_ANTHONY THE TRIUMPHANT_
The butler tapped upon Trent's door before nine next morning.
"I've just taken a telephone message for you, Mr. Anthony, very
important if I may judge."
"Come in and tell me about it," the American said. He could not imagine
who knew his whereabouts. It must be Maitland, he supposed, who had
promised to see him before he joined his destroyer again if it were
possible.
"It's from the American Embassy," the butler informed him.
"What?" Trent demanded. "Are you sure?"
The American Embassy! What had he to do with that? Once behind the doors
he was on American soil and subject to her jurisdiction.
"It was a message saying that the ambassador must see you at once. I
took the liberty of saying I thought you could get there by half past
nine. A motor will be waiting when you have dressed."
Anthony Trent sat on the edge of his bed and saw all his high hopes
dashed to earth. Someone must have told the ambassador of this young
fellow countryman of his who was on intimate terms with a cabinet
minister. And the ambassador with the aid of his intelligence
department must have run him to earth.
For a moment he wondered whether it would not be wiser to make a run for
it. Maitland now assured of his _bona fides_ would not hesitate to take
him with him and land him at some lonely spot on the Italian coast by
night. He had money and his wits. It would be beginning life over again
but it would be better than disgrace here in London.
Then his fighting side asserted itself. He would not be frightened into
flight before he was convinced flight was necessary.
There was another visitor in the American ambassador's waiting room, a
man of middle age who smoked an excellent cigar. He turned as Trent
entered.
"Morning," said Trent morosely. He was annoyed to find that he had to
speak. It was the publisher of a chain of magazines for one of which
Trent used to write when engaged in the manufacture of light fiction. He
had often smoked one of the millionaire's celebrated cigars.
"Good morning," said the publisher graciously. "It's a long time since I
saw you."
"The ambassador keeps extraordinary hours," Trent commented.
"He's a business man," the other explained, "Not bred to the old time
diplomacy, just a plain, business man."
"What have you done that he sent for you?"
"You don't seem to understand," the publisher said mildly.
"I only understand," Trent said, still irritably, "that I'm being kept
waiting. He was to see me at nine thirty and it's now twenty minutes to
breakfast."
"He was on the minute," the other laughed, "Where have you been not to
know I'm the ambassador?"
"You!" said Trent in amazement.
"And I'm making a damned good one," the diplomat said, "even if I do get
up hours before the rest of 'em."
"What am I here for?" Trent demanded.
"Congratulations mainly," said the ambassador. "I was waked out of sleep
at after midnight by the prime minister. He wanted to know if I had
heard of an American called Anthony Trent. I said 'Sure. He used to
write for me. Anthony Trent is all right.' The way these Londoners keep
up half the night is something shocking."
"I still don't see why you've sent for me, Mr. Hill."
"I'll explain," said the ambassador. His manner was serious, so serious
indeed that Anthony Trent was infinitely perturbed. "You may not know it
but you've rendered your country a considerable service. Over here in
the Birthday or New Year honours list you'll find decorations awarded
men the public knows nothing about. Trent, sometimes they are given for
work like you have done. We don't give orders or decorations or grants
of money. If we did you'd have one coming to you. What you've done won't
even come before Congress. You'll be a mute inglorious Milton, but--if
the day comes when you need help, if you should ever be in a tight
place, remember you've got something to trade with. I'm not going to
mention this again but you bear it in mind."
"I certainly will," Trent said gratefully. Then he spoke a little
hesitatingly. "Be frank with me, Mr. Hill. I ask this as a personal
favor. Had you anything at the back of your mind when you spoke about my
being in a tight place or needing help?"
"No," the ambassador said after a mental reaction which could be
measured in seconds. "But you've made enemies here. Some of 'em have
sent in asking what you do for your livelihood. Of course I remembered
that Australian uncle. He certainly must have cut up rich."
"He did," Anthony Trent said sombrely. He had invented an Australian
uncle years before to account for possession of the large sums of money
his professional work netted him. Oddly enough the memory gave him
little pleasure now.
"I was able to assure the inquisitive," the diplomat declared, "that I
had known you for years."
Enemies! Castoon perhaps, who hated him on sight, and possibly the
Colonel Langley who was now his friend. What others unknown to him might
there not be! And there was Lady Polruan sister of Willoughby Maitland.
She probably would be influenced by her favorite brother and receive
him on a friendly footing if they met again. These people he knew. But
it was the unknowns who bothered him.
"Was Rudolph Castoon one of them?" he inquired.
"The Chancellor of the Exchequer?" Hill laughed. "My boy you have
certainly got right into the top-hole set here. The inquisitive ones
were your own countryfolk who were jealous that a man not even in the
Social Register got in on intimate terms with the great families. Maybe
they wanted to get your formula. Nothing serious. I've got a busy
morning. Lunch with me at one tomorrow?"
"Gladly," Anthony Trent returned, his manner brighter. Never had he
shaken hands so heartily with his old publisher.
"It's done me good to see you," he exclaimed.
* * * * *
The friendly butler informed Trent in confidence that Lady Daphne was
not yet down. His lordship was already riding in the Row.
"Her ladyship has not been informed of your arrival," said the butler.
"She is expected down in a few minutes. I have ordered kidneys and bacon
_en brochette_ for you, sir."
"This feels like being really at home," the American said. "I have
wanted that for breakfast every morning I've been away and never once
had the luck to get it."
Below stairs the butler informed the housekeeper, who later retailed it
to maids, that Mr. Anthony seemed very nervous. A footman openly
rejoiced when he overheard the butler's conversation with the
housekeeper that his duties would enable him to witness the meeting of
his mistress and the American.
"There will be nobody in the breakfast room when her ladyship enters but
Mr. Anthony," his superior said firmly. "Haven't you got any romance in
you, Simpkins?"
"Yes," answered the footman simply, "that's why I want to see them."
Anthony Trent was sitting in a big winged chair by the fire when Daphne
entered. She walked to the table and picked up some letters without
seeing him. At every mail she expected to hear from him and now was
another of these continual disappointments. Invitations, letters from
friends and relatives, but never a one from the man she loved.
Watching her Anthony Trent was a victim to many emotions. The rumor
which he had confidently disputed that she was engaged to Rudolph
Castoon now assumed a guise of probability. Why not? He had left her
expecting never to see her again. He had convinced her of the
unsurmountable barrier between them, a barrier which still existed. What
a fool he had been to twist the earl's statement about Arthur into
something that spelled hope when none was intended.
That he was here was due to the feeling on Lord Rosecarrel's part that
he deserved courtesy at the hands of the Grenvils. Before leaving for
Croatia he had assured the elder man that he would not claim a reward.
And here he was within a few feet of Daphne. What he should have done
was to call and greet her in a friendly fashion, a fashion which would
have told her that he realized there could no longer be any pretence of
intimacy between them. Instead he was hiding in a deep chair and must
presently disclose himself.
He noticed anxiously that she was looking frail and tired. There was a
sadness on her face which he had not seen there before. It was, he
decided, a hopelessness, a lack of the vivacity which had always
distinguished her.
It was when the butler had decided time enough had elapsed for greeting
that Simpkins was allowed to bear in silver dishes of food.
It was the footman's entrance which made the girl look up from her
unopened collection of letters. She did not see Simpkins. She saw only
the man in the chair, the tall, slim man who rose almost awkwardly when
he met her wide-open eyes.
Ordinarily self possessed, never at a loss for a word or embarrassed,
Anthony Trent stood there dumb and looked at her.
"Oh Tony, Tony!" she cried.
Immensely gratified, Simpkins beheld the American gather her to him.
Honest Simpkins had tears in his eyes. He went from the room blindly,
his mission unaccomplished. He had seen Love so near to him that he was
dazzled.
It was in Daphne's own sitting room facing St. James' Park that they
were able to talk coherently. "Why do you suddenly look so grave on this
morning of all mornings in my life?" she asked tenderly.
"Darling," he said, "I can't keep on living in this doubt any longer.
You know what I said in Cornwall?"
"That's so long ago. I forget. Exactly what did my wise Tony say? I only
remember that he said he loved me."
"I shall always say that," he said softly. "Daphne, I must not go on
deluding myself any longer. I ought not to have seen you. It was only
because your father was courteous and I was weak that I came."
"You have seen father?" she cried.
"Last night," he told her. "I was with him for an hour. He was very
kind."
"Did he tell you about Arthur?"
"He said he was going to be married."
She looked at her Tony with a smile he could not understand. There was
certainty in it content, assurance. It was as though there were no
barriers that kept him from her.
"My wise Tony," she said, "there is much for you to learn. Let us leave
Grosvenor Place and go to Australia in the first place."
"Australia?" he cried uneasily. For the second time within a few hours
the island continent had arisen to confound him.
"Yes, Australia," she said. "You remember that my father bought a place
there for Arthur?"
He had often heard of it. It was a magnificent property of a hundred
thousand acres. Great flocks of sheep and cattle grazed on it and there
were hundreds of horses. There were lakes on it where the rainbow trout
grew to fifteen pounds in weight. He had seen photographs of the big
house with its tennis courts, its outside swimming pool, its walled
gardens. It was administered, he knew, by intelligent superintendents
and capable of even greater development.
"A wonderful place," he said. "Yes, I remember. Your father wanted to
sell it."
"He has given it away instead."
"Given away a place like that?"
"Perhaps I ought not to say given away," she smiled. "He has given it in
exchange for what business people call collateral. He has given it to
you, Tony, subject to certain conditions."
"Me?" he cried, "Oh no! Impossible. I couldn't take it."
"But you haven't even heard the conditions," she said. "I go with it. It
must be kept in the family."
Anthony Trent had a vision of the future. He saw himself a clean man
again, a man with hard work before him and great responsibilities. He
remembered his country's ambassador and the cryptic utterances which
might mean so much. The new life in the new country where none knew him.
The realization of those dreams of children who need never be ashamed of
their parentage. And all this was offered him.
Daphne looking at him saw that the eyes which she had sometimes thought
were hard were softened now. None but she had ever seen tears in the
eyes of Anthony Trent who had once been the Master Criminal.
"Oh Daphne," he said brokenly. "Daphne."