A week later.
The soft summer afterglow flooded the pretty pale-blue upholstered
sitting-room in the new Palast Hotel, overlooking the Alster at Hamburg,
wherein the Prince, the Parson, and the pale-faced Englishman, Mason,
were seated together at their ease.
The Prince had already been there two days, but Clayton was staying over
at the Hamburgerhof, while Mason, who had arrived _via_ Copenhagen only
a couple of hours before, had taken up his quarters at the Kronprinzen,
a smaller establishment in the Jungfernstieg.
The trio had been chatting, and wondering. Mason had just shown them a
telegram, which apparently caused them some apprehension.
Suddenly, however, a waiter entered with a card for Herr Stoltenberg, as
the Prince was there known.
"Show the gentleman in," he ordered in German.
A moment later a well-dressed gentlemanly-looking young Englishman in
light travelling overcoat and dark-green felt hat entered. It was the
valet Charles.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, as soon as the door had closed, "I had a narrow
squeak--a confoundedly narrow squeak. You got my wire from Amersfoort?"
he asked of Mason.
"Yes. I've just been explaining to the Prince what happened on the
night of the dinner-party," replied the pale-faced man.
"Tell me. I'm all anxiety to know," urged the valet. "I left Garrett
in Rosendaal. He's utterly puzzled."
"I expect he is," Mason responded. "The fact is that he's just as much
puzzled as the wily Italian himself. It's a good job I was able to
locate that fellow as one of old Blair-Stewart's servants up at
Glenblair Castle. You remember--when we met `Le Bravache' on his own
ground," Mason went on. "Well, I played the part of detective, and
wrote to him secretly, asking him to meet me in Whitby. He did so, and
to him I confided my suspicions of you all, promising him a police
reward of two hundred pounds if he kept his eye on you, watched, and
informed me of all that was in progress. Of course I bound him to the
most complete secrecy. He tumbled into the trap at once. The Prince
had, of course, previously got wax-impressions of the widow's safe-key,
for she had one day inadvertently given her key to him to go and unlock
a cabinet in the library. Three times the suspicious butler met me, and
made secret reports on your doings. He watched you like a cat. Then,
on the night of the dinner-party, I had an appointment with him at one
o'clock in the morning. I stole our car, and ran it noiselessly by the
back road through the park to the spot where he was to meet me. He came
punctually, and got in the car at my side to be driven into Whitby,
where he supposed three detectives were in waiting. My story was that
we were to pick them up at the hotel, drive back to the Hall, and arrest
the lot of you. He was delighted with the project, and on joining me
had a nip of whisky from my flask just to keep out the night air. Ten
minutes later he was _hors de combat_. I'd doctored the whisky, so,
pulling up, I bound and gagged him, and deposited him in a disused
cow-house on the opposite side of a field on the edge of Roxby High
Moor--a place I'd previously prospected. Having thus got rid of him, I
turned the car back again to a spot within a mile of Milnthorpe
lodge-gates--previously arranged with the Prince--and there, close by a
stile, I found a biggish packet wrapped hurriedly in brown paper. Its
feel was sufficient to tell me that it was the boodle. The Prince and
the Parson had secured it after Ferrini had absented himself, and having
placed it there in readiness for me, had quietly returned to their beds.
With it under the seat I drove south as hard as I could by Driffield
into Hull. Before I got there I changed the identification plate,
obliterated the coronets on the panels with the enamel I found in
readiness, and leaving the car in a garage, got across to Bergen, in
Norway, and thence by train down to Christiania, Copenhagen, and here."
"Well, you put me into a fine hole, Prince," protested the valet
good-humouredly. "I waited, expecting to hear something each day. The
old woman telegraphed frantically to London a dozen times at least, but
got no reply. She was just about to go up to town herself to see what
had become of you, and I was beginning to feel very uneasy, I confess,
when an astounding thing happened. The Italian on the morning of the
third day turned up, dirty, dazed, and in a state of terrible
excitement. I saw him in the hall where he made a long rambling
statement, mostly incoherent. The old woman and Sir Henry, however,
would hear no explanation, and, calling the village constable, had him
arrested at once. An hour later they carted him off to Whitby. Then I
made an excuse, cleared out, and here I am! But I tell you," he added,
"I had a narrow shave. He made an allegation that I was in the swindle,
but every one thought he'd either gone mad, or was trying to bluff
them."
"It was unavoidable, my dear Charles. I couldn't communicate with you,"
the Prince explained. "Never mind, my boy. There's a good share coming
to you. The sparklers are worth at least ten thousand to our old friend
the Jew, and they'll be in his hands and out of their settings by this
time to-morrow. Besides, the silly old crow who thought she'd got a
mug, and was going to marry me, has put up twenty thousand pounds in
cash to get into the St Christopher car deal. I got the money out of
my bank safely yesterday, and it's now paid into a new account in the
Dresdener Bank, in the name of Karl Stoltenberg."
"Well, you absolutely misled me," Charles declared.
"Because it was imperative," replied Herr Stoltenberg, as he said he
wished to be known in the immediate future. "The old crow was a fool
from the very first. She was too ambitious, and never saw through our
game or how the record at Brooklands was faked entirely for her benefit.
The Parson's first idea was mere vulgar burglary. If we'd brought it
off we should have found only a lot of worthless electro. But I saw a
little farther. She had money, and with a little working would no doubt
part. She did. I suppose by this time the poor vain old woman has
given up all idea of becoming Princess Albert of Hesse-Holstein."
"Well, my dear Prince," exclaimed the Parson, "my own idea is that we
should separate and all lie doggo for at least a year, now that we have
so successfully touched the widow's mite."
And this course was at once unanimously agreed.
I happen, as an intimate friend of his audacious Highness, to know his
whereabouts at the present moment, and also the snug and unsuspected
hiding-places of each of his four accomplices. But to reveal them would
most certainly put my personal friends at New Scotland Yard upon their
track.
As a matter of fact, I am pledged to absolute secrecy. If I were not,
my old college chum would never have dared to furnish me with the
details of these stirring adventures of a romantic life of daring and
subterfuge--adventures which I have here recounted, and in which perhaps
the most prominent if sadly-deceived character has always been "The Lady
in the Car."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The End.