THREE MESSAGES
Miss Guile lowered her head for an instant. Robin could see that her
lip was quivering. A vast pity for her took possession of him and he
was ashamed of what he now regarded as unexampled meanness of spirit on
his own part. She lifted her shamed, pleading eyes to search his, as if
expecting to find succour in their fearless depths. She found them
gleaming with indignation, suddenly aroused, and was instantly
apprehensive. There was a look in those eyes of his that seemed
prophetic of dire results unless she checked the words that were rising
to his lips. She shook her head quickly and, laying a hand upon his
arm, turned to the waiting magistrate.
"My name is--Oh, is there no way to avoid the publicity--" she sighed
miserably--"the publicity that--"
"I regret, Mademoiselle, that there is no alternative--" began the
Judge, to be interrupted by the banging of the court-room door. He
looked up, glaring at the offender with ominous eyes. The polite
attendant from the outer corridor was advancing in great haste. He was
not only in haste but vastly perturbed.
Despite the profound whack of the magistrate's paper weight on the
hollow top of the desk and the withering scowl that went with it, the
attendant rushed forward, forgetting his manners, his habits and his
power of speech in one complete surrender to nature. He thrust into the
hand of the Judge a slip of paper, at the same time gasping something
that might have been mistaken for an appeal for pardon but which more
than likely was nothing of the sort.
"What is this?" demanded the Judge ferociously.
"Mon dieu!" replied the attendant, rolling his eyes heavenward.
The magistrate was impressed. He took up the slip of paper and read
what was written thereon. Then he was guilty of a start. The next
instant he had the prosecutor up beside him and then the advocate.
Together they read the message from the outside and together they
lifted three pairs of incredulous eyes to stare at the culprits below.
There was a hurried consultation in excited whisperings, intermittent
stares and far from magisterial blinkings.
Robin bent close to Bedelia's ear and whispered: "We must have killed
some one, the way they are acting."
Her face was glowing with triumph. "No. Luck is with us, Mr. Schmidt.
You'll see!"
The magistrate cleared his throat and beamed upon them in a most
friendly fashion.
Robin grasped the situation in a flash. His own identity had been
revealed to the Judge. It was not likely that the daughter of William
Blithers could create such lively interest in a French court of
justice, so it _must_ be that Gourou or Quinnox had come to the rescue.
The court would not think of fining a prince of the royal blood, law or
no law!
"M'sieur, Mademoiselle, will you be so good as to resume your seats? An
extraordinary condition has arisen. I shall be obliged to investigate.
The trial must be interrupted for a few minutes. Pardon the delay. I
shall return as quickly as possible. _Sergent!_ See that Mademoiselle
and M'sieur are made comfortable."
He descended from the bench and hurried into the corridor, followed
closely by the prosecutor and the advocate, both of whom almost trod on
his heels. This may have been due to the fact that they were slighter
men and more sprightly, but more than likely it was because they were
unable to see where they were going for the excellent reason that they
were not looking in that direction at all.
Policemen and attendants, mystified but impressed, set about to make
the culprits comfortable. They hustled at least a half dozen roomy
chairs out of an adjoining chamber; they procured palm-leaf fans and
even proffered the improbable--ice-water!--after which they betook
themselves to a remote corner and whispered excitedly at each other,
all the while regarding the two prisoners with intense interest. Even
the despairing footman and chauffeur exhibited unmistakable signs of
life.
"I fancy my friends have heard of our plight, Mr. Schmidt," she said,
quite composedly. "We will be released in a very few minutes."
He smiled complacently. He could afford to let her believe that her
friends and not his were performing a miracle.
"Your friends must be very powerful," he said.
"They are," said she, with considerable directness.
"Still, we are not out of the scrape yet, Miss Guile," he remarked,
shaking his head. "It may be a flash in the pan."
"Oh, please don't say that," she cried in quick alarm. "I--I should die
if--if we were to be sent to--"
"Listen to me," he broke in eagerly, for an inspiration had come to
him. "There's no reason why you should suffer, in any event. Apparently
I am a suspected person. I may just as well be a kidnapper as not. You
must allow me to inform the Judge that I was abducting you, so that
he--"
"How absurd!"
"I don't in the least mind. Besides, I too have powerful friends who
will see that I am released in a day or two. You--"
"You cannot hope to convince the Judge that you were abducting me in my
own automobile--or at least in one belonging to my friends, who are
irreproachable. I am very much obliged to you for thinking of it, Mr.
Schmidt, but it is out of the question. I couldn't allow you to do it
in the first place, and in the second I'm sure the court wouldn't
believe you."
"It was I who suggested running away from those detectives," he
protested.
"But I jumped at the chance, didn't I?" she whispered triumphantly. "I
am even guiltier than thou. Can you ever forgive me for--"
"Hush!" he said, in a very low voice. His hand fell upon hers as it
rested on the arm of the chair. They were in the shadows. She looked up
quickly and their eyes met. After a moment hers fell, and she gently
withdrew her hand from its place of bondage. "We are pals, Bedelia," he
went on softly. "Pals never go back on each other. They sink or swim
together, and they never stop to inquire the reason why. When it comes
to a pinch, one or the other will sacrifice himself that his pal may be
saved. I--"
"Please do not say anything more," she said, her eyes strangely serious
and her voice vibrant with emotion. "Please!"
"I have a confession to make to you," he began, leaning still closer.
"You have taken me on faith. You do not know who or what I am. I--"
She held up her hand, an engaging frown in her eyes. "Stop! This is no
place for confessions. I will not listen to you. Save your confessions
for the magistrate. Tell him the truth, Mr. Schmidt. I am content to
wait."
He stared for an instant, perplexed. "See here, Miss
Guile,--Bedelia,--I've just got to tell you something that--"
"You may tell me at Interlaken," she interrupted, and she was now quite
visibly agitated.
"At Interlaken? Then you mean to carry out your plan to spend--"
"Sh! Here they come. Now we shall see."
The magistrate and his companions re-entered the room at that instant,
more noticeably excited than when they left it. The former, rubbing his
hands together and smiling as he had never smiled before, approached
the pair. It did not occur to him to resent the fact that they remained
seated in his august presence.
"A lamentable mistake has been made," he said. "I regret that M'sieur
and Mademoiselle have been subjected to so grave an indignity. Permit
me to apologise for the misguided energy of our excellent _sergents_.
They--"
"But we were exceeding the speed limit," said Robin comfortably, now
that the danger was past. "The officers were acting within their
rights."
"I know, I know," exclaimed the magistrate. "They are splendid fellows,
all of them, and I beg of you to overlook their
unfortunate--er--zealousness. Permit me to add that you are not
guilty--I should say, that you are honourably discharged by this humble
court. But wait! The _sergents_ shall also apologise. Here! Attend. It
devolves upon you--"
"Oh, I beg of you--" began Robin, but already the policemen, who had
been listening open-mouthed to the agitated prosecutor, were bowing and
scraping and muttering their apologies for enforcing a cruel and unjust
law.
"And we are not obliged to give our names, _M'sieur le judge?_" cried
Miss Guile gladly.
"Mademoiselle," said he, with a profound bow, "it is not necessary to
acquaint me with something I already know. Permit me to again express
the most unbounded regret that--"
"Oh, thank you," she cried. "We have had a really delightful
experience. You owe us no apology, M'sieur. And now, may we depart?"
"Instantly! LaChance, conduct M'sieur and Mademoiselle into the fresh,
sweet, open air and discover their car for them without delay.
_Sergents_, remain behind. Let there be nothing to indicate that there
has been detention. Mademoiselle, you have been merely making a
philanthropic visit to our prison. There has been no arrest."
Robin and Miss Guile emerged from the low, forbidding door and stood
side by side on the pavement looking up and down the street in search
of the car. It was nowhere in sight. The chauffeur gasped with
amazement--and alarm. He had left it standing directly in front of the
door, and now it was gone.
"It is suggested, M'sieur," said the polite LaChance, "that you walk to
the corner beyond, turn to the left and there you will find the car in
plain view. It was removed by two gentlemen soon after you condescended
to honour us with a visit of inspection, and thereby you have escaped
much unnecessary attention from the curious who always infest the
vicinity of police offices." He saluted them gravely and returned at
once to the corridor.
Following leisurely in the wake of the hurrying servants, Robin and
Bedelia proceeded down the narrow street to the corner indicated. They
were silent and preoccupied. After all, _who_ was to be thanked for the
timely escape, his god or hers?
And here it may be said that neither of them was ever to know who sent
that brief effective message to the magistrate, nor were they ever to
know the nature of its contents.
The men were examining the car when they came up. No one was near.
There was no one to tell how it came to be there nor whither its
unknown driver had gone. It stood close to the curb and the engine was
throbbing, proof in itself that some one had but recently deserted his
post as guardian.
"The obliging man-hunters," suggested Robin in reply to a low-voiced
question.
"Or your guardian angel, the great Gourou!" she said, frowning
slightly. "By the way, Mr. Schmidt, do you expect to be under
surveillance during your stay at Interlaken?"
There was irony in her voice. "Not if I can help it," he said. "And
you, Miss Guile? Is it possible that two of the best detectives in
Paris are to continue treading on your heels all the time you are in
Europe? Must we go about with the uncomfortable feeling that some one
is staring at us from behind, no matter where we are? Are we to be
perpetually attended by the invisible? If so, I am afraid we will find
it very embarrassing."
They were in the car now and proceeding at a snail's pace toward the
Arc de Triomphe. Her eyes narrowed. He was sure that she clutched her
slim fingers tightly although, for an excellent reason, he was not by
way of knowing. He was rapturously watching those expressive eyes.
"I shall put a stop to this ridiculous espionage at once, Mr. Schmidt.
These men shall be sent kiting--I mean, about their business before
this day is over. I do not intend to be spied upon an instant longer."
"Still they may have been instruments of providence to-day," he
reminded her. "Without them, we might now be languishing in jail and
our spotless names posted in the Place de l'Opera. Bedelia Guile and
Rex Schmidt, malefactors. What would your father say to that?"
She smiled--a ravishing smile, it was. His heart gave a stupendous
jump. "He would say that it served me right," said she, and then: "But
what difference can it possibly make to you, Mr. Schmidt, if the
detectives continue to watch over me?"
"None," said he promptly. "I suppose they are used to almost anything
in the way of human nature, so if they don't mind, I'm sure I sha'n't.
I haven't the slightest objection to being watched by detectives, if we
can only keep other people from seeing us."
"Don't be silly," she cried. "And let me remind you while I think of
it: You are not to call me Bedelia."
"Bedelia," he said deliberately.
She sighed. "I am afraid I have been mistaken in you," she said. He
recalled Gourou's advice. Had he failed in the test? "But don't do it
again."
"Now that I think of it," he said soberly, "you are not to call me Mr.
Schmidt. Please bear that in mind, Bedelia."
"Thank you. I don't like the name. I'll call you--"
Just then the footman turned on the seat and excitedly pointed to a car
that had swung into the boulevard from a side street.
"The man-hunters!" exclaimed Robin. "By jove, we didn't lose them after
all."
"To the Ritz, Pierre," she cried out sharply. Once more she seemed
perturbed and anxious.
"What are you going to call me?" he demanded, insistently.
"I haven't quite decided," she replied, and lapsed into moody silence.
Her nervousness increased as they sped down the Champs Elysees and
across the Place de la Concorde. He thought that he understood the
cause and presently sought to relieve her anxiety by suggesting that
she set him down somewhere along the Rue de Rivoli. She flushed
painfully.
"Thank you, Mr. Schmidt, I--are you sure you will not mind?"
"May I ask what it is that you are afraid of, Miss Guile?" he inquired
seriously.
She was lowering her veil. "I am not afraid, Mr. Schmidt," she said. "I
am a very, very guilty person, that's all. I've done something I ought
not to have done, and I'm--I'm ashamed. You don't consider me a bold,
silly--"
"Good Lord, no!" he cried fervently.
"Then why do you call me Bedelia?" she asked, shaking her head.
"If you feel that way about it, I--I humbly implore you to overlook my
freshness," he cried in despair.
"Will you get out here, Mr. Schmidt?" She pressed a button and the car
swung alongside the curb.
"When am I to see you again?" he asked, holding out his hand. She gave
it a firm, friendly grip and said:
"I am going to Switzerland the day after tomorrow. Good-bye."
In a sort of daze, he walked up the Rue Castiliogne to the Place
Vendome. His heart was light and his eyes were shining with a flame
that could have but one origin. He was no longer in doubt. He was in
love. He had found the Golden Girl almost at the end of his journey,
and what cared he if she did turn out to be the daughter of old man
Blithers? What cared he for _anything_ but Bedelia? There would be a
pretty howdy-do when he announced to his people that their Princess had
been selected for them, whether or no, and there might be such a thing
as banishment for himself. Even at that, he would be content, for
Bedelia was proof against titles. If she loved him, it would be for
himself. She would scorn the crown and mock the throne, and they would
go away together and live happily ever afterward, as provided by the
most exacting form of romance. And Blithers? What a joke it would be on
Blithers if he gave up the throne!
As he approached the Ritz, a tall young man emerged from the entrance,
stared at him for an instant, and then swung off at a rapid pace in the
direction of the Rue de la Paix. The look he gave Robin was one of
combined amazement and concern, and the tail end of it betrayed
unmistakable annoyance,--or it might have been hatred. He looked over
his shoulder once and found Robin staring after him. This time there
could be no mistake. He was furious, but whether with Robin or himself
there was no means of deciding from the standpoint of an observer. At
any rate, he quickened his pace and soon disappeared.
He was the good-looking young fellow who had met her at the steamship
landing, and it was quite obvious that he had been making
investigations on his own account.
Robin permitted himself a sly grin as he sauntered into the hotel. He
had given _that_ fellow something to worry about, if he had
accomplished nothing else. Then he found himself wondering if, by any
chance, it could be the Scoville fellow. That would be a facer!
He found Quinnox and Dank awaiting him in the lobby. They were visibly
excited.
"Did you observe the fellow who just went out?" inquired Robin,
assuming a most casual manner.
"Yes," said both men in unison.
"I think we've got some interesting news concerning that very chap,"
added the Count, glancing around uneasily.
"Perhaps I may be able to anticipate it, Count," ventured Robin. "I've
an idea he is young Scoville, the chap who is supposed to be in love
with Miss Blithers--and _vice versa_," he concluded, with a chuckle.
"What have you heard?" demanded the Count in astonishment.
"Let's sit down," said Robin, at once convinced that he had stumbled
upon an unwelcome truth.
They repaired to the garden and were lucky enough to find a table
somewhat removed from the crowd of tea-drinkers. Robin began fanning
himself with his broad straw-hat. He felt uncomfortably warm. Quinnox
gravely extracted two or three bits of paper from his pocket, and
spread them out in order before his sovereign.
"Read this one first," said he grimly.
It was a cablegram from their financial agents in New York City, and it
said: "Mr. B. making a hurried trip to Paris. Just learned Scoville
preceded Miss B. to Europe by fast steamer and has been seen with her
in Paris. B. fears an elopement. Make sure papers are signed at once as
such contingency might cause B. to change mind and withdraw if
possible."
Robin looked up. "I think this may account for the two man-hunters,"
said he. His companions stared. "You will hear all about them from
Gourou. We were followed this afternoon."
"Followed?" gasped Quinnox.
"Beautifully," said the Prince, with his brightest smile. "Detectives,
you know. It was ripping."
"My God!" groaned the Count.
"I fancy you'll now agree with me that she is Miss Blithers," said Dank
forlornly.
"Cheer up, Boske," cried Robin, slapping him on the shoulder. "You'll
meet another fate before you're a month older. The world is absolutely
crowded with girls."
"You can't crowd the world with one girl," said Dank, and it was quite
evident from his expression that he believed the world contained no
more than one.
"I had the feeling that evil would be the result of this foolish trip
to-day," groaned Quinnox. "I should not have permitted you to--"
"The result is still in doubt," said Robin enigmatically. "And now,
what comes next?"
"Read this one. It is from Mr. Blithers. I'll guarantee that you do not
take this one so complacently."
He was right in his surmise. Robin ran his eye swiftly over the
cablegram and then started up from his chair with a muttered
imprecation.
"Sh!" cautioned the Count,--and just in time, for the young man was on
the point of enlarging upon his original effort. "Calm yourself, Bobby,
my lad. Try taking six or seven full, deep inhalations, and you'll find
that it helps wonderfully as a preventive. It saves many a harsh word.
I've--"
"You needn't caution me," murmured the Prince. "If I had the tongue of
a pirate I couldn't begin to do justice to _this_," and he slapped his
hand resoundingly upon the crumpled message from William W. Blithers.
The message had been sent by Mr. Blithers that morning, evidently just
before the sailing of the fast French steamer on which he and his wife
were crossing to Havre. It was directed to August Totten and read as
follows:
"Tell our young friend to qualify statement to press at once. Announce
reconsideration of hasty denial and admit engagement. This is
imperative. I am not in mood for trifling. Have wired Paris papers that
engagement is settled. Have also wired daughter. The sooner we get
together on this the better. Wait for my arrival in Paris." It was
signed "W. B."
"There's Blitherskite methods for you," said Dank. "Speaking of
pirates, he's the king of them all. Did you ever hear of such
confounded insolence? The damned--"
"Wait a second, Dank," interrupted the Count. "There is still another
delectable communication for you, Robin. It was directed to R. Schmidt
and I took the liberty of opening it, as authorised. Read it."
This was one of the ordinary "_petits bleu_," dropped into the
pneumatic tube letter-box at half-past two that afternoon, shortly
before Robin ventured forth on his interesting expedition in quest of
tea, and its contents were very crisp and to the point:
"Pay no attention to any word you may have received from my father. He
cables a ridiculous command to me which I shall ignore. If you have
received a similar message I implore you to disregard it altogether.
Let's give each other a fighting chance."
It was signed "Maud Blithers."