THE ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE
By E. Phillips Oppenheim
CONTENTS
I Mr. Hamilton Fynes, Urgent
II The End of the Journey
III An Incident and an Accident
IV Miss Penelope Morse
V An Affair of State
VI Mr. Coulson Interviewed
VII A Fatal Despatch
VIII An Interrupted Theatre Party
IX Inspector Jacks Scores
X Mr. Coulson Outmatched
XI A Commission
XII Penelope Intervenes
XIII East and West
XIV An Engagement
XV Penelope Explains
XVI Concerning Prince Maiyo
XVII A Gay Night in Paris
XVIII Mr. Coulson is Indiscreet
XIX A Momentous Question
XX The Answer
XXI A Clue
XXII A Breath From the East
XXIII On the Trail
XXIV Prince Maiyo Bids High
XXV Hobson’s Choice
XXVI Some Farewells
XXVII A Prisoner
XXVIII Patriotism
XXIX A Race
XXX Inspector Jacks Importunate
XXXI Good-Bye!
XXXII Prince Maiyo Speaks
XXXIII Unafraid
XXXIV Banzai
CHAPTER I. MR. HAMILTON FYNES, URGENT
There was a little murmur of regret amongst the five hundred and
eighty-seven saloon passengers on board the steamship Lusitania,
mingled, perhaps, with a few expressions of a more violent character.
After several hours of doubt, the final verdict had at last been
pronounced. They had missed the tide, and no attempt was to be made to
land passengers that night. Already the engines had ceased to throb,
the period of unnatural quietness had commenced. Slowly, and without
noticeable motion, the great liner swung round a little in the river.
A small tug, which had been hovering about for some time, came screaming
alongside. There was a hiss from its wave-splashed deck, and a rocket
with a blue light flashed up into the sky. A man who had formed one of
the long line of passengers, leaning over the rail, watching the tug
since it had come into sight, now turned away and walked briskly to the
steps leading to the bridge. As it happened, the captain himself was
in the act of descending. The passenger accosted him, and held out what
seemed to be a letter.
“Captain Goodfellow,” he said, “I should be glad if you would glance at
the contents of that note.”
The captain, who had just finished a long discussion with the pilot and
was not in the best of humor, looked a little surprised.
“What, now?” he asked.
“If you please,” was the quiet answer. “The matter is urgent.”
“Who are you?” the captain asked.
“My name is Hamilton Fynes,” the other answered. “I am a saloon
passenger on board your ship, although my name does not appear in the
list. That note has been in my pocket since we left New York, to deliver
to you in the event of a certain contingency happening.”
“The contingency being?” the captain asked, tearing open the envelope
and moving a little nearer the electric light which shone out from the
smoking room.
“That the Lusitania did not land her passengers this evening.”
The captain read the note, examined the signature carefully, and
whistled softly to himself.
“You know what is inside this?” he asked, looking into his companion’s
face with some curiosity.
“Certainly,” was the brief reply.
“Your name is Mr. Hamilton Fynes, the Mr. Hamilton Fynes mentioned in
this letter?”
“That is so,” the passenger admitted.
The captain nodded.
“Well,” he said, “you had better get down on the lower deck, port side.
By the bye, have you any friends with you?”
“I am quite alone,” he answered.
“So much the better,” the captain declared. “Don’t tell any one that you
are going ashore if you can help it.”
“I certainly will not, sir,” the other answered. “Thank you very much.”
“Of course, you know that you can’t take your luggage with you?” the
captain remarked.
“That is of no consequence at all, sir,” Mr. Hamilton Fynes answered. “I
will leave instructions for my trunk to be sent on after me. I have all
that I require, for the moment, in this suitcase.”
The captain blew his whistle. Mr. Hamilton Fynes made his way quietly to
the lower deck, which was almost deserted. In a very few minutes he was
joined by half a dozen sailors, dragging a rope ladder. The little tug
came screaming around, and before any of the passengers on the deck
above had any idea of what was happening, Mr. Hamilton Fynes was on
board the Anna Maria, and on his way down the river, seated in a small,
uncomfortable cabin, lit by a single oil lamp.
No one spoke more than a casual word to him from the moment he stepped
to the deck until the short journey was at an end. He was shown at once
into the cabin, the door of which he closed without a moment’s delay. A
very brief examination of the interior convinced him that he was indeed
alone. Thereupon he seated himself with his back to the wall and his
face to the door, and finding an English newspaper on the table, read
it until they reached the docks. Arrived there, he exchanged a civil
good-night with the captain, and handed a sovereign to the seaman who
held his bag while he disembarked.
For several minutes after he had stepped on to the wooden platform, Mr.
Hamilton Fynes showed no particular impatience to continue his journey.
He stood in the shadow of one of the sheds, looking about him with quick
furtive glances, as though anxious to assure himself that there was no
one around who was taking a noticeable interest in his movements. Having
satisfied himself at length upon this point, he made his way to the
London and North Western Railway Station, and knocked at the door of the
station-master’s office. The station-master was busy, and although
Mr. Hamilton Fynes had the appearance of a perfectly respectable
transatlantic man of business, there was nothing about his personality
remarkably striking,--nothing, at any rate, to inspire an unusual amount
of respect.
“You wished to see me, sir?” the official asked, merely glancing up from
the desk at which he was sitting with a pile of papers before him.
Mr. Hamilton Fynes leaned over the wooden counter which separated him
from the interior of the office. Before he spoke, he glanced around as
though to make sure that he had not forgotten to close the door.
“I require a special train to London as quickly as possible,” he
announced. “I should be glad if you could let me have one within half an
hour, at any rate.”
The station-master rose to his feet.
“Quite impossible, sir,” he declared a little brusquely. “Absolutely out
of the question!”
“May I ask why it is out of the question?” Mr. Hamilton Fynes inquired.
“In the first place,” the station-master answered, “a special train to
London would cost you a hundred and eighty pounds, and in the second
place, even if you were willing to pay that sum, it would be at
least two hours before I could start you off. We could not possibly
disorganize the whole of our fast traffic. The ordinary mail train
leaves here at midnight with sleeping-cars.”
Mr. Hamilton Fynes held out a letter which he had produced from his
breast pocket, and which was, in appearance, very similar to the
one which he had presented, a short time ago, to the captain of the
Lusitania.
“Perhaps you will kindly read this,” he said. “I am perfectly willing to
pay the hundred and eighty pounds.”
The station-master tore open the envelope and read the few lines
contained therein. His manner underwent at once a complete change, very
much as the manner of the captain of the Lusitania had done. He took the
letter over to his green-shaded writing lamp, and examined the signature
carefully. When he returned, he looked at Mr. Hamilton Fynes curiously.
There was, however, something more than curiosity in his glance. There
was also respect.
“I will give this matter my personal attention at once, Mr. Fynes,” he
said, lifting the flap of the counter and coming out. “Do you care to
come inside and wait in my private office?”
“Thank you,” Mr. Hamilton Fynes answered; “I will walk up and down the
platform.”
“There is a refreshment room just on the left,” the station-master
remarked, ringing violently at a telephone. “I dare say we shall get you
off in less than half an hour. We will do our best, at any rate. It’s an
awkward time just now to command an absolutely clear line, but if we can
once get you past Crewe you’ll be all right. Shall we fetch you from the
refreshment room when we are ready?”
“If you please,” the intending passenger answered.
Mr. Hamilton Fynes discovered that place of entertainment without
difficulty, ordered for himself a cup of coffee and a sandwich, and drew
a chair close up to the small open fire, taking care, however, to sit
almost facing the only entrance to the room. He laid his hat upon the
counter, close to which he had taken up his position, and smoothed
back with his left hand his somewhat thick black hair. He was a man,
apparently of middle age, of middle height, clean-shaven, with good but
undistinguished features, dark eyes, very clear and very bright, which
showed, indeed, but little need of the pince-nez which hung by a thin
black cord from his neck. His hat, low in the crown and of soft gray
felt, would alone have betrayed his nationality. His clothes, however,
were also American in cut. His boots were narrow and of unmistakable
shape. He ate his sandwich with suspicion, and after his first sip of
coffee ordered a whiskey and soda. Afterwards he sat leaning back in
his chair, glancing every now and then at the clock, but otherwise
manifesting no signs of impatience. In less than half an hour an
inspector, cap in hand, entered the room and announced that everything
was ready. Mr. Hamilton Fynes put on his hat, picked up his suitcase,
and followed him on to the platform. A long saloon carriage, with a
guard’s brake behind and an engine in front, was waiting there.
“We’ve done our best, sir,” the station-master remarked with a note of
self-congratulation in his tone. “It’s exactly twenty-two minutes since
you came into the office, and there she is. Finest engine we’ve got on
the line, and the best driver. You’ve a clear road ahead too. Wish you a
pleasant journey, sir.”
“You are very good, sir,” Mr. Hamilton Fynes declared. “I am sure that
my friends on the other side will appreciate your attention. By what
time do you suppose that we shall reach London?”
The station-master glanced at the clock.
“It is now eight o’clock, sir,” he announced. “If my orders down the
line are properly attended to, you should be there by twenty minutes to
twelve.”
Mr. Hamilton Fynes nodded gravely and took his seat in the car. He had
previously walked its entire length and back again.
“The train consists only of this carriage?” he asked. “There is no other
passenger, for instance, travelling in the guard’s brake?”
“Certainly not, sir,” the station-master declared. “Such a thing would
be entirely against the regulations. There are five of you, all told, on
board,--driver, stoker, guard, saloon attendant, and yourself.”
Mr. Hamilton Fynes nodded, and appeared satisfied.
“No more luggage, sir?” the guard asked.
“I was obliged to leave what I had, excepting this suitcase, upon the
steamer,” Mr. Hamilton Fynes explained. “I could not very well expect
them to get my trunk up from the hold. It will follow me to the hotel
tomorrow.”
“You will find that the attendant has light refreshments on board, sir,
if you should be wanting anything,” the station-master announced. “We’ll
start you off now, then. Good-night, sir!”
Mr. Fynes nodded genially.
“Good-night, Station-master!” he said. “Many thanks to you.”