessly. He missed his headpiece, theinstigator of the plot. 'Well, it was like this, my lady,' hebegan, turning to Lady Georgina, and wriggling to gain time. 'Yousee, his lordship and Mr. Higginson——' he twirled histhumbs and tried to invent something plausible.

Lady Georgina swooped. 'No rigmarole!' she said, sharply. 'Doyou confess you put it there or do you not—reptile?' Hervehemence startled him.

'Yes, I confess I put it there,' he said at last, blinking. 'Assoon as the breath was out of Mr. Ashurst's body I put it there.'He began to whimper. 'I'm a poor man with a wife and family, sir,'he went on, 'though in Mr. Ashurst's time I always kep' that quiet;and his lordship offered to pay me well for the job; and whenyou're paid well for a job yourself, sir——'

Mr. Hayes waved him off with one imperious hand. 'Sit down inthe corner there, man, and don't move or utter another word,' hesaid, sternly, 'until I order[Pg 324] you. You will be intime still for me to produce at Bow Street.'

Just at that moment, Lord Southminster swaggered back,accompanied by a couple of unwilling policemen. 'Oh, I say,' hecried, bursting in and staring around him, jubilant. 'Look heah,Georgey,are you going quietly, or must I ask these coppahsto evict you?' He was wreathed in smiles now, and had evidentlybeen fortifying himself with brandies and soda.

Lady Georgina rose in her wrath. 'Yes, I'll go if you wish it,Bertie,' she answered, with calm irony. 'I'll leave the house assoon as you like—for the present—till we come backagain with Harold andhis policemen to evict you. This houseis Harold's. Your game is played, boy.' She spoke slowly. 'We havefound the other will—we have discovered Higginson's presentaddress in Paris—and we know from White how he and youarranged this little conspiracy.'

She rapped out each clause in this last accusing sentence withdeliberate effect, like so many pistol-shots. Each bullet hit home.The pea-green young man, drawing back and staring, stroked hisshadowy moustache with feeble fingers in undisguised astonishment.Then he dropped into a chair and fixed his gaze blankly on LadyGeorgina. 'Well, this is a fair knock-out,' he ejaculated,fatuously disconcerted. 'I wish Higginson was heah. I really don'tquite know what to do without him. That fellah had squared it allup so neatly, don't yah know, that I thought there couldn't be anysort of hitch in the proceedings.'

'Ah, Miss Cayley—that's true. I mean, Mrs. Tillington.Yaas, yaas, I know, she's a doosid clevah person—for awoman,—now isn't she?'[Pg 325]

It was impossible to take this flabby creature seriously, evenas a criminal. Lady Georgina's lips relaxed. 'Doosid clever,' sheadmitted, looking at me almost tenderly.

'There you make your blooming little erraw,' Mr. Hayes burst in,adopting one of Lord Southminster's favourite witticisms—thesort of witticism that improves, like poetry, by frequentrepetition. 'Policemen, you may go into the next room and wait:this is a family affair; we have no immediate need of you.'

'Oh, certainly,' Lord Southminster echoed, much relieved. 'Verypropah sentiment! Most undesirable that the constables should mixthemselves up in a family mattah like this. Not the place forinferiahs!'[Pg 326]

He smiled his fatuous smile. 'That's just what I say,' heanswered. 'Why the jooce introduce them? But don't snap my headoff!'

The policemen withdrew respectfully, glad to be relieved of thisunpleasant business, where they could gain no credit, and mightpossibly involve themselves in a charge of assault. LordSouthminster rose with a benevolent grin, and looked about himpleasantly. The brandies and soda had endowed him withirrepressible cheerfulness.

'Well, I think I'll leave now, Georgey. You've trumped my ace,yah know. Nasty trick of White to go and round on a fellah. I don'tlike the turn this business is taking. Seems to me, the only way Ihave left to get out of it is—to turn Queen's evidence.'

Lady Georgina planted herself firmly against the door. 'Bertie,'she cried, 'no, you don't—not till we've got what we want outof you!'

He gazed at her blandly. His face broke once more into animbecile smile. 'You were always a rough 'un, Georgey. Your handdid sting! Well, what do you want now? We've each played our cards,and you needn't cut up rusty over it—especially when you'rewinning! Hang it all, I wish I had Higginson heah to tackleyou!'

'If you go to see the Treasury people, or the Solicitor-General,or the Public Prosecutor, or whoever else it may be,' Lady Georginasaid, stoutly, 'Mr. Hayes must go with you. We've trumped your ace,as you say, and we mean to take advantage of it. And then you musttrundle yourself down to Bow Street afterwards, confess the wholetruth, and set Harold at liberty.'[Pg 327]

'Oh, I say now, Georgey! The whole truth! the whole bloomingtruth! That's really what I call humiliating a fellah!'

'Fourteen yeahs?' He wiped his forehead. 'Oh, I say. How doosiduncomfortable. I was nevah much good at doing anything by the sweatof my brow. I ought to have lived in the Garden of Eden. Georgey,you're hard on a chap when he's down on his luck. It would beconfounded cruel to send me to fourteen yeahs at Portland.'

'What? You too, Miss Cayley?— I mean Mrs. Tillington.Don't look at me like that. Tigahs aren't in it.'

His jauntiness disarmed us. However wicked he might be, one feltit would be ridiculous to imprison this schoolboy. A sound floggingand a month's deprivation of wine and cigarettes was the obviouspunishment designed for him by nature.

'You must go down to the police-court and confess this wholeconspiracy,' Lady Georgina went on after a pause, as sternly as shewas able. 'I prefer, if we can, to save the family—even you,Bertie. But I can't any longer save the family honour— I canonly save Harold's. You must help me to do that; and then, you mustgive me your solemn promise—in writing—to leave Englandfor ever, and go to live in South Africa.'

He stroked the invisible moustache more nervously than before.That penalty came home to him. 'What, leave England for evah?Newmarket—Ascot—the club—the music-halls!'

He glanced about him feebly. I could see he was longing for hislost confederate. 'Well, I'll go,' he said at last, sobering down;'and your solicitaw can trot round with me. I'll do all that youwish, though I call it most unfriendly. Hang it all, fourteen yeahswould be so beastly unpleasant!'

We drove forthwith to the proper authorities, who, on hearingthe facts, at once arranged to accept Lord Southminster and Whiteas Queen's evidence, neither being the actual forger. We alsotelegraphed to Paris to have Higginson arrested, Lord Southminstergiving us up his assumed name with the utmost cheerfulness, andwithout one moment's compunction. Mr. Hayes was quite right: eachconspirator was only too ready to save himself by betraying hisfellows. Then we drove on to Bow Street (Lord Southminsterconsoling himself with a cigarette on the way), just in time forHarold's case, which was to be taken, by special arrangement, at3.30.

A very few minutes sufficed to turn the tables completely on theconspirators. Harold was discharged, and a warrant was issued forthe arrest of Higginson, the actual forger. He had drawn up thefalse will and signed it with Mr. Ashurst's name, after which hehad presented it for Lord Southminster's approval. The pea-greenyoung man told his tale with engaging frankness. 'Bertie's a simpleSimon,' Lady Georgina commented to me; 'but he's also a rogue; andHigginson saw his way to make excellent capital of him in bothcapacities—first use him as a catspaw, and then blackmailhim.'

On the steps of the police-court, as we emerged triumphant, LordSouthminster met us—still radiant as ever. He[Pg 329]seemed wholly unaware of the depths of his iniquity: a fresh doseof brandy had restored his composure. 'Look heah,' he said,'Harold, your wife has bested me! Jolly good thing for you that youmanaged to get hold of such a clevah woman! If you hadn't, deahboy, you'd have found[Pg 330] yourself in Queeah Street! But, Isay, Lois— I call yah Lois because you're my cousin now, yahknow—you were backing the wrong man aftah all, as I told yah.For if you'd backedme, all this wouldn't have come out;you'd have got the tin and been a countess as well, aftah thegovernah's dead and gone, don't yah see. You'd have landed thedouble event. So you'd have pulled off a bettah thing for yourselfin the end, as I said, if you'd laid your bottom dollah on me forwinnah!'

Higginson is now doing fourteen years at Portland; Harold and Iare happy in the sweetest place in Gloucestershire; and LordSouthminster, blissfully unaware of the contempt with which therest of the world regards him, is shooting big game among his'boys' in South Africa. Indeed, he bears so little malice that hesent us a present of a trophy of horns for our hall lastwinter.

THE END

THE WINCHESTER EDITION

OF THE NOVELS OF

JANE AUSTEN

The perfection of the edition rests entirely on the efforts ofprinter, paper-maker, and binder, Messrs. T. and A.Constable of Edinburgh being responsible for thetypography, while Mr.Laurence Housmanhas designed the cover.

SPECTATOR.—'The Winchester Edition has specialclaims to gratitude through the delightful quality of its print andpaper. The print is of a generous design, and very black and clear,and the paper, while untransparent, not so heavy but that the bookcan be held comfortably in one hand. Altogether this promises to beone of the most delightful reprints ever given to the public.'

ATHENÆUM.—'An exceedingly handsomeedition.... This is decidedly a cheap edition as well as anornamental one.'

WESTMINSTER GAZETTE.—'Mr. Grant Richards is to becongratulated on the charming edition of Miss Austen's Novels,which starts withSense and Sensibility in two volumes.Print, paper, and binding (green and gold, with a charming design)are all that the most fastidious could desire. An edition of thiskind is really wanted, and comes at a moment when there is anatural inclination to turn back to the pages of this delightfulwriter. The younger generation is supposed not to read Miss Austen,which, if true, is hardly creditable to its education and goodtaste. But latterly there have been signs of a re-discovery, whichwill be stimulated by the issue of these beautiful volumes.'

'Most useful companions to thetraveller.'—Punch.

GRANT ALLEN'S

HISTORICAL GUIDES

VOLUMES NOW READY.

VOLUMES IN PREPARATION.

Some Opinions of the Press.

THE TIMES.—'Such good work in the way of showingstudents the right manner of approaching the history of a greatcity.... The execution of the little volumes is, on the whole,admirable.... These useful little volumes.'

THE GUARDIAN.—From the point of view of reallyintelligent sight-seeing, the two little volumes that have alreadyappeared are better than anything that we yet have; and if theholiday-maker will only take them with him to Paris or Florence, hewill probably feel that he has learnt more of the real city than inall his former visits.

THE SPECTATOR.—'A visitor to Florence could hardly,we imagine, do better than provide himself with this volume. Agreat amount of matter—and good matter, too—iscompressed into a small space, for the book is light, and such ascan go into a pocket of moderate capacity. Mr. Grant Allen not onlyguides his reader's judgment, but disposes of his time for him; hemust not only not do much at once, but must arrange hissight-seeing in an economical and intelligent way.'

MORNING POST.—'That much-abused class of people,the tourists, have often been taunted with their ignorance and wantof culture, and the perfunctory manner in which they hurry throughand "do" the art galleries of Europe. There is a large amount oftruth, no doubt, in the charge, but they might very well retort ontheir critics that no one had come forward to meet their wants, orto assist in dispelling their ignorance. No doubt there areguide-books, very excellent ones in their way, but on all mattersof art very little better than mere indices; something fuller wasrequired to enable the average man intelligently to appreciate thetreasures submitted to his views. Mr. Grant Allen has undertaken tomeet their wants, and offers these handbooks to the public at aprice which ought to be within the reach of every one who canafford to travel at all. The idea is a good one, and should ensurethe success which Mr. Allen deserves.'

I	The Adventureof the Cantankerous Old Lady
II	The Adventureof the SuperciliousAttaché
III	TheAdventure of the Inquisitive American
IV	The Adventureof the Amateur Commission Agent
V	The Adventureof the Impromptu Mountaineer
VI	The Adventureof the Urbane Old Gentleman
VII	TheAdventure of the Unobtrusive Oasis
VIII	TheAdventure of the Pea-Green Patrician
IX	The Adventureof the Magnificent Maharajah
X	The Adventureof the Cross-Eyed Q.C.
XI	The Adventureof the Oriental Attendant
XII	TheAdventure of the Unprofessional Detective

Movatterモバイル変換

MISS CAYLEY'S

ADVENTURES

BY

GRANT ALLEN

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY GORDON BROWNE

London

GRANT RICHARDS

9 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.

1899

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

I

THE ADVENTURE OF THE CANTANKEROUS OLD LADY

II

THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUPERCILIOUSATTACHÉ

III

THE ADVENTURE OF THE INQUISITIVE AMERICAN

IV

THE ADVENTURE OF THE AMATEUR COMMISSION AGENT

V

THE ADVENTURE OF THE IMPROMPTU MOUNTAINEER

VI

THE ADVENTURE OF THE URBANE OLD GENTLEMAN

VII

THE ADVENTURE OF THE UNOBTRUSIVE OASIS

VIII

THE ADVENTURE OF THE PEA-GREEN PATRICIAN

IX

THE ADVENTURES OF THE MAGNIFICENT MAHARAJAH

X

THE ADVENTURE OF THE CROSS-EYED Q.C.

XI

THE ADVENTURE OF THE ORIENTAL ATTENDANT

XII

THE ADVENTURE OF THE UNPROFESSIONAL DETECTIVE

THE END

THE WINCHESTER EDITION

OF THE NOVELS OF

JANE AUSTEN

'Most useful companions to thetraveller.'—Punch.

GRANT ALLEN'S

HISTORICAL GUIDES

VOLUMES NOW READY.

VOLUMES IN PREPARATION.

Some Opinions of the Press.

THE END