GENERAL MAXGREGOR
Maxwell's coolness had come back to him again. His face was alert and
vigorous; his anger had gone.
"I am afraid that I shall have to ask you to go on alone," he said. "In
the face of this discovery I do not see my way to lose this opportunity.
The king cannot stay here long; you will see that it is impossible for
Countess Saens to run any further risks. I am going to wait."
Jessie felt that she would like to wait also, but duty was urging her
elsewhere. She stood irresolute just a moment as a figure came down the
street, and pausing before the house opposite, whistled a bar from some
comic opera. Maxwell touched Jessie's arm.
"Just a minute," he said. "Cling to me as if we were saying good-night.
Unless I am greatly mistaken, the whistle was no more than a signal. Ah,
that is what I thought! Evidently all the servants have gone to bed, for
here is the countess herself."
The countess opened the door and stood on the step with the light behind
her. The man stopped whistling and walked up the steps. He saluted the
countess properly.
"So you are here at last!" she said. The night was so close and still
that her voice was easily carried across the road. "I thought that you
were never coming. Take this note and see that Prince Mazaroff has it
without delay. You will be able to give him the signal. See it goes into
his own hand. Oh, yes, Merehaven House. The best way will be by the
garden door. _You_ know where that is."
The man nodded, and said something in Russian that the listeners could
not follow. Then he lounged off up the road and the countess vanished.
Maxwell was all energy.
"Come along," he said. "I have changed my mind. What the king does for
the next few hours must be on his own head and on his own account. It is
far greater importance for me to know what message it is that the
countess has sent to Prince Mazaroff. We will walk quickly and get ahead
of that fellow, so that I can hide myself in the garden before he comes.
We shall probably find that the signal is a bar or two of the same opera
that our man was whistling just now. Unless fortune plays me a very
sorry trick, I shall see the inside of that letter within half an hour."
The slouching figure of the unconscious Russian was passed in a
perfectly natural way. Maxwell glanced at him sideways, and saw that he
had slipped the letter into his breast pocket. The garden gate leading
into the grounds of Merehaven House was safely reached, and Jessie drew
a sigh of relief as she threw off her wrap and cast it on a seat. If
anybody saw her now it would be assumed that she had come out for a
breath of fresh air.
She saw the lights streaming from the library window, she saw the little
group there, and she drew nearer. She heard enough to tell her that she
was in deadly peril of being discovered. If Mazaroff was not stopped, if
he persisted in his determination, the fraud must be exposed.
What was to be done? Something would have to be done, and speedily.
Varney could be trusted to stave off the evil moment as long as
possible. If she could come and spoil Mazaroff's game? The idea came to
Jessie like a flash--she tingled with it.
The queen! Who else but the Queen of Asturia? Jessie raced round and
reached the house. She hoped that she would not be too late; she prayed
that the queen had not gone. There she was, on the couch of the salon,
quiet and dignified as usual, but her dark eyes were alert. She looked
about her from time to time as if seeking something. Greatly daring,
Jessie made a sign. With her forefinger she actually beckoned to the
queen! But there was no sign of offended displeasure in the face of
royalty. On the contrary, the queen rose, and making some excuse walked
to the door. Once outside her manner changed entirely. Her face grew
haggard, her eyes had a hunted expression.
"What is it?" she asked. "Something very wrong, or you would never....
But never mind that. Speak plainly, and I will do anything I can to
assist. Ay, menial work, if necessary."
"There is no necessity, madame," Jessie said breathlessly. "Nor have I
time to explain. That will come later. Prince Mazaroff has made what he
deems to be a most important discovery. It is nothing like so important
as he thinks, but its disclosure at the present moment would ruin all
our plans. He is telling Lord Merehaven all about it now in the library.
Lord Merehaven is an English gentleman first and a diplomatist
afterwards, and he would insist upon having the whole thing cleared up.
Could you not make a diversion? Could you not interrupt, get Mazaroff
out of the way if only for half an hour? Time is precious."
"It is very vague," said the queen quietly. "At the same time, I can see
that you are in deadly earnest. I will go to the library myself at
once."
The queen moved along the corridor swiftly, as she used to do in her
mountain home long before she felt the weight of the crown on her brows.
She forced a smile to her face as she entered. Lord Merehaven was
listening gravely and with a puzzled frown to Mazaroff. Varney stood by
laughing with the air of a man who is vastly amused.
"I don't think Lord Merehaven understands," he said. "Champagne, my dear
prince, champagne in moderation is an excellent thing. But when indulged
in three times a day----"
"I shall be glad if Miss Galloway will be pleased to grace us with her
presence," Mazaroff said.
"Would I not do instead?" the queen said as she looked in. She was
smiling gaily as she entered. She seemed to have utterly abandoned
herself to the gaiety of the moment. "Miss Galloway is doing something
for me, and I could not spare her for the next half hour. After that we
are both at your disposal. Positively, I cannot permit three of the
cleverest and most brilliant men in the house to be seeking each other's
society in that selfish manner. You have quite forgotten those stamps,
my lord!"
"Bless my soul, so I have!" Merehaven exclaimed. "I beg your majesty's
pardon. Mazaroff was saying----"
"What Mazaroff was saying will keep," that individual muttered
significantly. "There is no hurry; and the mere idea of keeping her
majesty waiting----"
He bowed and smiled. It was quite clear to Jessie, who was once more
outside the window, that the Russian had no idea that anything but
accident had postponed his accusation. He was talking to Varney now in
the most natural manner. With her hand under his arm the queen had led
Merehaven away. Presently Mazaroff made an excuse and followed. Jessie
stepped into the room.
"That was a very near thing, my dear," Varney said coolly. "If the queen
had not come in----"
"I fetched her," Jessie said. "By great good luck I was by the window at
the time. Keep Mazaroff's mouth sealed to-night, and by this time
to-morrow, when he is confronted with Vera Galloway, he will see the
real Vera and nobody else."
"Then you have been quite successful in your mission?" Varney asked
eagerly.
Jessie proceeded to explain, and as she did so Varney's face grew grave.
But after all, he reflected, things are not quite so bad as they might
be. The enemy was utterly at a loss, and could not possibly know that
those papers had vanished.
"You have done wonderfully well between you," Varney said at length.
"What was that? I fancied that I saw the shadow of a man lurking in the
garden. Just by those mimosa tubs."
Surely enough a shadow flitted along, and somebody began softly
whistling a few bars of an opera. Hardly was the first bar on the man's
lips before another man dashed forward and struck the whistler to the
ground. There was a struggle, the sound of a blow or two, a suggestion
of punishment for loafers hanging about there with a felonious
intention, and the figure of the first man rose and ran headlong down
the garden. In the distance the clang of the wooden door could be
heard.
[Illustration: "_Another man dashed forward and struck the whistler to
the ground._"]
"We had better see into this," Varney cried. "If this is some cunning
game of some gang of thieves----?"
"It is nothing of the kind," Jessie said tranquilly. "That is Mr.
Charles Maxwell. We had better go and see if he has succeeded. I will
tell you presently what it all means. If he has only obtained possession
of that letter without the thief knowing that the robbery was
intentional!... Come along!"
Varney followed, greatly excited. In the shadow of an alcove seat
Maxwell stood with a small black envelope in his hand. He advanced
coolly to Varney.
"This was intended for Mazaroff," he explained. "It was sent to him by
Countess Saens. I fancy that I have managed this without yonder tool
suspecting anything. This young lady will tell you all about it
presently. Let us open the letter."
The letter contained nothing worse than a visiting card, with only a few
words written on it. As Maxwell held it up to the light the others could
see perfectly:--
"I am sending this by a sure hand. The key of the situation lies with
General Maxgregor. Follow him up without delay, for time is all against
us."