In the long drawing-room, receiving her guests, stood the widow,
handsome in black and silver, wearing her splendid tiara and necklet of
diamonds, as well as a rope of fine, well-matched pearls, all of which
both the Parson and his Highness duly noted. She certainly looked a
brilliant figure, while, beside her, stood the Prince himself, with the
miniature crosses of half a dozen of his decorations strung upon a tiny
gold chain across the lappel of his dress-coat.
Several guests had arrived earlier in the day to dine and sleep, while
the remainder, from the immediate neighbourhood, included several
persons of title and social distinction who had accepted the invitation
out of mere curiosity. Half the guests went because they were to meet a
real live prince, and the other half in order to afterwards poke fun at
the obese tuft-hunter.
The dinner, however, was an unqualified success, the thanks being in a
great measure due to his Highness, who was full of vivacity and
brilliant conversation. Everybody was charmed with him, while of course
later on, in the corner of the drawing-room, the Bayswater parson sang
his friend's praises in unmeasured terms.
The several unmarried women set their caps pointedly at the hero of the
evening, and at last, when the guests had left and the visitors had
retired, he, with the Parson and two other male visitors, Sir Henry
Hutton, and a certain Lionel Meyer, went to the billiard-room.
It was two o'clock when they went upstairs. The Bayswater vicar had to
pass the Prince's room, in order to get to his own, but he did not enter
further than the threshold. Both men looked eagerly across at the
dressing-table, upon which Charles had left two candles burning.
That was a secret sign. Both men recognised it, and the Prince
instantly raised his finger with a gesture indicative of silence. Then
he exclaimed aloud: "Well, good-night, Clayton. We'll go for a run in
the morning," and closed his door noisily, while the Parson went along
to his own room.
The Prince, always an early riser, was up at eight o'clock, and was
already dressed when Charles entered his room.
"Well?" he inquired, as was his habit.
"There's a rare to-do below," exclaimed the valet. "The whole house has
been ransacked in the night, and a clean sweep made of all the
jewellery. The old woman is asking to see you at once."
Without ado, his Highness descended, sending Charles along to alarm the
Parson.
In the morning-room he found the widow, with the two male guests and two
ladies, assembled in excited conclave. As he entered, his hostess
rushed towards him, saying:
"Oh, Prince! A most terrible thing has happened! Every scrap of
jewellery, including my tiara and necklet, has been stolen!"
"Stolen!" he gasped, pretending not to have heard the news.
"Yes. I placed them myself in the safe in the butler's pantry, together
with several cases the maids brought me from my guests. I locked them
up just after one o'clock and took the key. Here it is. It has never
left my possession. I--"
She was at that moment interrupted by the entrance of the Parson, who,
having heard of the robbery from the servants, began:
"My de-ah Mrs Edmondson. This is really a most untoward circumstance--
most--"
"Listen," the widow went on excitedly. "Hear me, and then advise me
what to do. I took this key,"--and she held it up for their
inspection--"and hid it beneath the corner of the carpet in my room.
This morning, to my amazement, my maid came to say that the safe-door
had been found ajar, and that though the plate had been left, all the
jewellery had disappeared. Only the empty cases remain!"
"How has the safe been opened?" asked the Prince, standing amazed.
Was it possible that some ingenious adventurer had got ahead of him? It
certainly seemed so.
"It's been opened by another key, that's evident," replied the widow.
"And where's Ferrini?" inquired his Highness quickly.
"He's missing. Nobody has seen him this morning," answered the
distressed woman. "Ah, Prince, you were right--quite right in your
surmise. I believed in him, but you summed him up very quickly. I
intended to discharge him to-morrow, but I never dreamed he possessed a
second key."
"He has the jewels, evidently," remarked Sir Henry Hutton, himself a
county magistrate. "I'll run into Whitby, and inform the police, Mrs
Edmondson. We have no idea which direction the fellow has taken."
At that moment the door opened, and Garrett, cap in hand, stood on the
threshold.
"Well, what's the matter?" asked his master.
"Please, your Highness, our car's gone. It's been stolen from the
garage in the night!"
The announcement caused an electrical effect upon the assembly.
"Then this man could also drive a car, as well as wait at table!"
exclaimed Sir Henry. "Myself, I always distrust foreign servants."
"Ferrini had one or two lessons in driving from my chauffeur, I
believe," remarked the widow, now in a state of utter collapse.
"Never mind, Mrs Edmondson," said his Highness cheerily. "Allow Sir
Henry and myself to do our best. The fellow is bound to be caught.
I'll give the police the number of my car, and its description. And
what's more, we have something very valuable here." And he drew out his
pocket-book. "You recollect the suspicions of Ferrini which I
entertained, and which I explained in confidence to you? Well, my valet
has a pocket camera, and with it three days ago I took a snap-shot of
your exemplary servant. Here it is!"
"By Jove. Excellent!" cried Sir Henry. "This will be of the greatest
assistance to the police."
And so it was arranged that the police of Whitby should be at once
informed.
At breakfast--a hurried, scrappy meal that morning--every one condoled
with the Prince upon the loss of his car. Surely the whole affair had
been most cleverly contrived by Ferrini, who had got clear away.
Just as the meal had concluded and the Parson had promised to accompany
Sir Henry over to Whitby to see the police, he received a telegram
calling him to his brother, who had just landed in Liverpool from
America, and who wished to see him at the Adelphi Hotel that evening.
To his hostess he explained that he was bound to keep the appointment,
for his brother had come from San Francisco on some important family
affairs, and was returning to New York by the next boat.
Therefore he bade adieu to Mrs Edmondson--"de-ah Mrs Edmondson," he
always called her--and was driven in the dog-cart to Grosmont station,
while a few minutes later, the Prince and Sir Henry set out in the
widow's Mercedes for Whitby.
The pair returned about one o'clock, and at luncheon explained what they
had done.
In the afternoon, the widow met his Highness out in the tent upon the
lawn, and they sat together for some time, he enjoying his eternal
"Petroff." Indeed, he induced her to smoke one, in order to soothe her
nerves.
"Don't upset yourself too much, my dear Gertrude," he urged, placing his
hand upon hers. "We shall catch the fellow, never fear. Do you know,
I've been wondering whether, if I went up to town and saw them at
Scotland Yard, it would not be the wisest course. I know one of the
superintendents. I met him when my life was threatened by anarchists,
and the police put me under their protection. The Whitby police seem
very slow. Besides, by this time Ferrini is far afield."
"I really think, Albert, that it would be quite a good plan," exclaimed
the widow enthusiastically. "If you went to Scotland Yard they would,
no doubt, move heaven and earth to find the thief."
"That's just what I think," declared his Highness. "I'll go by the
six-twenty."
"But you'll return here to-morrow, won't you?" urged the widow. "The
people I have here will be so disappointed if you don't--and--and as for
myself," she added, her fat face flushing slightly--"well, you know that
I am only happy when you are near me."
"Trust me, Gertrude. I'll return at once--as soon as ever I've set the
machinery of Scotland Yard in motion. I have the negative of the photo
I took, and I'll hand it to them."
And so that evening, without much explanation to his fellow guests, he
ran up to town, leaving Charles and most of his baggage behind.
Next day, Mrs Edmondson received a long and reassuring telegram from
him in London.
Two days passed, but nothing further was heard. Garrett, without a car,
and therefore without occupation, decided to go up to London. The theft
of the car had utterly puzzled him. Whatever _coup_ his master and his
friends had intended had evidently been effected by the man Ferrini.
All their clever scheming had been in vain.
They had been forestalled.