THE HERMIT OF HAMMERSMITH._The Great Court Scandal

Guy Bourne, in his shirt sleeves, was sitting back in a long cane

lounge-chair in the little front parlour when the Princess and her

companion entered. He had just finished his frugal supper.

He jumped up confusedly, threw the evening paper aside, and apologised

that her Highness had discovered him without a coat.

"Please don't apologise, Mr. Bourne. This is rather an unusual hour for

a visit, is it not? But pray forgive me," she said in English, with

scarcely any trace of a German accent.

"Your Highness is always welcome--at any hour," he laughed, struggling

into his coat and ordering his landlady to clear away the remnants of

the meal. "Leucha was here yesterday, and she told me how you were

faring. I am sorry that circumstances over which I, unfortunately, have

no control have not permitted my calling at the Savoy. At present I can

only go out after midnight for a breath of air, and time passes rather

slowly, I can assure you. As Leucha has probably told you, certain

persons are making rather eager inquiries about me just now."

"I understand perfectly," she laughed. "It was to obtain your advice as

to the best way to efface myself that I came to see you this evening.

Leucha tells me you are an expert in disappearing."

"Well, Princess," he smiled, offering her a chair, "you see it's part of

my profession to show myself as little as possible, though

self-imprisonment is always very irksome. This house is one among many

in London which afford accommodation for such as myself. The landlady

is a person who knows how to keep her mouth shut, and who asks no

questions. She is, as most of them are, the widow of a person who was a

social outcast like myself."

"And this is one of your harbours of refuge," her Highness exclaimed,

looking around curiously upon the cheaply furnished but comfortable

room. There was linoleum in lieu of carpet, and to the Londoner the

cheap walnut overmantel and plush-covered drawing-room suite spoke

mutely of the Tottenham Court Road and the "easy-payment" system.

The Princess was shrewd enough to notice the looks which passed between

Leucha and the man to whom she was so much indebted. She detected that

a passion of love existed between them. Indeed, the girl had almost

admitted as much to her, and had on several occasions begged to be

allowed to visit him and ascertain whether he was in want of anything.

It was an interesting and a unique study, she found, the affection

between a pair of the criminal class.

What would the world say had it known that she, a reigning Queen, was

there upon a visit to a man wanted by the police for half a dozen of the

most daring jewel robberies of the past half-century?

She saw a box of cheap cigarettes upon the table, and begged one,

saying,--

"I hope, Mr. Bourne, you will not be shocked, but I dearly love a

cigarette. You will join me, of course?"

"Most willingly, your Highness," he said, springing to his feet and

holding the lighted match for her. She was so charmingly unconventional

that people of lower station were always fascinated by her.

"You know," she exclaimed, laughing, "I used to shock them very much at

Court because I smoked. And sometimes," she added mischievously, "I

smoked at certain functions in order purposely to shock the prudes. Oh,

I've had the most delightful fun very often, I assure you. My husband,

when we were first married, used to enter into the spirit of the thing,

and once dared me to smoke a cigarette in the Throne Room in the

presence of the King and Queen. I did so--and imagine the result!"

"Ah!" he cried, "that reminds me. Pray pardon me for my breach of

etiquette, but you have come upon me so very unexpectedly. I've seen in

the _Mail_ the account of his Majesty's death, and that you are now

Queen. In future I must call you `your Majesty.' You are a reigning

sovereign, and I am a thief. A strange contrast, is it not?"

"Better call me your friend, Mr. Bourne," she said, in a calm, changed

voice. "Here is no place for titles. Recollect that I am now only an

ordinary citizen, one of the people--a mere woman whose only desire is

peace."

Then continuing, she explained her daily fear lest she might be

recognised at the Savoy, and asked his advice as to the best means of

hiding herself.

"Well, your Majesty," said the past master of deception, after some

thought, "you see you are a foreigner, and as such will be remarked in

England everywhere. You speak French like a _Parisienne_. Why not pass

as French under a French name? I should suggest that you go to some

small, quiet South Coast town--say to Worthing. Many French people go

there as they cross from Dieppe. There are several good hotels; or you

might, if you wished to be more private, obtain apartments."

"Yes," she exclaimed excitedly; "apartments in an English house would be

such great fun. I will go to this place Worthing. Is it nice?"

"Quiet--with good sea air."

"I was once at Hastings--when I was a child. Is it anything like that?"

"Smaller, more select, and quieter."

"Then I will go there to-morrow and call myself Madame Bernard," she

said decisively. "Leucha will go with me in search of apartments."

Having gained her freedom, she now wanted to see what an English

middle-class house was like. She had heard much of English home life

from Allen and from the English notabilities who had come to Court, and

she desired to see it for herself. Hotel life is the same all the world

over, and it already bored her.

"Certainly. Your Majesty will be much quieter and far more comfortable

in apartments, and passing as an ordinary member of the public," Leucha

said. "I happen to know a very nice house where one can obtain

furnished apartments. It faces the sea near the pier, and is kept by a

Mrs. Blake, the widow of an Army surgeon. When I was in service with

Lady Porthkerry we stayed there for a month."

"Then we will most certainly go there; and perhaps you, Mr. Bourne, will

find it possible to take the sea air at Worthing instead of being cooped

up here. You might come down by a night train--that is, if you know a

place where you would be safe."

He shook his head dubiously.

"I know a place in Brighton--where I've stayed several times. It is not

far from Worthing, certainly. But we will see afterwards. Does your

Majesty intend to leave London to-morrow?"

"Yes; but please not `your Majesty,'" she said, in mild reproach, and

with a sweet smile. "Remember, I am in future plain Madame Bernard, of

Bordeaux, shall we say? The landlady--as I think you call her in

English--must not know who I am, or there will soon be paragraphs in the

papers, and those seaside snap-shotters will be busy. I should quickly

find myself upon picture postcards, as I've done, to my annoyance, on

several previous occasions when I've wanted to be quiet and remain

incognito."

And so it was arranged that she should establish herself at Mrs.

Blake's, in Worthing, which she did about six o'clock on the following

evening.

The rooms, she found, were rather frowzy, as are those of most seaside

lodgings, the furniture early Victorian, and on the marble-topped

whatnot was that ornament in which our grandmothers so delighted--a case

of stuffed birds beneath a glass dome. The two windows of the

first-floor sitting-room opened out upon a balcony before which was the

promenade and the sea beyond--one of the best positions in Worthing,

without a doubt.

Mrs. Blake recognised Leucha at once, terms were quickly fixed, and the

maid--as is usual in such cases--received a small commission for

bringing her mistress there.

When they were duly installed, Leucha, in confidence, told the

inquisitive landlady that her mistress was one of the old French

aristocracy, while at the same moment "Madame" was sitting out upon the

balcony watching the sun disappear into the grey waters of the Channel.

In the promenade a few people were still passing up and down, the

majority having gone in to dinner. But among them was one man, who,

though unnoticed, lounged past and glanced upward--the tall, thin,

grey-haired man who had on the previous night watched her enter the

house in Hammersmith.

He wore a light grey suit, and presented the appearance of an idler from

London, like most of the other promenaders, yet the quick, crafty look

he darted in her direction was distinctly an evil one.

Yet in ignorance she sat there, in full view of him, enjoying the calm

sundown, her eyes turned pensively away into the grey, distant haze of

the coming night.

Her thoughts were away there, across the sea. She wondered how her

husband fared, now that he was King. Did he ever think of her save with

angry recollections; or did he ever experience that remorse that sooner

or later must come to every man who wrongs a faithful woman?

That morning, before leaving the Savoy, she had received two letters,

forwarded to her in secret from Brussels. One was from Treysa, and the