Affairs of State Part 13

"Dad could see through it in a minute," sighed Susie, "but that poor dear will never have the chance, because, of course, we can't tell even him. And he likes this sort of thing, too; it would give him just the excitement he's been sighing for!"

And yet fate willed that he was to have the chance, for half an hour later, after a short conference with Monsieur Pelletan, a gentleman whom we have met before in the apartment of Lord Vernon approached him where he sat in the smoking-room, drew up a chair, and sat down beside him.

"This is Mr. Rushford, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes; that's my name," and the American looked him over in some surprise.

"My name is Collins," went on the other. "I am secretary to Lord Vernon."

"Glad to know you, Mr. Collins," and the American held out his hand. "I hope Lord Vernon's getting along all right."

"As well as could be expected, thank you; but there has been a little unforeseen--er--complication--"

"Nothing serious, I hope?"

"Well, yes; to be quite frank, Mr. Rushford, I think it decidedly serious."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Rushford, with genuine feeling. "We Americans have always taken a special pride in Lord Vernon's career--his mother was an American girl, you know--and his death would be almost a personal loss to us."

"His death?" echoed Collins, staring.

"There's no immediate danger, then? I'm glad of that. Still, if the complication is as serious as you think--"

"My dear sir," broke in the Englishman, "you have misunderstood me. Lord Vernon's health is--er--quite satisfactory, all things considered. The complication is in--er--a rather delicate affair of state, which--which--"

"Anything I can do?" asked Rushford, encouragingly, as the other stammered and broke down.

"Yes, there is, Mr. Rushford," answered Collins, quickly, taking his courage in both hands. "Or, rather, there's something your daughters can do."

"My daughters?" Rushford looked at him again, a growing suspicion in his eyes. "I don't quite understand. You'll have to be more explicit, Mr.

Collins. I don't see how my daughters can have anything to do with your affairs of state."

"I am going to be as explicit as I can," Collins a.s.sured him, "but it's such an infernally delicate matter that one hardly knows where to begin.

Of course, what I have to tell you must be told in confidence."

"All right," said the American, with a little pucker of the brow which told that he did not wholly like Mr. Collins. 'Fire ahead."

"First, if you don't mind," said the Englishman, looking about him, "I think we'd better get out of this crowd."

"Suppose we go up to my rooms," suggested Rushford, rising. "We'll be free from interruption there, and can thresh the whole thing out."

"Thank you," a.s.sented Collins. "Of course, I understand," he continued, in a louder voice, as they started toward the door, "that the question of stocks is always a very complicated one, and very difficult for a layman to understand, but a man of your experience--"

The door of the elevator-car closed behind them, and he stopped.

"Whose benefit was that for?" asked Rushford.

"For the benefit of a French police spy, who was trying his best to overhear our conversation."

"A police spy? Did you know him?"

"I know his cla.s.s; it's impossible to mistake it. They all look alike--it's a type which even the comic opera has been unable to burlesque. You probably noticed him--all moustache, imperial, and lavender gloves."

"Oh, him? Yes, I've seen him. And I've been rather itching to apply my boot to his coat-tails. I thought he was a cheap actor--a ten, twenty, thirty, as we say in America. Do you suppose Pelletan knows him?"

"Oh, undoubtedly! He's probably boarding him for nothing. These French police have a way with them."

Rushford bit his moustache savagely and resolved to have an explanation with Monsieur Pelletan.

The car stopped.

"Here we are," he said, stepping out into the corridor. "You see our apartment is just over Lord Vernon's. I don't believe even a French detective can disturb us here," and he locked the door after them as they entered. "Besides, my daughters will be handy if we decide to call them in."

Yet, in spite of the plural p.r.o.noun, it was quite evident that he was the one who proposed to do the deciding.

"Thank you," said Collins, again. "I hope to show you the necessity of calling them in. In fact, the princ.i.p.al favour I want to ask of you is an introduction to them. They can, if they will, save Lord Vernon, and incidentally the government, a lot of trouble."

Rushford looked at him with a little stare.

"In what way?" he asked, motioning him to a chair.

"It happens," answered Collins, "that, by chance, they hold in their hands the key to a very important affair of state--nothing less than the succession to Schloshold-Markheim. They could, if they wished, involve the government in difficulties of the most serious nature."

Rushford stared at him yet a moment. Then he settled back in his chair.

"Have a cigar?" he asked. "No? You won't mind my smoking? I can think better when I smoke. Now let's have the story; I'm anxious to hear what those girls have been up to. I'm afraid they need a chaperon, after all!"

CHAPTER VIII

Pride has a fall

Shortly before six o'clock that evening, the door of Lord Vernon's apartment opened, and the Prince of Markeld appeared on the threshold, bowed out in the politest manner possible by Blake, Collins, and Sir John. He crossed the corridor, paused irresolutely at the stairhead, then went on toward his own rooms, his head bent, his face expressing the liveliest dissatisfaction: an expression which deepened to disgust when, on opening his door, he perceived Tellier awaiting him within.

"He would come in," explained Gluck, after a glance at his master's countenance. "He lied; he said Your Highness was expecting him. Shall I throw him out?"

"No," said the Prince, "not yet," and Gluck retired to a convenient distance, confident that his hour would yet arrive.

The detective, apparently, had no uneasiness concerning the result of the interview, for his face was beaming with self-importance and he greeted the Prince with a confidence born of certainty. His eyes asked the question which his lips were too well-governed and discreet to articulate.

"Tellier," began the Prince, abruptly, looking at him with a fiery glance, "you are either a knave or a fool--a fool, doubtless, since you seem too stupid to be a knave--and you very nearly made me appear another!"

The detective's face dropped suddenly from triumph to humility.

"I do not understand," he faltered. "Does Your Highness mean--"